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Friday, November 22, 2024

Ba! Ba!!

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By Radha Paudel

She followed the waving hand though the glass was quite opaque. 

She was wondering how she would get approval through more than a dozen of checking-ins with stereotyped security people in such a terrible Corona time. Everything a mess! Total mess.

She did not only put the six-month-old prescriptions but also put the license of her credentials for excuses in a dashboard. But…she was not happy at all, nervous…. annoyed….and guilty.

No…no…she was happy. It was a lottery. An absolute lottery. Hum…more than a lottery. Yes, a miracle!

It was unethical indeed. Earlier too, she had gone furious several times at such unethical deeds. Without doubt it was unethical. 

He was still busy, trying to manage other passengers. This could be understood from his responses; no…no… I couldn’t wait till 5 o’clock because there were blockades and rain could continue. There might be blockage for two days as the previous day. The roads and bridges were about to flood away. He got angry and pressed the button: bee porp…neep…euergh…wowp…

Imagine…imagine…!

Ethical…!

What is ethical, who is ethical, to whom is ethical, by whom is ethical? Ethical is everywhere and nowhere. Here nowhere. Nowhere at all. 

Who should be ethical? 

Except for people with technical-background, who understands words like lockdown, isolation, quarantine, virus genome, and so on? Was the government serious for that? What were the preparation for the past two months? Shouldn’t ethics come there? It didn’t come. It didn’t come for people who are always at the bottom. They are at the bottom but they are the foundation for people at the top. Who cares about them? Neither the government nor the top ones. Who work for 16 hours for cheap remuneration, without insurance and incentives? They raised their children, took care of their parents, prepare food for them, welcomed them with smiles and juices. They did the same inside and outside their homes as if they were slaves. As time modernized, slavery also modernized. When the government announced sudden lockdown, a bunch of people starved and went to the brink of dying due to hunger and deprivation of food. Only a fistful people were seen purchasing trucks of foods and filming their acts via social media with super masculine moustaches. Does ethics work? No. These people were motivational speakers for preaching ethics. The government imposed the notion ethics but it didn’t see the other side of the coin of ethics. Could not they be filming abou the distribution of food for their take-carer? Time and again, they filmed a puppy being fed. Shame on them!

She had planned to walk for four days as postnatal mothers walked from Chitwan to Banke or the labourers from Solu to Dhangadi or from Kathmandu to Sunsari. Because it was only one choice for her and them. Landlords asking for rent, children starving, the doors for earning had closed completely, and so on… Where should they go? They chose an option as a Nepali saying goes: ‘better to go mad than die’. They accepted all sorts of challenges like sun, rain, hills, wild animals, administrative hassles, and decided to walk. They are the real inspirational people who chose life instead of death. They are the real rich people who see hope. They are hopes for their siblings, they are hopes for their parents and hopes for the community. In order to give birth to hope, they make sacrifices. They relentlessly work for others. They accept all challenges. They smile even in famine. They accept guns over them. They are ethical indeed. 

*** 

Maria, why didn’t you keep this on the backseat? Were you scared? That was not a case of infection,” she jerked. 

The negotiator might tell her name while giving her contacts as she had his name. Seemed he cooled down but she jerked. 

“No…no…thank you. I need this cushion ring for my back. I had had a accident a few years back. Without this, I have pain; I can’t sit well,” Maria said in response.

He nodded and said, “Oh, this seatbelt did not work. I could not manage time to repair, as I was busy helping people. Often, I travel twice in a day on such an old vehicle.”

Surprisingly, he was polite and humbled. 

“How old is it?” Maria seemed interested.

“It is already more than ten years, donated at the name of my late father when I was working as an employee,” he proudly he shared. His manifestations were not like that of an employee. He looked like its owner—a proud owner.

“Father? Seems your father was popular. What was his name?” Maria enquired. 

“Oh, you hadn’t heard his name yet? It has been written on the body of this vehicle. He was really a big man of his time, a politician in the King’s era and a great social worker.”

 Suddenly, he was in low mood but he kept explaining: “Unfortunately, he died at a very young age. I would become something special if he had lived longer. It was my fate.” He was whispering within himself. 

The road was clean and empty except for a few security personnel at checking-ins and and a few of their trucks m in between. An ambulances and a few motorcycles with a ‘Press’ notice pasted on them were crossing each other in between. There was conversation in between over mobile phones: “How many passengers you had? How much money you earned? Just put on the emergency light, the excavator will allow you to pass through.”

Masks and belt were put on when the check-in points approached. 

A father is special to everyone because of our social structure and culture. The social status of any individual adjoins with the identity of a father. Even today, children are asked: Who is your father? Or,  Whose child are you? No one asks who one’s mother is or what his or her mother’s name is. The mother’s status and name are also associated with her father’s, like ‘Andrew’s wife’ as they say. It is quite difficult to understand the social dynamics and to say how power circumvents with men or father at home, community and beyond. Losing a mother is the deprivation of basic needs at home like not getting adequate and appropriate foods, getting work load, having no permissions to go school or being deprived of opportunities. Such kinds of suffering are usually invisible. The feeling of dehumanization and domination around a home are quite subtle. But losing a father is akin to losing everything. The life at home also gets tough and while social life become even tougher. Pure identity crisis occurs. The survivors who have lost their fathers are not even counted as human beings.  After all, fatherhood is a relationship created by mutual trust whereas relationship with a mother is a universal truth. However, values are created in such a way that the father is everything or seems doing everything even without a mother. This is an outcome of faulty socialization in our society. Indeed, both are equally important for a child.

