“Where did I come from?“ – ever wondered who would you ask this fundamental question to? I had asked someone this very question once, that too when I was only 3 or 4 years old, not more. It wasn’t philosophy I was interested in then, I just wanted to know where I had come from, and everybody else for that matter. And I had asked this question to my grandfather (my father’s father). I don’t know how I recognised he would be the ideal person to ask this question to, but ask I did, and in his typical no-nonsense way, he replied ”Where else? You came from your mum’s tummy“. He had me wondering then how I got into my mum’s tummy in the first place. He told me to go ask her myself. I don’t remember if I ever did! And this is the incident that came to my mind the moment I knew my grandfather had died, the person who had answered the most fundamental question I could have asked at that tender age. He didn’t tell me that some ”god“ created me or that I was dropped off by some divine power or anything. He simply said what was the truth, I did come from my mum’s tummy, and even pointed to the person whom I could get the whole truth from.
My impression of him stayed the same all through the time I knew him, a hard-working, no-nonsense man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and who told you right at your face what he thought of something. It was that straightforward with him, as far as I saw him from afar, always. I remember a man who was strong even in his 70s to work on the land – hoeing, planting, weeding and what not. He would carry basket-full of grass to feed his cows even at that age. Even surprising was the fact that he had virtually built two separate lives – that of a priest in Pashupathinath, on top of a household man in the village. I remember going to visit him in his room in one of the long residential houses surrounding the Ram Mandir on the eastern bank of Bagmati. All the families (his sons and daughters’ families) would gather at his place there a few times each year during shraddh – of his parents and grandparents. I loved those occasions as a kid, mainly because I could wander all around Pashupatinath, run up and down those paved steps, play marbles on those stone-paved courtyards, and observe visitors of all kinds and colours. I would often walk alone to the other side of the complex, to the Guyeshwori temple area, and sit there lost within my own tiny world (which I would leave for some other day). As a kid, those occasions would be like some excursions away from the village, and knowingly or unknowingly, my grandfather provided that for me, and I was very thankful to him then as I am now.
...on life, and much much more!
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