I would imagine mid summer heat at Tsirang. Weather so lousy so lethargic that you would be opiated by the auxin in the air....the rustle of the grass blades, bending of new sprouts in the air, occasional whir wind in the dusty trail punctured by the continuous far cry of the cuckoo bird. From no where you would see a cotton ball being molested by the air, torn apart and each thread disappearing in nothingness....hot wind blows while the corn in green submits to wilting helplessly. She untiringly carries stack of timber and reed splits for fire-wood, on the typical Nepali bamboo basket referred to as Dokoo...its a vertical climb with load of ever increasing weight as you ascent the trail...I do not know what she would think while laboring these feats but now I understand that it was an unquestionable love for her husband and family. She wipes beads of never ending sweat from her forehead...she takes a long sigh as if to maintain her energy like a sprinter and she bends on. I watched her do this forever then. Nothing pained in me for a reason that I did not understand what life was...too young to deliberate my emotion. Now as a man heading midlife, I see the reasons to be painfully happy for myself that to have a Mama like mine....she was an orator, straight from Shakespeare. I never saw her weep though now I understand that she did it every moment of her youthful life. She bled in-fact. She would cherish me in her chest and call on me....I did not understand the pain then. She would give me her little finger to hold on and I did not understand what for, but now I am blissfully happy that because of her little finger I am what I am. She tendered me like a nurse sent from heaven.....then I did not know for what but when I watch my Son and Daughter grow up, I see the point....its so simple, simply love for your own. I can reproduce each smile and each word she commerced with me for my happiness......and I feel so lucky that I got her still smiling at me, when I need her the most. Mama, I love you beyond everything.
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