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| Username | Post |
| Gokul | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 09:02 AM
This is what I call story - poingnant, sublime, moral, vivid. ===================================== The Distance - By Shiva Gautam Babu1, did you just arrive?," My mother slowly whispered in a trembling voice. "Hajur2." I sat on a corner of the hospital bed on which my mother was lying down. That corner of the bed became slightly depressed with the pressure of my weight. "How are the children, and daughter-in-law?" "They are all fine." My right hand started to move along the side of the bed and reached for my mother’s right hand. With all its cruelties, a needle connected to a tube was mercilessly stabbing her left arm. > My mother used to love me a lot. We were very close to each other. We were so close to each other that for the first nine months of my life, we were inseparable, and we lived in one body. Since then I have not been able to be so close to anybody else. I was born and for the first time in my life I got separated a little bit from my mother. "How do you feel, Ama3?" "I do not know what is really happening." She was silent for a moment and then started to speak again, "I don’t have an appetite; if I eat something, then I vomit it all, I have a headache, fever... I have pain all over my body." "Do you have fever right now?" I put my palm on her forehead. I vividly remember that she used to do the same to me whenever I got sick and many times the sickness I had would dissipate by her touch. There is no synonym for the Niagra of soothing comfort that flowed through that touch. "Looks like this is it," My mother said. "No, you are going to be all right," I lied. I knew that she had lung cancer and it was at its last stage. My brother had faxed a Nepalese doctor’s report to me in the USA. I showed them to a doctor in the US and he had confirmed the Nepalese doctor’s diagnosis. As a matter of fact, I had gone to Nepal to see her on the American doctor’s advice. "What do the doctors say, Babu?" "They say that there is little bit water in your lungs and that you are going to be all right in a couple of days," I lied again. When I was a kid my mother often used to sing to me, "This little son of mine one day like the sun he will shine because he is going to study a lot he will buy me a cow nice then every day I will have milk and rice." |
| Gokul | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 09:04 AM
Where I was growing, only well-to-do families could afford milk and rice every day in their meals. "Now you are getting bigger, you have to learn how to read and write," One day she showed me a book of alphabets she had bought in a fortnightly bazaar that used to convene on each new moon and full moon. "Why?" "You have to be a great person. You have to study a lot and be a man of wisdom." She herself was illiterate, but she had got this firm belief that her son had to study, and that is the only way out in this world. There were no schools around. A priest who lived on the other side of the hill had agreed to teach me for about an hour each day. He would not accept any direct payment, as his wisdom was not for sale. But my mother gave him rice, salt, oil, ghee and spices from time to time. So it was a sort of an honorable bartering. I had to walk uphill about thirty minutes and then another fifteen minutes downhill to get to the priest’s house. That’s how I took my tiny first steps on the road to greatness and wisdom. "How much is four times five, Ama?" I asked her five or six months later. "How should I know? You are the one who is studying" "It is twenty." Somehow I felt very happy about the fact that I knew something that she did not know. In our (my mother’s and my) grand plan of me becoming a great and wise person, my mother became the first little person, and the first stupid person. How could I be a great person or a wise person if I could not find anybody to compare? This was the second event after birth that drew my mother and me further apart. The distance was increasing. "When did you come from America?" a relative who had come to see my mother at the hospital asked me. "Just today," I moved a little bit making some space for him to sit. "My son is also in America these days. He is studying environmental things. Is it true that there is not a single person in whole Nepal in that field?" he said in one breath. "I do not know" Just a while ago another person who had come to see my mother started to ask me about how to send his son to the US for further study. He babbled only about his son the whole time. |
| Gokul | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 09:05 AM
I looked at my mother. She was lying on the bed. When I was little, I used to play in her lap. I used to pretend that my head was itching and that there might be lice so that I could feel her fingers gently scratching my head. In the process of looking for lice I used to feel strokes of her fingers in my hair. Right now also I wanted to lay my head on her lap again and say "Ama, please look for lice, my head is itching." But today, my age, my manhood, my education, and my wisdom lay in between my mother and me. And there are no more lice in my hair. I wanted to hug her and cry like a baby. My tears were revolting. "Babu, water." "Here is water, Ama." Since there were no schools in the hills for further study, I was sent to the plain region of the country called Terai where my uncle used to live in a small town. For the first time my mother and I slept under different roofs. The distance was getting wider. I did quite well in my educational endeavors. This led me to Kathmandu for higher education. Soon I finished college also. My mother and I were both happy at least outwardly. The distance had not only got wider, it grew wings in several dimensions. At the beginning it was just unidimensional, only in the space. Now I was different in many ways. I guess my greatness and wisdom was stretching with my educational grades, certificates, diplomas, and other intellectual and scholarly activities. My mother remained little and stupid, shouldering my greatness and wisdom. In my world, the earth moved around the sun because somebody told me so. In her world, the sun moved around the earth because somebody told her that when she was a child. I started to speak difficult and sophisticated words, and inserted English words here and there. My mother spoke pure rural Nepali. I was rapidly westernizing. Now we were of almost different cultures. The distance was still widening along multiple dimensions. Then I went to the US and took a job there, after finishing my studies. I was far away from my mother and motherland. Even though the distance was widening in so many directions, I was still in her heart. I was within each cell of her