I scrutinized the plants from a distance. A victorious, tingling sensation ran over me. Just like Gyan Lal Sir had predicted, the plant by the window pane was beginning to tilt towards the sunlight while the control, covered with a black polythene bag, did not. Jubilant, I began to water the plants plentifully hoping that they would grow faster than the past few days.
“Oys! I heard you scored the goal with your left foot!†Anish startled me from behind. I gloated with a grin in return, reliving the game.
When Utsav had struck the corner kick, I had actually meant to swirl the ball with my right foot, but in my wild excitement seeing the ball zeroing on me, the ball hit my left knee and dodged the goalie alltogether giving an impression of a spectacular goal. "Tyo pani Panthers sanga". He reiterated the maiden goal of my life. Panthers were the most feared junior team at the time.
“Yah! but we didn't win!" I pretended to be modest and continued to water my plants at the back of the classroom. Making sure that there were no teachers or the usual suspects that we feared, I slip in my frustration "hyaa! Lions le ta ek choti ni games jiteko chaina!"
" K ho tero project?" He asked inquisitively changing the subject. We were among the five best students in science selected that year to do mini-science projects, though the real science fair to be held the next day was limited to grades 3 and higher.
.
"Respond to stimulus, ani tero?" I had my own curiosity.
"Seed Collection!" He replied confidently.
"Seed Collection? Tyasto ni science project huncha?" I began to grow envious.
"Uta herr na.....50 euta trees ko collect gari sak...." His voice faded away seeing Prasanna enter the classroom, the dreaded usual suspect. Even through his thick coat and his fake smile, we could make out the stick bulging from his inside pocket. "Come, I will show you the seeds" Anish reluctantly changed his language.
Before he could show me the entire collection, the bell rang and we hurried off to line up for the Assembly on a cold yet sunny Friday morning.
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As we waited for the classes to begin, my mind lusciously bit into tomorrow about the science fair. It had just been announced in Assembly that the best three students in science from each class would be given trophies of recognition. However, it was not only the anticipation of getting an award, but for the first time in a hostel, far from home, I had found my niche. The homesickness that plagued me the entire first year had begun to wane. My academics had picked up simultaneously with my games, something I thought I would never excel in, given my emaciated physical prowess. I had fared well in elocution contests and even made the captain of the Nepali Spelling Contest that we won that year. I had begun to immerse in my junior achievements, when the surprised woos of guys in the class shifted my attention.
When Gurung Miss entered the class and greeted us, there were still Woos and Waahs in students' usual "Good Morning Miss" response. Everyone called her Gurung Miss because most students didn't know her first name, and for those that did, it was too difficult to pronounce. Though she was the most strict teacher at the time, I had missed her and her ways of teaching for the last two months. The rumor had it that she had succumbed to some fatal disease and could possibly quit school alltogether, the news I hadn't received well. Seeing her in the classroom that morning really invigorated me.
After sharing the pleasantries, she got into her usual groove immediately asking us to pass on our handwriting notebooks to the front, the homework assigned by the substitute teacher from the previous week. Then, out of the blue, she mentioned, "Where's Abhi?" Abhi raised his hand and stood up.
"I just wanted to mention to class that Abhi's father is a real good man and a wonderful Doctor." Abhi began to blush. " He has been very kind and supportive throughout my treatment..." The praise for Abhi's father was not an isolated example. Few confused students even gave sporadic claps. We all knew Abhi's father was a hot-shot doctor, someone every student had been summoned to when they were sick and I was no exception. The feeling of my best teacher's focus on Abhi didn't bode well that I didn't hear her subsequent question until I saw about a dozen hands go up. What had she asked?
"So, who else's parents are doctors, is that all ?" She finally repeated. When the question finally sunk in, I realized that I was the last one to raise my hand.
"So, what are their concentrations? ...hmm. lets start from you, Deepak!"
If I had only known this appending question, I would have never raised my hand. All I had seen was the prefix Dr. in front of my Dad's name. I was pretty sure it was not his initials but I was equally confused about what it meant for I had never seen him wear a white coat in my life.
"Children....Nose.....Throat.....Skin.....Teeth........" The answers were coming rapidly from all corners, until it froze upon me.
"...Oys? yours too?" She smiled at me surprised. I knew I was in trouble. With all my might, I mumbled in a barely audible level : "Plant .." !
She heard me all right but she exclaimed it to the whole class "Plant's Doctor? Is there such a thing?"
The whole class broke into a boisterous laughter. I just stood there quiet and turning into a ripe tomato. A few lowly ridicules from behind "Plant ko doctor re! " added salt to the wound. I began to curse my dad for putting me in this embarrassing situation. Everyone was laughing merrily except Gurung Miss who was looking at me with compassion, the same ashen look she had in her face when she lay in the coffin few years later.
