“This year too, son, I am
very happy. You have come to meet us,” my father told me as he pulled his chair
and sat next to me.
We were sitting in the porch
of our house in my village, Chuzagang, Gelephu. It is attached right in front
of the house and has been my favorite place to be especially in the evening
like this. But before, during my childhood, I used sit here with textbooks and
read; sometimes, do painting.
As my father and I talked,
the daylight gradually started to grow weaker and weaker. And as usual, the
most spectacular thing happened - the sun turned golden, so were the sky and
plain. This is the best thing that my village offers and as always, I watched
it, awestruck.
In a while, my mother came
with tea for us. As she placed the tea cups in our table, she too pulled a
chair and sat with us. So the evening breeze started blowing gently exuding the
fragrance of flowers that my mother planted around the porch, we continued talking
about farmland and rice cultivation.
My mother agreed with
father, “We are expecting better harvest this year. Despite untimely monsoon
rain, the paddy so far bearing grains well.”
Our conversation has been
momentarily distracted by my two nephews who ran in and around the porch
chasing fireflies following its trailing light. To tell you that so much of my
nephews reminds me of my childhood because this is exactly what I used to do when
young.
So to add more, the evening
came alive with so many activities; it is the most happening time of the day. The
farmers returning homes after work. Loud music blaring from radios. The
last meal of the day cooking. Cattle and chicken retreating to their
shelters.
Amidst all this, I was
simply enjoying this beautiful moment of sitting together and being part of my
parents’ life and talking long about their works and life. The more I listened
to them did I hear their aspirations, brave hearts and sacrifices. It brought
my parents so close to my heart, and the joy that I get from this particular
closeness is truly blessing.
However, deep inside me,
that moment, something very strange started to prick me hard and I nearly
cried. It’s guilt – the guilt that I didn’t put enough effort to visit my
parents in the past and spend time with them. My excuse was that I was busy with
my works in Thimphu; in fact, I was always charging forward and constantly
looking for a life that I wanted.
So fast, like in minutes, the
evening turned into complete darkness.
“Ah, the winter is finally
here. It’s getting dark very fast and the days becoming shorter, colder,” my
mother reckoned the season, holding her hands.
My father looked at her and
nodded. Then he turned his gaze at me. I smiled at him; then he smiled too. Instantly,
my mother’s face glowed in all smile in reassurance.
The darkness engulfed the
entire village, and the number of fireflies increased significantly. They streamed
around, their fire glowing mesmerizingly. My nephews were still chasing the fireflies and collecting in bottles.
I joined them, my heart glowing with sheer joy and contentment like the
fireflies after a long sleep.
I know, with utter
certainty, the fireflies will go back to sleep the next sunrise. Oh, may I
trust the fireflies? I mustn’t. This glow, this light and this warmth in my heart
will remain for my parents, for ever.
Dear readers, have a
wonderful diwali!
Courtesy: 2nd picture from google