body. There did not exist any distance in this dimension. The cancer was spreading fast from her lungs to other parts of her body. Now the cancer wanted to replace me from inside her and create a distance between us. But I knew my mother would rather die than let anything take my place inside her. "What happened?" I asked her as she seemed restless "I feel uncomfortable." She was breathing on top of her lungs. My brother went to find the doctor. The doctor put her on oxygen. After a couple of hours she was breathing normally again. It was almost bedtime. My brother told me that he would stay with mother that night, and requested me to go to his house and take some rest. I was tired after a long flight. After dinner I lay down on the bed and tried to fall asleep. But memories of my childhood with my mother kept creeping back into my thoughts. The phone rang. It was my brother on the other end of the phone. Mother’s condition was serious. It was almost midnight. I had to wait for a long time for a taxi. Finally one taxi driver agreed to take me to the hospital only if I paid him twice the usual fare. I agreed and hopped into the taxi. I hurried into the hospital room. My brother was sitting on the floor. He looked at me and tears rolled down his cheeks. I responded in tears too. I knew that it was all over. The distance with all its dimensions had stretched boundlessly, never to shrink again. The next morning I was walking on the pavement of a street to go the parking lot after cremating my mother’s body at the banks of Bagmati river on the footsteps of Pashupatinath temple. "Babu," I heard a screaming voice. I turned my head giving it a vigorous jolt as if I had been struck by lightning of a thousands volts. A mother was running toward her son who was crossing the street. A car came to a screeching halt missing the child only by inches. The mother picked up her son, and held him tightly, putting her arms around him. The child was glued to his mother’s chest. ***** Glossary of Nepali words used in the story: Babu = An affectionate word used to address a male child. Hajur = A respectful and polite ‘Yes’. Ama = Mom. |
| Recon | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 09:06 AM
Woh! ...What a crap |
| mickthesick | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 09:55 AM
..Beauiful... |
| rbaral | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 10:05 AM
Yo katha ekdam ramro chha |
| VincentBodega | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 12:35 PM
"I did quite well in my educational endeavors. This led me to Kathmandu for higher education. Soon I finished college also. My mother and I were both happy at least outwardly. The distance had not only got wider, it grew wings in several dimensions. At the beginning it was just unidimensional, only in the space. Now I was different in many ways. I guess my greatness and wisdom was stretching with my educational grades, certificates, diplomas, and other intellectual and scholarly activities. My mother remained little and stupid, shouldering my greatness and wisdom. In my world, the earth moved around the sun because somebody told me so. In her world, the sun moved around the earth because somebody told her that when she was a child. I started to speak difficult and sophisticated words, and inserted English words here and there. My mother spoke pure rural Nepali. I was rapidly westernizing. Now we were of almost different cultures. The distance was still widening along multiple dimensions. " Shivaji, I cant read this paragraph enough and everytime I read it a lump grows in my throat. This story breathes life... from the start to the end. |
| dead_burton | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 01:42 PM
way too emotional. the way gokul has narrated the story, any stone hearted person will melt . i am sorry for gokul, but i am happy for him as atleast he talked to his mother for the last time. i still remember it was spring break here in the USA, my freind decided to visit nepal to see his father was fighing with cancer for years, but tragedy of fate, his father's appointment with god was too punctual. god was so mean that he didn't even let a father see his son for the last time. |
| Gokul | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 02:34 PM
Dead Burtonji The author is Shiva Gautam, not me, although I did cry as you mentioned while reading this story. Since I posted this story without seeking permission from the writer, I hope he would not mind. |
| Nepe | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 03:04 PM
A lucid, moving and poignant mourning of a son on loss of his mother. So real, so non-fictional, so painful ! Some of the piercing lines.. There is no synonym for the Niagra of soothing comfort that flowed through that touch. .............................................................. In our (my mother’s and my) grand plan of me becoming a great and wise person, my mother became the first little person, and the first stupid person.. This was the second event after birth that drew my mother and me further apart. .............................................................. Right now also I wanted to lay my head on her lap again and say "Ama, please look for lice, my head is itching." But today, my age, my manhood, my education, and my wisdom lay in between my mother and. And there are no more lice in my hair. I wanted to hug her and cry like a baby. My tears were revolting. .............................................................. I guess my greatness and wisdom was stretching with my educational grades, certificates, diplomas, and other intellectual and scholarly activities. My mother remained little and stupid, shouldering my greatness and wisdom. |
| ru | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 03:13 PM
whoever the writer is, that was one hell of a piece...hope it is a creation of art and not the writer's own agony. Don't post such pieces here...it makes me cry. |
| Shiva Gautam | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 04:41 PM
Gokul ji wrote "The author is Shiva Gautam, not me, although I did cry as you mentioned while reading this story. Since I posted this story without seeking permission from the writer, I hope he would not mind" That is OK Gokul ji. Thanks Shiva |
| Bhunte | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 05:51 PM
>>>"Ama, please look for lice, my head is itching." <<< Ah ha kasto yad ayo balyekal ko--aamaii le pitik pitik jumra mareko, budhi aunla ko nang ma sosak jumra ko lal lal ragat, til pil hune gari kapal ma tori ko tel lagai bans ko kangiyo le jumra-likha jhareko, ani kehi sip nalagera bheda-cut kapal kateko! Oh, kaha gaye ti sunaula din haru!....lol Raise your hand who didn't have lice in their younghood... Gautam ji, nice story. I just read nepe's narration, but will read all tonite. 