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"Doctor Saab, K ho hajur ko choro ta ahile dekhin science ma yesto tagada cha! thulo doctor bancha hai yo ta!" We ran into Dr. Singh and Abhi outside the hall. I hadn't talked to my Dad much that Saturday afternoon, So I hid behind my maami's sari to avoid further insult. Abhi, though had never won anything in anything, looked more proud than me standing next to his father. I flaunted my little trophy at him beyond my parents' watch to which he only smiled wryly.
Every time, the hot-shot doctor called my Dad a doctor, it dented my heart further and further until I could no longer take it. I began to loathe Dr. Singh and his son alike and vowed then that I'd never be one. I whined like every boy does at that age and pulled hard on my Maami's saree to which she responded "yeslai bhok lagyo jasto cha. La daddy! jau jau. Huss ta Dr. Singh." I pulled my mom briskly away from my Dad as we made our way to the field where every Saturday children and their parents united for mini picnics. Dad was hurrying from behind asking me to see the trophy I had, but I ignored him.
After we sat down in the vast football field, Maami got the hotcase out and began to plate the deliciously cooked food she had brought with her. Dad eventually captured my miniature trophy and began to question the authenticity of the material. As usual, Maami asked dad to get some soft drinks from a vendor nearby. Seeing that it was the most opportune time to show my wrath against my dad away from my mom, I volunteered to go get drinks with him. On our way, Dad reached out to me with his hand as we walked up the slope. Instead of clinging onto it like I'd do on most occasions, I stepped away and asked for his wallet.
I went through it, found his name card and made sure there was the imprinting of Dr. before his name. Under his name, itallicized and in bold letters was, Plant Path. I got more frustrated. "Daddy doctor ho?" I rebeled against my Dad's principle to converse in English within the School premises. Like most Nepali parents, the command of English Language was the sole indicator of intelligence for my folks. To my surprise he smiled and read my innocent mind effortlessly, "Harey! Mangaley afnai dhanga le, la k bhayo bhann!!! "
After I relayed the entire story that had taken place the day before, and that my being borne on a Tuesday had nothing to do with it, he began to laugh heartily. After we got back with our soft drinks, he went to a nearby shrub, cut one of its stems with his coveted swiss knife and returned.
Maami and I huddled around Daddy as he pointed to a little bulge on the brown stem of the plant, "Yo k ho thaha cha keta?" When I moved my head from one side to the other, he made a slight cut into the bulge and to my amazement, an insect I had never seen before, crawled out of it. I sat there in disbelief. However, I felt much better --about the preceding events and about my Dad's career. When our picnic was over and Maami began to pack the remains back into the hotcase, I relayed Dad about my own mini-science project in the classroom. We walked back up the hill, and I gently felt for his fingers. He took my hand and I instantly got rejuvenated by his warmth.
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The classroom was buzzing with parents eager to see their children's accomplishments. We'd spent most of our classes on Friday doing the decorations. All the term papers of students that averaged above 65 were posted neatly along the wall by the door separated by subjects. There were drawings by fellow classmates and the nepali spelling contest shield on the opposite wall. However, the focus of the day was the back of the classroom, where we had our mini science projects. Despite I pulled my dad with all my might, he still had time to go over the term papers and emphasized the need to work harder on English. Finally, we reached the window pane and my Dad smiled reading alound my project title "Response of plants to external stimulus." The plants hadn't grown much from the previous day and I hadn't watered them since.
"La herr ta keta! sukha bhai sakyo!" He observed my plants and not my experiment. "ja! pani liyera aija ta" I scurried off instantly and got some water in the beaker. As I began to water the plants, my dad intervened me instantly "la la! k gareko? kina tyatro pani haleko?" When I told him that I wanted the plants to grow faster. He took a deep sigh and looked straight into my eyes.
"Harey ! aadho, pani dherai haldai ma badcha ta? din ka din thikka ko matra halnu parcha. Dhairya garna siknu parcha keta, Dhairya! ani po ful ramrari fulcha. " I heard his voice echo far and wide inside my head. This was the complex advice my dad often threw at me. By merely referring on how to water the plants, he'd implied everything else too that confused me mightily. Contrary to most Saturdays when I felt a prickly pain when my parents departed, I sat down on the wall that evening next to our classroom and watched them. I saw my dad, after few kicks, managed to start the bike, and when maami tried to get on it instantly, he slowed her down immediately. She frowned with displeasure, and after few verbal exchanges, she sat behind him reluctantly. Still hesitant, she finally wrapped her hands around his big waist, and together they disappeared into the fog, as if a big pillow of winds had come from Kathmandu to swallow them home.
Once again you let us stroll through memories, rejuvenating those almost fotgotten events. Needless to say that you have proven to be the master of memory lanes yet again!
