Watch, my love

I have now lost the bands of my first ever wrist watch. My first watch was pink, had red buttons and digital display. I had to adjust the pin to the first hole on the wrist to prevent the watch from sliding out of my wrist like the gold painted bangles my mum bought for me. Now my wrists are way too big for them and I have grown less fond of bangles since I outgrew them.

It was years later that I started wearing my mum's watch. I liked how the aluminum felt cool against my right wrist. I loved how in this watch, I could see the second hand moving and tic-toc sound it made. Most days, I concentrated on that sound to practice my breathing when things weren't good. The tiny labels of the watch were a contrast against the black painted at the base. Mum had recently stopped wearing the watch and had placed it with millions of her poteys, decorated as an artifact in this ancient wooden, black painted cupboard at home. It was probably in one of the whimsical afternoons that I'd told mum that I wanted to wear it. Daddy had gotten it re-polished and adjusted to fit my wrist. I vaguely remember my mum's small smile when she saw it on my wrist for the first time.

Fast forward to the tenth grade on Valentine's afternoon, and I am out with Daddy for an eye check-up. He and I spent the waiting time looking at the fish in the aquarium. Once we're done with my eye check-up, Daddy tells me he thinks he should get me an aquarium because I looked really happy looking at the fish. A few blocks later, he takes a right turn and takes my to the lane outside Bishal Bazaar. "Aja Naanu lai euta gift kinnu parla," he said as he took me to a watch shop. We pick a watch with an oval, almost rectangular face- with tiny diamond like pieces on the dial. It reminds me a lot of my mum's watch- only a slimmer band and tiny crystal pieces. I remember being happier wearing the watch on my hand and carrying a bag of four gold fish as we walked home with a new aquarium.

Three years back, on one fine, happy day I had good food and good people around me. I even had a major fangirl moment when I met Rohit John Chhetri that day and he said that he remembered me from the radio show. However, I lost the watch that day. I didn't even realise how weightless my wrist felt until it was time for me to get back home. I retraced all of my steps from Jhamsikhel to Jawalakhel twice, looked under a huge role of cables and asked pedestrians and shopkeepers if they had seen it anywhere... But it was all in vain. I never got my watch back again and my wrist has been empty ever since.

Even today as I walk past the watch shop at New Road, I feel a tiny tug at my heart. Every payday tells me if I went out today and got myself a new wrist watch, noone at home would whine about it. Mum would probably ask me how much I paid for it and then say "ramro cha la ramro cha"... Daddy would probably ask me where I bought it from and then remind me about the watch I lost. Dai would say "thik cha". All would be good, I guess. But some days, I also feel like my mum's watch is accusing me from behind the glassy doors of the cabinet. And there is a bigger part of me that somehow feels guilty for having lost the watch three years back.

Oh, watch, my love, I miss you dearly.

Oh, watch, my love, I miss you dearly.