Time Space & Me

Slowly the eastern horizon starts blushing as the tender beam of the sun kissed it with burning passion. I would come outside on the foyer and settle there wondering as the streak of sunlight escape angularly towards sky. Deema (granny) joins me with a basket of corn to feed the chickens. She would squat near me as she snapped corn out of the staff. In a moment, the basket would reap heap of corn to be thrown to the birds. I watched queriously. She would deligate anyone to open the shutter of the bird house. Like sprinters the birds would flutter out and surround Deema, cooing and cherping. She would throw corns on the ground. Before seeds get scattered around the birds would hunt and peck each grain in sheer competition. Before Deema empties her basket and the minute scales flew away...the birds disappeared towards the grasses. I would see roosters courting around and the smaller ones drinking water in the swarmpy drain. The sun finally blanket my village inch by inch I would watch the sand particles dancing in random symphony. Mama stood there dusting and sweeping the extention. The house yard was traingular and slippery with stones peaking roughly. The traditional pounding log (machine) stood there dilapitated as the rice huller in Gurasay took away the dehusking and grinding job. I grew up playing these traditional luxuries. My favorite was the grinding stones that elders rotated with ease. Our cloths all khaki turtle or long sleeve sweaters, hand woven hung on bamboo clothline. Bundles of paddy straws, baskets of squases and dried pumkins would make walls of stackes. Bhakta buaa (brother) was at his secondary level studies at Kanglung where my papa worked in Agriculture Department. His arrival at home would be an occasion. The biggest rooster would be cought for the dinner. Banga (uncle) from neighbour would be called for the butchering. With an easy slit by the sharpened khukuri would kill the bird. Quite an euthanistic excercise. The blood would be collected over the finest rice and the bird well dressed. The down feathers was burnt and cooked with the blood smeared rice which is a kind of delicacy. Known as waa-tshi-paa (burnt feather of a bird) would be served with home brewed rice alcohol. We would talk on subjects that just popped in from no where and he would be interviewed on his studies health and welbeing. Deewa would insist softly to him to get married but the other members would firecly protest. He should finish his studies in almost sync.