Slow and Steady

I have always enjoyed walking. My father has been my walking buddy long before I learnt how to walk. We have pictures in our photo album of my father taking me to temples- with me all dolled up, high in his arms. I have some vague memories of going to mamaghar as he walked around carrying me on his shoulders. Now, it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed- the city is different, my dad and I have grown up and old. But that's just how it is.

These days, I find myself wanting to walk longer distances even when I have had a long tiring day. Thinking of this now, I remember days, years back, when my dad used to get home late at night after work. He'd always said he walked home from work. Even when his office was in Patan or when he was transferred to Baneshwor. Dad would say he left work on foot, went around Nardevi, Ason and walked all the way home. Most days, he'd have some sort of bakery with him. "It's tomorrow lunch for you and your brother!" he'd say. "I found this place that makes really delicious Yomari. I brought some with me. Come, let's try!" he'd holler on some evenings. Now, I have become so much like him when it comes to this. I take the long road home on foot on most days. Even on days when I whine all the way home, I have my playlist on as I trace the way home on foot. 

This evening, my father and I went for a quick grocery shopping. As we scanned through the scarce vegetable options available in the market I suddenly recalled the last time we were here together. It was months back. That time, he'd told me about how he worried he was because people kept recommending him to get a walking stick. He bought one, yes. But at home, we knew all too well to see how much he hated carrying that thing around. It just sits behind our door now. 

My father frequents this area often to buy all our vegetables. On evenings, when he's getting back from some work or the other, he chooses to get off the bus here at Kuleshwor and walk the longer road home just so he can get us some greens on the way. Today, we were hunting down some tomatoes and the likes when a vendor said, "Your back hurts. You don't need to bend over to pick out tomatoes. I'll just pack them for you."

Talking about the changes in the city, the roads are busier now. There's a bigger rush now. But my father's reflexes aren't as quick now. "You walk on this side of the road, please," I tell my father as I veer him away from the road, pushing him closer to the street-side vendors. By now, my right wrist has started hurting a little- father needs more support than he thinks he does. My right arm feels a little too stiff because of the weird angle I'd had to keep through the walk here. But it's okay. Because in afternoons like these when I am with dad, I am at ease. There's no rush. I am not worried about the bus to college. I am not anxious to get back home before my mum agitatedly starts calling me every minute. I am not worried about the traffic. I don't fret about the long, tiring day I have ahead of me or drained because of the one I had. Surprisingly, I am also not hungry. I am not rushing when I am in these walks with father. 

We are both slow and steady. We've got no race to win. Just, slow and steady.

Yes, dad does whine about this and that, mum, college and work and I occasionally hum the tune of the last song I heard- these walks are special. And once in a blue moon, I wonder if our slow and steady walks are really just a race against the reality of time, change and life... Because someday, we won't have this. But for now, even if it takes me an hour to cover a distance this short, I will take it over anything else. Because I am not in a rush and neither is dad.