Those were the days when Dashain was a huge source of heavenly joy. Children who grew up during the 1990s had fewer material means of entertainment compared with those born and raised in later periods. Nonetheless, we had joyous moments that came with the arrival of Dashain. We enjoyed a long school holiday. The visit to our native villages and the feeling of getting together with our grandparents and cousins put us on cloud nine, thanks to the joint family and purity of village life.
For those of us who studied in Kathmandu, Dashain was one of the much-awaited festivals of the year. It used to start before it really commenced. And getting back home was a thrilling adventure in itself. In those years, travelling wasn’t that easy. There were no convenient modes of transport that would take us directly to our doorstep. The journey from Kathmandu to Dhading Besi by bus and Dhading Besi to Khaniyabas on foot took the whole day, an indispensable part of our childhood days. We had travelled on the tortuous path and over the hills and carried our possessions and dreamt of the time we would reach at last. Though our legs may have been tired, our hearts leapt in happiness. Nothing can give a better relief than reaching back home after such a long journey and knowing that tomorrow brings more occasions for fun and frolic.
Preparations
The preparations for Dashain began long before it greeted us. Our grandparents had their own unique way of welcoming it. They would prepare the house by cleaning it and making the walls and floor covered with red mud and white kamero. It looked like the whole house was transformed into something very new and refreshing. The smell of damp soil, clean courtyard, and traditional kitchen all contributed to making us feel very peaceful.
Hajurba (grandfather) would make the traditional linge ping (swing) using babiyo ko dori, and we eagerly awaited its completion. Once the swing was set up, the courtyard and surrounding areas would reverberate with four of us (siblings) giggles, happy yells, and disputes about who should take a turn.
We could feel that we almost reached the sky as we swung higher and higher. The excitement, the rush of the wind against our cheeks, and the free laughter of our siblings and cousins made these moments memorable.
One such memory that tugs at my heart all the more today is the way Hajurba prepared the goat for Dashain meat. He lovingly used to arrange meat for his grandchildren to have their favourite treats. Hajurba was himself a vegetarian, but he derived pleasure from the sight of us enjoying it. The festive dish was our treat, while for him the actual feast may have been us eating with joy around him.
Then came the day which we all looked forward to: dakshina! There is no way one can explain the happiness of getting a few rupees from their elders. Visiting Mama (maternal uncle) at the mamaghar along with my mother marked another exciting activity.
Our joy knew no bounds when Mama would provide us with a hundred-rupee note. In fact, amidst all those tika and blessings, this note felt like a fortune in those tiny hands. We would count each and every note and coin and, at times, would count them multiple times to relish the feeling of having money of our own.
We would think about how we could use it to buy our necessities, stationery or anything else that we desired. Saving money became a matter of pride, and spending was an act to be considered carefully.
We realised the importance of money through such experiences without anyone having to teach us a lesson. It is easier for us to buy anything these days, but we find it hard to explain to someone who has not experienced it the same way we did the happiness of holding some rupees as blessings.
It had nothing to do with the quantity. It was all about the joy of having something of our own, the trust put in us to spend it sensibly, and the love that came with every blessing.
Wonderful experience
Receiving Tika and Jamara was yet another wonderful experience. We would sit before our elders, bow down to accept their blessings, and run back to be with our siblings and cousins. The forehead was marked by tika, and the ears and hair by jamara. Those blessings might have sounded like the same old words to us, but now we know how lucky we were to have so many loving elders blessing us. And just as we were getting over the happiness of Dashain, Tihar would be coming our way soon enough. The courtyard would gradually turn into a place of blooming flowers, specifically marigold flowers, which would bring freshness back to our house in the village. All the flowers, the very familiar courtyard, and the preparation for another festival would make us feel like our surroundings were magical again. We would wait for the days to go by and experience the happiness Tihar would bring along. Those days, the festivals would come one after the other as different chapters of a good book, and childhood bliss would be endless.
Perhaps the best thing about growing up in the village was that happiness was never difficult. We did not require a perfect picture to cherish the moment or expensive presents to make us happy. We had our muddy paths, courtyards, homemade food, and flowers in our garden, cousins to play with, and grandparents to protect us. We were surrounded by ordinary objects that were turning into something magical without us knowing it. We did not know at the time that the days which we hoped would go by faster would be the days we would do anything to relive. We did not know that the old house, the swing, the celebrations, and the voices of our elders would one day become precious memories that we could revisit only through recollection. And now, as another Dashain festival approaches, my heart is filled with sadness because I lost my dear Hajurba just three months ago. Dashain will never feel quite the same without my dearest Hajurba.
(The author is a Sub-editor at The Rising Nepal.)
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