*** 

“You also heading towards Chitwan for your father, right?” 

She could not reply well. She was full of emotions about her father. In fact, she was about to cry. Maria nodded and whispered, “He is severely sick.” 

He was luckier than any mother or father in the village. He saw all his kids doing well at their fields of choice: teaching, business, engineering, civil service, politics etc. He got opportunities to travel to acouple of countries. He roamed seventy percentages of Nepal except for the eastern mountain districts. He was like a prince—a pampered fellow. He was precious not only for his children but also for his grandchildren and great grandchildren. He was precious for the entire village and his clan too. His determination and willingness kept his health robust and he lived such long life which was not possible for his siblings and contemporary friends. He experienced everything from Rana Regime to Panchayat (King’s direct rule), democracy and federal democracy. He was history. He trekked for months and months for communication and livelihood. 

His friends claimed that he was stubborn but to me he was determined. He did so many things all alone in this village. He was a wise man or a role model for many. He worked proudly in fields along with workers, swept the yard, washed clothes and dishes and did everything that was supposed to be done by women in a gender-stereotyped society. Villagers called him ‘elderly man working like a young woman.’

“What happened? You smiled?” he asked.

“Nothing. I simply recalling the moments with my father. He was really a great man like your father,” Maria replied.

Ting…ting…ting…! Maria’s mobile had a message notification.

“Maria, I am worried that our father is getting serious. He slipped off in the bathroom. I am trying to see him. I don’t not know how could you manage, but if possible, please come home.”

It was a message from his sister.

She had also called her the previous night. Said, “Ba is missing you a lot. He recalled your college days and your leaving of home. He also read your letters couple of times. Usually, he reads at night; so no one could see him crying. He spoke more than an hour over phone; that was all about you. Now, he is losing hope. I never saw such hopeless in him before. He was claiming that he has caught Corona. He cannot walk; he hasn’t eaten anything for a week now. He wants to see all his kids once before dying. He has the feeling that he is dying very soo…”

She snapped the phone. 

Two days ago, another sister had called: “Maria, I heard hospital vehicles are moving with people and supplies. You are not working at any hospital, but you are nurse. Could you check the possibilities of finding any of such vehicles? You might find one to get down home so we could meet Ba together. Let’s make his dream come true. Did you remember what Mother said before her final departure?  Don’t at all hurt your father.”

Some other day, her brother spoke for two hours and that was not usual. He rarely made calls. When he did, it meant something went wrong by serendipity. Like an erratic rain, he spoke: “What are you doing? Is there anything that makes it impossible for you to leave Kathmandu? You know you were so much loved by Ba.”

He smiled and added, “I was the first and you the second chap to receive his love and care. He was talking about you over phone, though I could not figure out who it was. He was so happy when your friends visited him recently. Sometimes, he appreciates and some other time, gets furious with you. You must miss him too. I admit that the transportation is not easy. I can even send my car from here if you ask. First time, he cried while talking about mom who passed way about ten years back.”

She kept listening but in some points Maria was not approving.   

“He was so wise. He was so strong. He was so determined. He as honest. Humm.. his honesty was like the genome of the novel corona virus now.”

 It was very difficult to trust him. It was not a thing anyone else was telling. Maria’s own ear were hearing those things. Poor ears?

Maria was no longer a Hindu, so she did not support the idea of visiting a temple. She did not manage a car to go there. It was a hand-free call. So it was audible from next room too. 

He agreeing without any argument. What a sad thing! It failed.

It was not only one case in point. 

“You know, since your sister stays here, I feel exclude!” She was blaming, shouting all the times in front of the daughter-in-law. 

“I wanted to leave home and like to roaming like a wander. I just was holding for the sake of your prestige!” Maria heard by herself. 

There were phone calls a couple of times every day. Perhaps, they were from the rest of the children, grandchildren, relatives and friends. Because of mobile’s mode and volume, often others could get what those calls were about. 

“She did not do anything except for talking and quarrelling. I would love to do the same if anyone gives food without work. I am working as a like servant for whole day. Neither rain nor bothers me. She was so pinching. I lost my dignity and self-confidence due to her way of talking in front of the rest of the family members.”

“Yes, I yelled a couple of times when Ba did not listen when I asked him not to plastics at home,” Maria replied. “I also disappointed and argued while he was pampering his grandson while asking help for his assignments. Despite a bunch of good things, he had a lot of bad things that sprouted from his toxic manhood. I do understand that he was old, he was a widow, he was sick and he took a fistful of medicine every day. So he needed more love, care and listening. But he had not with Alzheimer’s or dementia or any mental illness where he would fail to articulate things. He remembered everything about his grocery shop. He had managed thousands of calculations for years. He was OK with all clients in his grocery. Indeed, he was in denial with me.”

