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It coined me in this mid-night-hyderabad of those summer day’s school.  I thought, was that the best summer of my life? As mercury climbs on its breaking level, and blistering heat wave pounds large tracts of Butwal, my parents remind me of hyperthermia to confine within home.

Unlike hilly reason, Butwal perched on the base of Churray hills, like a gateway to plain landscape. Are we lucky though, Indeed we are. Take it a morning jogging or just a strolling, You reach in 15 minutes amid a snaky narrow roads clinging with the steep curvy rocky mountain often mixin of slippery banded gneiss.  You look the left Tenau turning like a creek but empowers with a high current, renders to spin hydraulic turbine of  Butwal Power Company (BPC). And A stiff wind blows like it wants me take back home. Like my flying dream .

The school of summer’s day arrive early dawn for  hill-near-terai-kids with special privileges.  Holiday for a month and eventually a morning school bell at 6:00am sharp.

My school Gyanodaya stands near the bank of Tinau, And the cold fresh whistling breeze tempts me desperately.  I raised dreaming with the stream,  wished it could have turn real. Here to fulfill it, I stands ready with wax polished shoe & clean white and blue attire;  Grab a lunchbox with desperateness of  8:30  interval, And once it break,  my patient blows out off me, and there, myself get the shoes in one hand, and the other my old tiffinbox, bothering little about wet paint but concern to conquest a few meter stone that gracefully stands aside of the river.  The friends that comes a few minute later are just about my picks to share. I unpack my tiffin box, gulp chile-turmic-laced stir-fried rice along with  river’s smell dissove in  a morning cool air. I, as usual  facing towards the north as of favorite viewpoint,  staring scenery where two big Kuheray rock hills embraces and form some kinds of meaningless meaning.

Dashain of 88’s hanged over last few days and  remind us about Bhairahawa grandpa.  My dad only uncle, I called him ajaa, just a  leaf in dad’s tree. Then, Hill-less Bhairahawa a little empty-hollow-wide place, has nothing left  me to enjoy except road-side fields infested with water-hyacinths, sprouting aquatic weeds emanating fetid smell, the heat vaporizing the water floating fertile field, and indeed Indian boarders for cheap goodies where people often come down spending their hard earn money. Oh yea, those crackers especially during tihar (Nepalese version of Deepawali).

Ajaa as usual every year standing on the ceiling  above his concrete house, keeping his eyes on the faces appears every rickshaw rode towards the Siddhartha Highway, All surrounded with flat fertile field and open blue-denim skies dissolving with Indian boarder Sunawli, clearly seen on the horizon. As we were close enough to notice,  hurriedly ran down and broke echo of  my mother tongue newari  — “Kaa  wala,” (Look, they came)

My  late 80’s vivid memories flashback me today. I thought of good days ahead with them. I thought of being near to share things and feelings of being one. After decades, Here I was exhausted stagnant with machines.  And Out of  the blue, younger son of Ajaa arrived in Kathmandu, almost decades later. It was 2004 winter,  Ajaa younger daughter and remaining member was tying  the knot.   I thought, I can see him through my matured eyes. I started crafting his weak  ailing face.

Now here I am, Yesterday kid and today’s young macho boy, desperate to see the changes, desperate to believe the same house again?. Could I recall my memories back? could I  spot same house again?. Could be those alley  now so wide, Could those small complex  turn tall building all around,  haatbazar turning modern and   new faces around.  Can I notice it here now?

After reaching almost a km on bicycle rickshaw.  I noticed a  house which still remain segregated with few hundreds of meter blocks. I guessed the right spot as it looked like a wedding,  elaborate carpets to line the tent. As I entered the the house, I saw  pretty busy and exhausted looking old-man, I  need no memories to recognize him. I noticed his face sharply blended the delicate features of my dad.

Here comes my uncle, my aaja’s son.  He looked excited, perhaps, I was grown up and my clean-shave reflecting my crossover of adolescent.  He startled me something that he never expected.  But, He still carries same old macho bulge of tummy. Obese fatty neck,  newari accent,   same fair glowing complexion, bright eyes and of course Typical newari looks. Well the moment, a burden-lifter for my ailing ajaa and his sons,  they might have gulped few magnums of local whiskey.

I thought taking snaps.  I insist Ajaa and his family. I forced them to come down   to  press  me in between. The uncle, who smells horrible by now,  just laughed grabbing my arm. And there his brother-in-law ready to freeze the very moment. Everyone utterly laughing. They must had thought  of this moment never comes back again.

After 5 years, Time turns me  pretty old and the things around me getting older enough, that they start leaving me behind. This day, Bhairahwa uncle and aaja  thought of taking pretty long break. And A little photo reminds me some beautiful moment of togetherness and compassion of  being from same root.

Perhaps Bhairhawa house which I will come across next year will force me to stop but none of  them will be so happy to see me back again.