“Bidish Acharya!” the airline staff called my name from the counter across the coffee shop, where I was calmly slurping the last sips of my Iced Americano. I approached him as if in a hurry. He scissored my boarding pass along the dotted line, and I was ready to board.
I made my way to the plane bound for Kathmandu, and suddenly it all felt real. I was going home after a year and a half. It would be my first Dashain with family in three years. I was excited, no more or less than I would be on the happiest days of my life.
Since my hope of getting a free upgrade to Business class did not materialise, I was content to get an aisle seat where I could stretch my sleepy legs as wide as I wanted. Beside me was a man who appeared to be in his early forties but looked fit enough to make me wonder if he was older than he looked.
Next to him was an older woman in traditional Nepali attire who looked to be over sixty. They were talking about the development crisis in Nepal, as many Nepalis living abroad invincibly do. As I was late to the seat, I tried to peek in as if I was ready to greet them when they had finished talking but distanced enough to seem like I was not trying too hard. I hate these situations.
After a few minutes, the man finally asked if I was visiting home and where I was coming from. I followed suit. Then, silence. Just as I was forming a question in my head, the lady spoke, and they resumed their conversation. I felt uncomfortable again.
As their discussion started to fade, they began looking at me while speaking, as if to say that I was invited into the conversation. I joined in with an opinion that was ready to bend if they felt otherwise. The lady was returning from the USA and had a lot to say about what was going wrong in Nepal. I was impressed how her thoughts were fit for the modern advancement of the world.
She had a daughter in the USA, who was married and had kids. The man worked in Doha and was going home for Dashain. His son also lived in Australia and was on his way to settling there. I was a student in my late twenties, so directionally challenged that I had to keep bending my opinion, just so I did not have to explain much. I did that for the rest of our conversation to prevent myself from being scrutinised.
Listening to their stories was so commonplace that it’s the story of almost every household in Nepal. “Where are your children?”, “Oh, USA! My son is in Australia, he has Permanent Residence and is on his way to becoming a citizen”, “My daughter just married a Permanent Resident in Canada”, “My Son works in IT in a big company in the USA and makes a lot of money”, and on it goes.
Lost in the echoes of these pretentious social standards are the humble gratefulness of parents, who say, “This year he sent 40,000 rupees to manage the expenses of Dashain. But I wish he would come back home and stop working in the high heat of Dubai”, “We had food to eat, why did she have to struggle for money in Romania? We had little but we were happy as a family”, or a painful plea, like “I don’t understand why he is so fixated on going to the USA through the illegal route, they say it involves weeks of walking in forests and deserts. We could have managed with what we have, there’s no point risking his life.”
The latter part is something that I recently got to know. So many people have died taking this dreaded route in the hopes of improving the lives of their families. I still cannot comprehend why someone would risk their life for perceived success and money. But then again, I remind myself that I cannot question someone’s decision without having walked in their shoes, and the exact lengths of their lives.
As I was close to dozing off in my thoughts, I was brought back to the flight by a flight attendant’s question regarding what I wanted to eat for dinner (Or was it lunch? I don’t remember). I asked what the options were; she gave me two options but as soon as I heard Biryani and fish, I ordered that. People say I can’t make firm decisions, but I guess what they mean is I cannot timely weigh between the two like-to-like options.
Biryani and fish instantly stood out for me as I wanted something with rice and a less fatty source of protein. I was in the glee of making a firm decision as if it would show them. The food was average, which translates to “good” on long-distance flights. I turned to the tiny screen box in front of me for some in-flight entertainment.
I watched the movie “If”, an animated drama about kids and their imaginary friends. You could say it’s a good enough movie to help you pass the unforgiving flight time if anybody asked. Four hours had passed; two more to go. My row partner was already sleeping peacefully. His leg was pushing mine and every time I tried to take my legs away, he seemed happy to stretch his legs even further.
This repeated a few more times until I found myself with less space than I had in the first place but still had to deal with his encroaching leg. I often tell myself to be bold in these situations, yet somehow, it always seems like a bad idea when the time comes to act on it.
I was feeling sleepy, but I resisted the urge. I hate the feeling of waking up constantly and still pushing through until I cannot take the pain in my neck anymore. Anyway, I don’t think you sleep on a flight by plan – you fall asleep without knowing. So, as I tried to keep myself awake, my thoughts started drifting toward Kathmandu. I started wondering how the city might have turned out now.
Normally, I would not have given much thought to it because the city had always remained in the hands of a foul guardian. But with the bold presence of Mayor Balen and his good works, I was looking forward to seeing Kathmandu. No vehicles are allowed inside Basantapur Durbar Square and the expansion of footpaths all over Kathmandu seemed like great news to someone who loves walking. It would be annoying to follow a footpath and end up in someone’s private courtyard.
It was either the captain’s message to prepare for landing or the flight attendant’s request to fasten the seatbelt that interrupted my sleep. Forcefully, I sit straight while rubbing my eyes. I tore the packet of a tiny wet towel that I had saved for this exact occasion and brushed it on my face to wake myself up.
I saw people trying to capture the big landscapes that were visible from the windows. I craned my neck to peek in and I was surprised to see how grand the landscapes were. It felt as if I had not seen anything like it before. My mind drifted again to ask myself why I was shocked to see landscapes that I had seen way many times in the past and even climbed some of them. I shut that voice and started organizing the bits and pieces to make my job easier while boarding out.
It was time for another brief interaction with my cabin companions as we were almost touching down in Kathmandu. The lady had her relative coming to pick her up while the man had to take another flight in 3 hours to reach his hometown. I fed my fearful ego, thankful that I didn’t have to take flights in Nepal, as I’m paralyzed by the almost patterned series of yearly flight accidents.
Not long after, the plane landed smoothly and as soon as it did, the people started rushing to grab their bags and head towards the door without waiting for instructions. The corridor was jammed in no time as if it was trying to say, “Welcome to Nepal!”
