Grandmother

I called the farm today.

I mean, by telephone, using a calling card — not this Skype/Facetime business because they still have a landline and well, internet is expensive. Not many people know what I did in Nepal last year, when I was living in the farm. I have commented, I lived a fairly simple life, slept, ate a lot of rice, just lived really.

But I guess, it has been the only place in the world I have ever really felt at home. So this farm, where is it?

The farm is in Urlabari, Morang district in Nepal. I was going to add a map but that seems too geeky to do at 2:37 am. The perks of sleeping by 7pm because of a migraine (too much rice probably). It’s a farm my late grandfather built with his eldest son, it’s where my grandparents lived, my mum, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my cousin’s kids, a lot of goats, cows, buffalos, pigs, chickens, lots of coconuts, mangos, some other exotic fruits that costs way too much in the U.K.

I had my first drive here, sitting on my dad’s lap, he let me steer the wheel, my first beer thanks to my grandma (Maam), my first crush, my first coconut, my first watermelon, mango, goat (traumatic but yummy) when I decided not to eat meat because I made friends with the chickens. A lot of firsts. I think this was just the place I felt most loved. By my grandmother, whose voice I can hardly remember today but gosh, she was so beautiful. She just made me understand what love meant, unconditional love. When she could walk, she had me on her back, nicely wrapped while she worked in the fields, probably planting rice (WE HAVE RICE FARM YO) #trueAsians.

She always gave me the little money she had, to buy sweets. She always held my hands, my little hands in her big hands. She always smiled at me and looked so proud. I think I miss her more than I could possibly miss anyone in the world. I’m crying right now and I honestly just wish we could have gotten one last time to hold each other. The truth is, I never got to see her again since the age of 7. I heard her voice till I was 15 and then she was just gone. She just passed away. She lived and she died. I just wished there was more time for us but doesn’t everyone?

So in the farm, she helped build with her husband for her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren is where I went to. I can’t truly explain how safe this place makes me feel, or loved, or just wanted but if you have a place like that in the world — you get it right?

I woke up as the rooster made some horrendous noise, I woke up again when the cows mooed, I woke up when my cousin asked if I was waking up for tea (I went straight back to sleep). I walked, I drank a lot of tea, I milked the cow, pulled water out of the ground for laundry and for the animals, said hello to the chickens, carried grass for the cows and goats, played with the baby goats, got really good at taking Papayas down, figured out how to cook in a mud kitchen (open fire) I even learned how to make moonshine (best life lesson).

I taught the little English I know to my cousins, they taught me proper Nepali words that I don’t remember anymore. I even gave revision lessons to the 16+ who were having their exams and learned more about organic farming than I thought was possible. Oh and I became a vegetarian because well, I made friends with all the animals and the pig got to live, no matter how smelly he was.

I didn’t have much, at this point, I still had not been paid my final salary and I’m pretty sure my savings were still in a bond. I had some clothes, a lot of rice and family. I did not have hot water or electricity most of the time but I had rice and tea. I had more than loving family to say hello to every morning and baby goats. My parents called every once in a while to check in, they also wondered what I was doing with my life. Also they left me to look after their house project — building in Nepal takes patience and money. Just money really. I learnt that if you are a woman, even with money, no matter how educated — first they will wonder why you aren’t married, secondly, what you have to say does not mean shit without a husband or father present, thirdly, they just don’t give two fucks unless you stop paying them.

I listened to the village gossip, I listened to my little cousin talk about how hard life with exams and not knowing if he’ll pass (he did). He told me about his dreams and hopes for his future. I listened to his sister, who by far is one of the most witty individuals I’ve ever come across. She told me about how she would like to travel like I do, just travel freely without worrying about her safety or judgement because she was born female in a country that is ruled by men (no matter who is in government currently). I listened to the woes of my cousin and his wife, about farming, about life, about the future they cannot predict (farming yo, it’s hard). But surprisingly, as little as we all had together, we had more than most people in the world.

We all shared laughter, love, rice (it’s important) just this undeniable bond of life. As tiring as each day was, in the 30+ heat, we still sat together everyday and ate a lot of rice and laughed about life. Every time I eat rice, (everyday) I think of them. I think of all the times I had with my grandparents (not nearly enough) the steps I took in that farm since I was born, the farm land they helped shape the village and now the house that I can sort of claim that’s mine and I helped build.

I guess, as my mind was a mess and my will to live deteriorated, it was the place that saved me. I knew, it was the only place that could give me some sort of peace. Without judgement, without wanting anything from me back, just this blissful land of love. Her spirit was everywhere and I drowned in her love. I wondered, what she would think of me today. I wondered if she would be proud of who I have become. Would she recognise me? That little baby she carried on her back? The little hands she used to hold? Would she understand my Nepali that apparently sounds a little funny? I don’t wonder if she would accept me or love me the same. Funnily enough, I just know that she would, because I’m hers and she’s mine and that would never change.

Can you imagine? That kind of love?

I hope you can give that to someone like she did. She saved me. She always saves me. From myself. From the world. From anyone who has hurt me in ways that is far too evil to speak of. She just loved me and it was enough. It was more than enough, for this lifetime.

Love is love. No matter how temporary we are, love lives on. She lives on, in me and well, I’m more thankful for this than rice.