Note to my dad:

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Note to my dad: 20 years ago it was in Bagbazaar, Every night I would go to a grocery store, And buy a raksi for my dad. And four, Sikhar churot. Raksi was named GGP, golden grape brandy I did not know what brandy meant? And there was nothing golden about it but it was expensive, It was most expensive bottle in that dukaan Seventy-five rupees, you know? Can you imagine? My dad would drink while listening to the radio We did not have a TV No paintings either to stare Yeah, not even a picture Just a dark curtain and a lone calendar in a color bleach wall I would finish my homework and we would eat, whatever he had cooked Daal, bhaat, and curry; meat when we were lucky It was just me -and -my -father A table and a chair for me to do my homework A bed and a kitchen rack Living room, bedroom and kitchen in one (Yet, he would drink most expensive bottle He had a taste. Now......, I guess) Yet, the room was bigger than palace for us There was a smell of unconditional love in that chair and table It was there to remind us that we would never leave each other Bed was there to remind us of an end that until death, to each other we will depend There was an eternal faith in that kitchen rack Where we would hope to have enough food for us There was no God but it was a heaven to a father and a son I used to sleep next to him Always one hand over his chest I can still feel how it move Up and down while he breathe He would tell me a story then But soon, smell of his sweat, cigarette and brandy, would make me dizzy (I too reek alcohol and cigarette now, may be I want to smell like him, I guess) I would sleep midway through his story And probably he would weave a dream for his son while I was asleep. (I wish I knew his dream, I never knew when he would fall asleep) I would wake up to the sound of kerosene stove burning Tea kettle hissing, pressure cooker whistling Breakfast ready for me on table As I would get ready for school I had to share one toilet of the house with twenty people To save some time, he would shave himself in the kitchen Well, in our room, I must say Looking at a tiny mirror he had and making a sink out of stainless bowl The room would smell like a cheap aftershave but his chin would look clean (I smell aftershave now in the morning, I keep my beard clean, probably I have matured like him) I would leave for school and he for whatever day he had to face Probably to sell his dignity inside Singha Durbar That’s where he used to work, then Now I can picture, Him kissing thousand-asses everyday So he could keep those motherfuckers happy who supposedly gave him a job and not fire him. I can picture him, begging for a raise every month so he could buy his son a new school dress. I knew he never had enough money so he probably thought of robbing a bank too. I can picture him crying then, and it makes me cry now I can picture him giving up Or shooting everyone at Singha Durbar, but he moved on for his dear son Just so he could feed me and pay my tuition And today, after twenty years, I have become just like my Dad, I too see the same fear for my son sleeping on my bed I too weave a dream and shed tears, for dreams differed But, I want you to know this dad that I have always realized what you have done for me And I am very sorry and I apologize..... about your dream dad -Aswin Bhusal

Abhusal · Jan 25, 2013 3:32 PM · 20,762 views

13 Replies

 Kudos Mr. Bhusal,  Very well written. I'll tell you what? I remember that golden grape whiskey too because i used to go to buy it for my dad too. I remember i used to buy a bottle which they called it (Quarter) at that time but i don't remember the cost though. Believe it or not i never liked my dad drinking that brandy or whiskey or whatever that shiiit is but now here i am today drinking the same thing just a different brand, JD or Crown, Patron once in a while if my budget allow me to. My dad didn't work for government but i bet he used to do the same thing that you mentioned so that he can afford me and my brothers education. Boy, took me to those days when i was a kid man.. All i can say is that no matter what mistake you did but i still love you buwa.. 

Karnali Blues · Jan 25, 2013 5:05 PM

 Bhusal Ji, Good poem if this is just a poem. If the story is based on fact, how do you justify your father spending Rs 70 on GGB and another Rs 10 on Cigs everyday when clearly you all were living in a one room (whistling cooker and you waking up in the middle of it). I bet when the quarter of GGB cost Rs 70 your room rent was probably less than Rs 100 per month. Love is one thing but i wonder how you can be proud of him for his habits. After reading your poem, i wish your father had not spent Rs80 daily on booze and cigs and instead of that he had rented two rooms for you to sleep and study better.

sidster · Jan 25, 2013 5:28 PM

rupess 80 daily means , 2400 a month, u said 20 years back , at that time, a secretary has a salry of 5000 if he can spend 2400 on just booze and cigarette, then i dont think your dad and you just lives in one room.

dabanng · Jan 25, 2013 7:19 PM

Our family used to run grocery store. GGB (GGP in nepali tongue) quarter was Rs 65-70ish around 2001. 20 yrs ago Full nai aauthyo hola 75 ma. Daily khane manchhe le quarter (175ml) bhanda full (750 ml) kinda faida hunthyo. Also, quarter is not exactly one fourth of 'full', and used to cost more than 1/4th of what full would cost. Simple math.  Loved to read this!

Janawar · Jan 25, 2013 11:59 PM

i used to remeber  that golden grape brand, hehe 3 grapes as the logo ruslan vodka, shree were the competetiors. 

saileshsingh · Jan 26, 2013 12:07 AM

Can some expert weigh in? Would it still be considered a poem?

Kiddo · Jan 26, 2013 1:35 PM

 I think it's a song. 

riddle · Jan 26, 2013 2:09 PM

 I'm no expert, but this poem looks like what people call "free verse". Emily Dickinson and Walt Whitman write poems in similar styles. Again, I'm no expert. 

annehathaway · Jan 26, 2013 2:21 PM

abhusal, "and I apologize...  about your dream dad" I could not figure out what was the dream of your dad ? Was it buying you a new school dress ?

old jeans · Jan 26, 2013 5:20 PM

A person's feelings can be appreciated just as a piece of writing. Why does it have to be categorized as a poem, story, an essay or something else? [BTW the writer says- It is a Note] What should not be appreciated is - people putting price on someone else's emotions. I loved reading your Note, Abhusal.

sambeg · Jan 26, 2013 5:27 PM

 भुसाल जी,, राम्रो लाग्यो/ धन्यबाद/ 

adhikari_bandhu · Jan 26, 2013 8:20 PM

 For people debating the fact with the fiction, go forward 20 years from now. Things might make more sense for you. Another possibility is that the father of the poet and poet as a father are both the same, one (father of the poet)  lives in the imagination constantly reminding poet (as a father) of the impact his choices might have on his son. Yes poets can cross the toughest mountain in one gasp where no engineers can dig a tunnel. Liked the imagery. Thanks for sharing.

gandharba · Jan 27, 2013 11:04 AM

Guys Seriously? Feel that note, the emotional love and those expression. Just dont count on the money note said spent on whatsoever. It could be fictional but it has a pain that we should all feel. This made realised how much i love my dad and mom.Thanks Aswin. Appreciated.

mikel · Feb 11, 2013 5:42 PM

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Note to my dad:

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