The last grand parent I had died when I was 4 and I remember nothing about him. Today I see me niece and nephews with their grand parents and I have no idea what it feels like to have someone like them in your life.
27 is the number. I have 27 cousins and then there’s my younger brother. On the hierarchy of my generation, I’m the second youngest amongst my family’s mid generation. To be the youngest was a pleasure. I wasn’t the most mischievous of them and was probably the most loved and pampered one (exception my very own brother). I’ve always wondered what it would like to have old people around. I love stories of people when they say that way back in their times, they could buy a horse with a nickel.
My niece Judy lives in the US and I know she absolutely loves it when her grand mother (my aunt) is with her. She took care of her when she was a kid. She became a part of her life. The word bajje meaning grand mother is something I’ve pretty much never ever used. Nor have I ever used baaje meaning grand father. It’s not their fault that they are gone but I wish they were around. Sometimes I dream of them. Sometimes I dream me being in a strangers laps while my parents look at me with huge smiles. My niece Div have both working parents and it’s the grand parents that took care of the child. They are the ones who tell you tales of ancient history. They are the one who tell you that they are so much like their mother and father. They are the ones who have made their mistakes and pass on the knowledge to children. They are the one to furnish love in our minds and never let hate grow. They have survived a generation and with their grand child, they want to make a difference. I have been heavily influenced by my family members and I would have wanted to learn something from the traditional family line. As a child I was very interested in art. I would have loved to become an artist but I didn’t have the necessary influence from this generation. When it comes to ruining this trait, I blame education.
A grand father of mine was an artist. All I see of him are paintings; art hanging on the walls of an old home in the courtyards of Basantapur. Because of him I see my brothers who are now engineers having a passion of hanging art in their homes. My other grand father was a silver smith. Many of my uncles and brothers are still into it. They work day and night hammering pulps of silver, carving them delicately and adding rare genuine precious stones. Some of them even paint extremely well and they paint thanka which takes expertise in the field of art. They draw with gold dust and write in the traditional newari script.
Guess you know a little bit about how I was supposed to grow up to be but I didn’t. I feel creativity not intelligence to be in my blood. All I do is play guitar but I’ll forever be in awe that I’d rather be an artist than a musician. I’ve missed out on learning the traditional instruments as well cause I stay away from the usual community. But it’s okay. I still live with the fact that I had super awesome grand parents. If a genie gave me three wishes, I’d definitely want to meet then and let them know that I exist. After all, I have the most big wonderful family who love me and pamper me. Even though I’ve missed out on them, I’ll always try to smile when I meet an old man or any of my friends old man. As much as I love kids, I love the old people. 🙂