A MAN WHO WASN'T THERE I stared at the big poster of Saibaba deftly pasted on my wall for few seconds, his afroesque coiffeur never made any sense to me, if I were him I’d get myself a nice haircut, but maybe his PR manager advised against it, maybe it makes him look more potent or more authoritative or formidable; heck I do not know. I turned around and looked at my father. “Did she throw the poster of Sharon Stone away?” I had a picture of Sharon Stone holding a Virginia Slim in the place where Saibaba’s picture was now glued. “No, your brother rolled it and placed it somewhere in his room.” My father replied. “And Where do I sleep?” “You can sleep with your brother, we have put a small cot at one corner and your mother had ordered a nice mattress while you were away, it seems comfortable” “How long is she going to stay here?” “I do not know. Listen she is 75, and she now wants to visit Bagalamukhi every Thursday and it is closer from here, that is why she stayed with us even though she could have stayed with her sons in Kalimati. I couldn’t say no, she is the only person left in our family who is that old” I felt bad for a second; my father was indeed right, my righteousness and compassion had suddenly escaped me when I saw his seventy-five year old aunt from Biratnagar occupy my room in my absence.  I had returned from India after engineering and was all set to leave for United States in a month and in the meantime I wanted to spend my time in my bedroom as much as possible. My room was my prized possession, a coveted place in the entire house, the big windows opened up to welcome a warm sunlight every morning making the lime green paint on the walls glow more. Moreover, it had a tiny terrace where I’d go sit at night watching the stars drinking beer and smoking cigarette without anyone’s knowledge. “….and I was expecting a spicy khasi ko masu” I bemoaned at the dining table that evening looking at fried potatoes and pumpkin curry. “Mom, I respect her all the same, but her plan of making us all vegetarian would simply not work.” “Here….” My dad, appearing a little frustrated, reached for his wallet and handed me two five hundred rupees bill. “You can go eat momos all you want, but as long as she is here, I do not want us to disrespect her by bringing meat into the kitchen”  _____________________________________________________________________________________ “Nice bicycle” he smiled. “Uh…thanks” I smiled back embarrassed, also a little surprised to be complimented by a complete stranger. He wore a plaid shirt with faded jeans and neat looking sneakers and was leaning against the Thapathali bridge in the sidewalk. “I do not see people ride bicycle these days, like the ones you have, almost everyone rides a motorbike” “Well, this is my way of working out since I am not joining any gym for few months. I took out this old Mustang MTB from our garage, repaired it and made it in use while I am here” I had lied; I didn’t tell him the entire story. I had a fight with my brother few days ago over motorcycle and since my dad wasn’t comfortable letting me drive his car, I had no other choice but to repair an old bike and make it to use. Further, I had heard somewhere that riding bicycle toned glute muscles and I thought I had suddenly found a remedy for my skinny backside. “Do you live in Thapathali?” He asked. “No I do not, I live in Jawalakhel, but I come to Tripureshwar often to eat at that restaurant that offers great tandoori chicken” “I am Mukul, pleasure meeting you” We shook hands. I leaned against the bridge and peered at the setting sun, despite the filth of Bagmati river the ruddy hues of dusk was still an unmatched spectacle. Mukul and I then talked briefly about schools and careers and how I was nervous going to the grad school in America. He admitted he had to take a break from studies for personal reasons. “Care for a cigarette?” I extended an open pack of surya towards him. “No thanks I do not smoke but I wish I did.” He smiled, looking at a group of young girls who walked past us. They were all looking at me, one girl even turned around and stared. “Do girls still believe every guy who smokes is a bad person?” I laughed. “Yes maybe, maybe they still believe cigarette is the only evil that kills you. I mean, you could get hit by a car while riding a motorcycle in this frenzied traffic in Thapathali but sadly no one underscores the need of safe driving” He sounded grim. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “I had no other choice but to say goodbye to her, she lives in Himachal Pradesh, I am from Kathmandu, I didn’t see us being together possible, also I am leaving for America in three weeks, I have an entire life ahead of me” I tried not to sound emotional. He looked at me for a long time, noticeably saddened at something I had mentioned. And I, for once thought if confiding in him about dumping Shweta was a mistake. She was one of the most beautiful girls in my engineering school, and even though she never told me explicitly about how much she loved me, her fondness and care for me required no words. She had waited on me all night when I was admitted in the hospital with Typhoid before spring midterm, she also had made some homespun ‘achar’ for my mother while I was visiting Nepal on summer vacation last year, actually once on her way back from Delhi she had purchased a sherwani for me which fit like a glove even when she didn’t even have the measurements of my body. I suddenly had a lump in my throat thinking about her. So what if my mom had put her foot down against me marrying a girl from India, I still should’ve mustered enough courage to go against her words. Career was the last thing on my mind when I left her on the train station crying, I just feared my mother. “I am sorry if it offended you Mukul, believe me, I am not