“I missed you so much, sano mamu”,Surakshya Pradhan, Runner up, Wordism, Ashoj

Writer : Surakshya Pradhan

“Let’s finish eating dinner first, then we’ll take a taxi to airport. She said their flight would land at 10 pm” said her mum.

“Okay mamu, but it’s only 6 pm now, I’ll be in the backyard, okay? “ said she.

She walked around the backyard for a while, a small garden her mum had made, then sat down in the patio and took in her mum’s hard work. It was beautiful. It was the third week of Ashoj, and two days before Ghatasthapana. She watched the clear blue sky of fall turn to the shades of twilight blue, and thought ‘ so, dashain, really is two days away’.

She reminisced about the time when she was seven, when she would wait for dashain with great anticipation, because, well, dashain meant no school, no homework, her sister who was nine years older than she was, would come home. Though, she was only seven, she’d write a letter to her sister every month asking her to bring chocolates and balloons, sandals and dresses, teddies and bicycle; she’d write her about how much she disliked her math class, and how much she enjoyed playing with Tommy, their pet puppy, she’d always end the letter with

“I LOVE YOU DIDI”

in big bold letters, and doodle potato shaped hearts and stick figurine of their family. Dashain, to the seven year old version of herself was time to go on melas with mamu and her sister, buy a different colored balloon every day, buy one of those ugly faced plastic dolls, eat kulfi with her sister; play house with her, watch tom and jerry every evening and argue how she was jerry and her sister was tom, laugh, fight, cry, and laugh some more. The day of tika, she’d be full of excitement, dashami, the day to dress up pretty, put tika and jamara from their grandparents, parents, uncles and aunts, demand for more dakshina than her sister, then, visit mamaghars, forehead full of red tika, three leaves of jamara behind her ear kept in place with her hair clip and a small handbag to keep her dakshina safely, she was happy, she was home.

She reminisced about the year she had turned fifteen, and her sister was blessed with a baby boy; she couldn’t imagine a time she was happier, watching her little son tucked in a pink blanket; yawning, pouting, smiling and asleep in her sister’s arm, and the joy, and blissfulness of motherhood in her sister’s face, dashain had meant so much more that year.

“MAA !! SANO MAMUU”
“ SANO MAMUU!!”
The voice jolted her up, she sat up confused a minute, then ran towards the front gate with a big smile on her face, and seeing her, he ran right to her, with his arms wide, they embraced tight, he’d grown taller, he was almost up to her chin, she kissed his forehead, and he said “I missed you so much, sano mamu”; they were home, her nine year old chora, her sister and her brother-in-law.
Home, is not a place; home, is the feeling of belonging with the people you hold dearest, this dashain, she was home.

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