Dashain Dakshina

Papa and I have been walking partners for a long, long time now. Maybe having no means of transport at home pushed us together to take long walks. Nonetheless, we have both enjoyed each others’ company while walking. Both being non-conversationalists, our walks are often silent. We both keeping walking on long roads and murmur little somethings along the way but we never have long conversations. It is easier for us, however, to rant about random things. Papa sometimes tells me of how Mum always says one thing or the other to bother him. Sometimes, Papa tells me fondly of how he used to steal honey as a child and eat it to his heart’s content. Also, there are days when Papa tells me how it is getting a bit hard for him because of all the expenses that need to be covered. Also, on some days he tells me how he’d love it really well if either me or my brother learnt how to ride a scooter. At that I’d argue back: “But then, we’d rarely walk and I’d hate it, Papa.” He’d just smile and say,”Well that’s true too. At least to some extent. But a scooter really wouldn’t hurt, would it?” 

I know that now Papa has a lot of trouble walking. His health isn’t as good as it used to be back when I was ten and he would carry me on his back after he returned home from work. Now, though, because of a nervous condition on his back, our walks have shortened terribly and back rides are out of question. Nevertheless, we walk sometimes. The walks are short- just around the block while we shop for groceries. But not just the distance, our talks have also shortened. Now, I spend most of my days outside of home and he spends a majority of his time at home. Papa listens to while I tell him stories about how my friends at work keep me happy and make me feel at ease. I also tell him about how I enjoyed writing and how it makes me feel brave and good. Papa tells me he is happy that I write. Also, he tells me I should set a target of completing a certain number of writings every month. But my writer’s blocks are terrible. They hurt me immensely and on days when I am unable to write, I am not me. I don’t tell him all this. Papa also doesn’t ask me if I met my targets, like I said- we are both not big conversationalists. 

I am big time daddy’s girl. I have always been. But this past year, Papa and I had a lot of disagreements and disappointments towards one another. A part of me knows that he was mad at me for not being the good daughter I was. I know now that I wasn’t good because I was hurt that things between Papa and me were not the same anymore. A majority of which I blamed on “growing up” and on our shortened time together. But because we both never said that out loud, we just got farther apart through the months. While Dashain and Tihar came and went, Papa and I just argued and got distant- angry and hurt tears on both ends. Papa gave me one 50 rupees note this Dashain and just silently marked my forehead with the red tika. And this was only after Mum argued with both of us for hours. I just took the crisp note exactly how Papa folded it and kept it inside my pen holder, careful not to change a crease on it. 

Months have gone by now. Things are a bit different. We are now pretty close to how we used to be before. Papa takes me on little walks now, asks me how my day went and also keeps reminding me I have to study and not just work. On some days, I tell him about my day in all gory details and on some days, I just sit close to him near the heater or lie down next to him in bed and try to calm my nerves. Papa understands and doesn’t bother with talks on those days and neither do I. On some days, Papa comes near Basantapur and gives me a call at 5 o’clock to ask if I’d like to walk home with him. I call him back once I am done at work and then walk from Gyaneswor to Basantapur listening to songs, all eager for the walk home with Papa. 

That 50 rupees note is still as it was when Papa gave it to me - the creases are the same and so are the red tika marks at its corners. I haven’t told Papa about how scared I was that the note he gave me would be the last dakshina I’d ever receive from him. I probably won’t tell him. Because that’s exactly how we are.