|
| Bhunte | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 09:03 PM
Only memories left behind... |
| KaleKrishna | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 10:47 PM
Nice naration Shivaji, if it is true incidence than your love for her will make her smile in the heaven above. If it is an imaginatory piece than you deserve praise for touching the emotionary chord. Anyway quite emmotive, and nicely written and Gokul's presentation added gold to the quality. Bhunteji, memories are the only things that remain as we run this crazy rat race of life for reason and goal we ourselves don't know. KK |
| bhunte | Posted
on 19-Nov-03 11:02 PM
Ama ko maya... 
|
| VincentBodega | Posted
on 23-Nov-03 09:34 AM
I just wanted to make sure that this thread gets on the top one more time. Cant get enough of this piece. Enjoy when you can... |
| putali7 | Posted
on 23-Nov-03 02:18 PM
How pretty!!!!!!!!!:) |
| confused | Posted
on 23-Nov-03 03:19 PM
amazing peice..jhandai akkha bata assu jhareko :D....feels like reading it again and again...good job Shiva.. |
| thaag | Posted
on 24-Nov-03 02:26 PM
Very Nice!!!!!!!!!! |
| zIon | Posted
on 24-Nov-03 03:24 PM
I got this from cybernepal (http://www.cybernepal.com.np). Thought this was the right thread for this song. May need Windows Media player. Pardesh_bata by Karna Das Pardesh_bataby Karna Das |
| mickthesick | Posted
on 24-Nov-03 03:54 PM
..I have heard this song by Karna Das......trust me it's very beautiful and capturs the essence that Siva Gautam ji presents in his story...a very beautiful song indeed |
| ugly duckling | Posted
on 24-Nov-03 04:02 PM
Captured my soul. |
| fRank | Posted
on 24-Nov-03 07:22 PM
Ek thopa asu, dui thopa asu gardai asu ko khola bugadai gayo. bageko khola rokna garho hudo raicha tara yaspali ta rokney prayash samet gareena. Gokul ji aja, 8 mahina pachi, mera ankha haru bata asu bagey, hajur ko marmik katha padhera. I have never been close to my mother, i don't know if i ever will be either. But i remember the times i used to be sick and she wouldn't go to work and she would make me soup and stay with me the whole day. How she used to site next to me before i went to bed because i was scared of the dark. Her love for me is as pure as anything can ever be but the distance between her and me is ever increasing. It's not that i dont love her, but we just don't have words to express it in nepal; and that puts me in an awkward position everytime i try to tell her my feelings. I cannot tell her that i love her in english because then it sounds awkward too. The worst thing that has ever happened to me is to be born a Newar, never have learnt how to speak newari, Can speak nepali but dont know how to express myself in Nepali, Can speak english fluently but can't talk to my mother in english. this thing is indeed stuck up. To every ama in the world. Mero maya. mero maya..... |
| Fullmoon70 | Posted
on 26-Nov-03 04:05 PM
Every birth gives pain to our mother ! Some of us have distance with mother and some have distance with motherland. The feeling of having distance with both is heartaching. When we grow up, we depart. First we are created in the womb, it's lovely. But we must come out to complete the cycle of life. The pain , mother bears, that doesn't stop us coming out. That is a birth which gives pain to our mother. Then comes the time of our school, we come out from daily kisses and caring of mother. You are out for almost the whole day. This is second birth. It gives pain to mother. After completing the primary school, we go a little farther, it gives us the third birth. Then comes the college, we are out of our plance some where in the city, you come to your mother, probably in Dashain, Tihar or vacation. This is our third birth. This gives some more pain to our mother. Then we start job, get married, settle, have kids. These takes us farther and farther. If we have time , we sink in the memories, otherwise bit busy , no time to remember. But mother, she is always missing us with tears everytime. We have e-mail and internet, we forget to write letters. Mother, she is hardly literate, wants to read our letters. It's quite natural, every birth gives mother a unbearable pain, being apart, having physical distance is also natural. However having distance of feeling with both mother and motherland are not acceptable. Shivji, (I don't know him, coz' I am new comer to this forum) has tickled who are physically and emotionally far from their mother and motherland. Wonderfull and nice presentation. |
| Shiva Gautam | Posted
on 27-Nov-03 07:35 AM
