Dreams from Nepal

Chapter 1

1.
Luxury

Ram had his eyes fixed on the television set for almost ten minutes now. His eyes sparkled as he wondered how all those people fit in that little box. He routinely dreamed of what it would be like to have one of those in their own home. More than the TV itself, he wondered about the lives of people who were in it.

It was just last year that he saw a TV for the first time. Baba had taken him to a neighborhood village for a carnival, where he first saw the magical box. Ram could not believe his eyes as he stared at that little black box with people inside it - people that moved and talked and laughed. He kept looking behind the box to see where all those people were. All Ram wanted to do was sit in front of it and watch and listen to the happy, colorful world of the people inside.

Ram had one pair of clothes which he wore most times. His mother had patched it up in several places. The people in the TV changed into different clothes and ate portions of food he could only imagine. He wanted to live a life like theirs. He wanted to wear clothes like the people on TV did. He wanted to see the places that he saw in that box.

He was deep in his dream world when he heard someone calling his name.

"Ram!" yelled a familiar voice. "We have to finish up the shopping and start heading back to the village before it gets dark."

Ram recognized his father's soft yet stern voice. No matter how lost he was in his dreams, he knew not to ignore Baba. Everyone in the village called their father Ba or Buwa, but Ram never grew out of his childhood habit of calling his father Baba. There was a sense of security he felt when he heard the word. It was like his own special name for his father. He felt like the word embodied his love for his father better than any other.

Ram's life was not the same as a typical twelve-year-old kid's. Ram and his family lived in a small, two-room mud hut in the village of Chandisthan, located at the foothills of the Annapurna Mountains, with the Himalayas just behind it. Most houses in Ram's village were like his - mud with a bamboo roof. Some were painted in bright colors, but most had shades of orange, brown, or red from the mud. It was a modest place to live, but he and his family were modest people.

He went to school for two years some time back, but had to stay home and help Baba after his youngest brother was born. Ram had a large family, but not the largest in their village. He had two brothers and two sisters, all four of them younger than him and each one barely a year and a half apart.

Ram just turned twelve last month. No one remembered his actual birthday. There was no party or elaborate birthday celebration. There was no cake, and certainly no presents. Ama and Baba gave him their blessings and Ama made him his favorite food: rice pudding. Ram loved the rice pudding Ama made. The thick mixture of rice and milk with sprinkles of cashew and raisins and a subtle hint of cardamom and clove was so rich in flavor that he could almost taste it as soon as he laid his eye on it. It had to be a special occasion in Ram's household to justify delicacies like rice pudding or meat.

Ama spent most of her days fetching water and firewood, cooking, cleaning and taking care of the kids. Most hours of the day, she was hunched over the wood stove, baby on her back, coughing, trying to keep the fire going. She looked so small from afar that it was almost difficult to see her in the dark kitchen.

Ama was barely five feet tall and weighed less than one hundred pounds. Ram often watched in disbelief as his mom returned from her morning trip to the nearby woods with a large load of firewood on her back and her baby son strapped to her front. It looked like the doko of firewood she carried on her back weighed as much as her. He could not understand how she had the strength to wake up before dawn and go through the motions of the day.

Regardless of how tired she would be by the time she got back home, he could count on her to smile at him as she put her load down at the front porch. He would always go running to her with a glass of cold water to help her cool down. He would then give her an update on how his younger siblings were doing and when Baba expected to be back for lunch. She loved this about Ram. He was only twelve, but he behaved like an adult. He did not care to run around the village, playing and chasing animals. He preferred to stay at home and help his parents keep an eye on his younger siblings. At least, even if he wanted to be out playing, he was extremely talented at hiding it.

Baba called him again, so Ram turned away from the television and dutifully followed him through the market. He had been looking forward to their annual trip to the market all year; the TV could wait a while longer.

The closest town to his own was Pokhara, a popular tourist mecca for Westerners coming to trek into the Annapurnas. This was where the market was located. There was a vibrant main thoroughfare off the quieter roads that wound around and down to Phewa Lake. On a calm day, Phewa reflected the majestic peak of Mount Machhapuchhre, as well as other mountains in the Annapurna and Dhualagiri Ranges.

The peaks were not new to ram, as having them right in his backyard made them familiar. What made the trip special and what made him look forward to the coveted excursions was a sense of adventure. It was as far as he had ever been from where he grew up, but to Ram, it seemed like another world. Second only to his home village, Pokhara was Ram's favorite place to be.

Together, he and Baba strolled through the market. Stores lined the streets, offering everything imaginable in the way of household goods. Every opportunity Ram got, he tried to talk to the tourists with a big smile on his face. He ran up to them, saying "Hello, Sir" or "Namaste, Miss". He wanted to learn more about their lives and their countries. Every once in a while, a tourist would sit down with him at the tea shop and show him pictures of their country on their phones. Many of them seemed to live like the people in the TV did - like he wanted to. He felt excitement and curiosity as he imagined himself in those places.

There were always tourists, both national and international, around the lake. Ram loved telling the tourists how Machapuchhre was a sacred mountain and no one had ever conquered it. He displayed pride in being able to share local knowledge that the tourists might not be aware of. Ram also loved to accompany his father on their trips to Pokhara, much like this one. He tagged along behind him as he haggled with merchants along the bustling street. There were so many fascinating things to see.

Ram's father never purchased more than the most meager of offerings, but the variety of shiny, strange-looking items kept Ram's eyes wide open and entertained him as they walked along. Also, navigating the regular assortment of cattle that wandered about and took up space for mid-day naps was part of the adventure. A combination of the religions that swirled through this part of the country provided a special approval of the animals, and so they were accepted as part of the surroundings.

The air was fresh and crisp outside, as it always was in the mountain villages. The land in this high altitude was not always fertile and the weather was never predictable, but Ram loved it anyway. He took a breath of the cool mountain air and smiled, lost in thought as they made their way through the village streets.