 Maria was answered. 

“Like a breastfeed baby, he travelled with her in Nepal and aboard. He never lost his confidence while interacting with national and international people even without having any command in English. He imitated a few words immediately and used his gestures for communication. He loved to taste foods and everything. He addressed groups of students, elders, politicians etc. simultaneously and appeared in several radios. He was outstanding Ba for her and for all. But suddenly, what happened to him? He was not accepting her as his child at this age.”

 Maria just broke. 

“Hey, stop crying. I understand it is so painful but nothing will happen to your father, Maria. I will drop at your father’s door no matter what would time it would be. Trust me. No need to cry.”

The non-verbal communication is often more powerful than the verbal one. 

I did not know for a year that Ba was angry with me. I did not understand it at all. 

One day, Janet told me over the phone that Ba was not happy with me. She had visited Ba a few days before, and kept calling him directly since she met him. She met Ba at the time of her father’s death ritual coincidently.  I was shocked and terrified. How had such a situation come about! He was more a  friend to me and less a father. Until before my accident, we shared plates and shared stories everyday over phone, no matter where we were. He laughed while I wished him: “Today is love day; I love you,” on the Valentine’s Day. Likewise, I called him and said, “Hey Ba, happy Mother’s Day! I see your face through the phone. You are my mother too’. He expressed shyness while I hugged him…

Without permission, tears rolled down. Maria tried to console herself. 

“You are so childish, woman. Keep crying,” he shouted. “If your father goes wrong, what can you do? On this planet, we are here for accept everything, but need to try our best till the last moment. I learned so many things after passing away of my father. This is life. You know, women are so soft.” 

Maria stopped crying. But, now, she was hurt more when he said ‘women are so soft’. 

“I am not soft all the time. I am tougher than my Ba when there is a  fight for a cause or integrity. Even I did not hesitate to challenge my seniors by relations or positions. I trust myself more than others. I respect my ethics  more than others; that is why my Ba was disappointed with me. 

“Come on man, how did you know all these stories behind my tears? This is a symbol of my win and loss. I constantly struggle within myself. Sometimes I win and lose some other time. Losing with and for Ba is painful. It was more painful because he changed. I did not know whether he changed because of the shrinking of his brain tissue or of making his brain shrink by someone who were not happy with my deeds. It could be anything but my dear Ba, you are not only killing yourself but are also killing me.”

Maria was talking alone. 

She continued a couple of times: “I was trying to consol. I initiated dialogues alone. I asked for forgiveness with him and with witnesses but he did not speak at all. I was ready to get any punishment and admit my misconduct. I was ready to compensate anything but I wanted to listen from your mouth. You were speaking hours and hours over phone but you were not opening your lips to someone who was begging just in front of you. I am sorry Ba,” Maria said. 

He spoke, “Are you mad or dreaming Maria? What happened? Why did you say sorry? Seems you are thinking too much. Now, we have crossed the landslide-prone area. I can drop your at your father’s home in 30 minutes. I bet.”

Maria smiled and nodded in gratitude. 

She was staring straight, controlling her head, holding on the roof with her left hand and holding her ring cushion by the right. She neither at nor drank anything nor talked on the journey. She manifested anxiety and checked time on her mobile from time to time. 

“It has been four times Ba has rejected me. Would he accept me as his child? Will he call me his daughter? Who would be there with Ba? Could he be conscious? Where could he be now: hospital or home? How should I confirm his status?”

 Maria had so many questions on her mind about her father.

‘Wish I could hug him, kiss him, play with him…’ Maria was thinking as before. 

“I paid such high rent even for a returning ambulance…I did it for Ba. I was unethical to Ba. That’s my mistake,” said Maria. 

She was worried about the status of her father. She had not had big wishes, just longed for a single ‘yes’ from his father for her. 

It was quite dark. It was raining too. 

The ambulance stopped at the entrance of the house. Maria was more nervous than before.

“Wow, what a pleasant surprise” said Maria’s ten year old nephew Nil standing outside the ambulance door, and said, “Namaste Aunt Maria!” 

Maria had a short conversation with him to indirectly lean about the status of her father. Nil briefly updated her and guided her the place where her father was sitting. He was on a bed wrapped in a blanket, and looking out through the window. 

‘He might search for me,’ thought Maria. She was thrilled to see him. He was not only alive but also sitting and talking with daughter-in-law.

But Ba neither turned around to look at her, nor spoke a word while Maria kept calling: “Ba! Ba!!”

[Radha Paudel (MDM, MA, MEd, BN)  is a health worker, public heath activist and a writer. She basically works for dignified menstruation, women’s representation in politics, peace building and alleviation of gender-based violence. Author of Apabitra Ragat, Dignified Menstruation, Shantika Pailaharu and Khalangama Hamla, her last named book was awarded with Madan Puraskar, the most dignified literary award in Nepal.]

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