Thank you Gokul ji for posting my story and all Sajha visitors for reading it. Yesterday the story was discussed in a 12 th grade English class at Budha Neelkantha School. I am not sure how they found about it, but I think it is because of the discussion in Sajha thread. Now, I am tempted to translate my other stories :-o) I have been often asked if the story is based on the truth. The answer is yes, except I could not go- I could not get the plane tickets in time- it was Christmas/New Year season. It was only 10 days I had started a new job at Vanderbilt - and my family was still 500 miles away in Ohio -I was just devastated. I was told that my story is going to be translated into Bengali along with several other stories by prominent Nepalese story writers. Mothers, even after their death, keep raising their children- that is how I summarize these events. Thanks Shiva |
| nischals | Posted
on 27-Nov-03 09:33 AM
Namaskar Shiva Uncle. First of all congratulation. Could you please email me ASAP or provide me your contact. Thank you, Nischal. |
| DHANANJAYA | Posted
on 27-Nov-03 02:56 PM
Dear Dr. Gautam, I am very sorry for the incident. I cried when I read it, wonderfully composed, a masterpiece. I cried out not because of sadness but out of joy, my heart filled with sympathetic joy for the honest love of a son for his generator. Your progressive life, respective nature and awesome love must have given her inner satisfaction, though the distance were increasing day by day. May many mothers find the son like you. To be open to you Dr. Gautam, your article represents a problem. A bounded soul, who can not see its most beloved one. Time creats a distance between them and the distance grows constantly and goes to infinity. This is an absolute problem. The way I think may seem abstract but I always think of the solution of the problem. Some day, if time takes away the distance between us, I will show you my approximate as well as exact solution of this problem, and then let you dicide whether the problem is solvable or not. I always afraid of hurting, please forgive me if you think I have made a mistake. Sincerely, Dhananjaya |
| Shiva Gautam | Posted
on 28-Nov-03 06:11 AM
Dear Dhananjay ji, Thank you for your interesting comments. May be you should start a seperate thread on your ideas. The story is not a piece on religious philosophy. You say 'ouch' when you are hurt, I do not know if a bonded soul is involved in that (I do know the meaning of that, nor do I feel inadequate because I don't understand the meaning of the word). If I had to write the story now I probably could not with the same intensity. On your last line - I would like to say that you did not make any mistake (because of your apology and because of the following). The world exists, because you exist. You did not make a mistake as you are the creator of your own world, and the creator does not make any mistake. Red color does not exist in the world of a color blind (not implying that you are color blind please, it is just an example and should not focus much on the examples), and it is not his mistake as he does not see the red color. Of course, these conclusions are also just mine- from my own world. I do not know if they match with others. I have spent lots of time investigating (just thinking) on nature of problem and solution. If you love abstract things then -there are no absolute solutions only the problems. We always have solution for a past problem and we live in the present. Quite often the very act of looking for a solution creates more problems. The solution devised for a problem 5000 years ago at diffrent context (say, Gita a solution proposed to Arjun, in the midst of war where kins were fighting) does not quite presents a solution for todays problem. (of course there are lots of common things between then and now). Maoists are trying to solve Nepal's current problem using a tool devised by Mao in a different contxt, time and culture. People are 'bonded' by some idea and do not see that they are bonded and do not look for freedom from those bondage, but rather get intoxicated in it and do more harm to the world. I know a thousands of feeling and emotions simmering inside you and want to be engaged in this discussion. Please forgive me if I do not want to discuss this any further at least in in this thread - let us not digress even further. Thanks Shiva :-o) |
| Deep | Posted
on 28-Nov-03 07:50 AM
I think I read this piece in Sulekha a while ago. Absolutely touching. A masterpiece, indeed. Or, perhaps, even the word masterpiece falls short in its adjective function. I have read some of Dr. Gautam's writings in sulekha. I hope he will consider posting his writings here in sajha as well so we can enjoy them first hand. My best wishes. |