proud of what I did to her” I almost choked. “No..No” He shook his head “I am not offended at all, believe me, I empathize you, we all have our own perspectives, the reason I am sad is I had to leave my girlfriend like you did, and it haunts me all the time” “Seriously?” I never thought a meek looking personality in Mukul which emanated a ‘good-boy’ vibe from every pore of his body would be cruel enough to dump his girlfriend. “If you are so remorseful, you could always go back to her, if she truly liked you and is not seeing anyone else I am sure she’d forgive you” I felt awkward counseling him in the capacity of being an ethical lover when I had already failed miserably. “You wouldn’t understand” He said as our eyes met for a long time. I could see a lot of pain. “BUMP” A tall man shoved Mukul aside as we were walking down the bridge, and walked away with absolute indifference. “F*%king idiot” I yelled “Are you blind?” “Relax”, Mukul laughed, “tiny guys like me are often trounced by many, size does matter, at least when it comes to beating a small guy” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Again, what happened?” I squinted as I asked Govind, the little boy who worked for us. Govind narrated again, apparently two vultures landed on our rooftop and stayed there for good fifteen minutes until he threw stones at them and drove them away. But that was not the end of the story, he was wise enough to narrate the entire story to my father’s aunt who evidently threw a fit and called upon a “pundit” to perform “rudri-puja” that morning. “They say the house is under the spell of a spirit when vultures land, and soon someone would die” Govind said with a poker face. So I sipped that panchamrit in the morning and was chomping on tandoori chicken later in the day, secretly wishing how the old lady at my house would suddenly walk in and see me eating chicken when I was not allowed to, especially on that day. Mukul and I were supposed to go to the Rice and Bowl later that evening for dinner, but since he didn’t show up in time I had gone ahead and eaten half the plate of tandoori chicken. I belched aloud and looked around near the bluebird supermarket where Mukul said he’d meet me at - he still hadn’t arrived. I then took a taxi back to my house, disappointed he didn’t show up and I had to ride in cab both ways. I had left my mountain bike at home, thinking it wouldn’t look good dressing up for luxury dinner riding a bicycle. Over the next four days I didn’t see Mukul.  I checked my email wondering if he had mailed me regarding his absence. Since we both didn’t have cell phones, we both had agreed that writing an email was the best way to keep in touch, especially when I left for United States. My father had purchased a computer with Windows 95 and it ran on dialup making it extremely long to connect, soon I stopped checking my emails after I received all my documents from the university. But I missed Mukul, he was the new best friend I had in Kathmandu and there was something about his humility and courtesy that made me believe his friendship was worth keeping. As the days for my departure came closer, they were inundated with shopping trips to New road and luncheons and dinners at my friends and family. I started worrying more thinking about him. He knew I was leaving in few days and he still had not contacted me. I visited Thapathali everyday looking for him to no avail. I even asked my cousins in the area if they knew anything about him, the results were negative. Over the weeks lots of things had been done, my mom and aunt had helped me pack my suitcases, I had got myself made two pairs of suits, some pairs of shoes, exchanged the currency and received the letter from the educaton Ministry which, to this day I have not made in use. And since my father’s aunt had gone to stay with his cousins in Kalimati, I finally got to sleep in my own room for last few days. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ As I sat on my terrace smoking cigarette and sipping morning tea, my eyes were fixed at infinity, I was leaving Kathmandu in five hours. Leaving behind my father who was in early fifties with a history of high blood pressure was not a wise thing to do, especially when I knew I was never returning back. I debated few minutes regarding my wisdom of going to United States and leaving everything back home, I knew my brother would soon follow suit and migrate just like I did, and at the end all that remained would be my old parents in a big house with two dogs and maybe a different version of Govind. I wondered if they would cough and wheeze all night while I’d be nipping on my Gin and Tonic in some nightclub in Chicago. The thought made me sick. I took a long drag off the cigarette, tossed it below the terrace and dabbed my moist eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. In the living room below guests had started arriving; my mother had asked few close members of the family to join them in bidding me goodbye.  My uncle handed me five hundred dollar bills as we embraced each other, my father’s best friend handed me a solid blue tie I would leave behind for there was no room in the luggage. There were few other family members who handed me some dollar bills neatly tucked inside an envelope. And then the conversation began – of careers and opportunities in America, and how it was such a great nation, thanks to Kennedy, Ford and now Bill Gates. I sank in the couch next to my mother and grabbed the current day’s ‘Kathmandu Post’ from the side table. The first page had a big picture of Ganesh Man Singh in a podium, his mouth was opened very wide and his hands raised high, he looked more ferocious than ever. I then flipped some pages to see if there was anything interesting to read. On the fourth page was a small notice that caught my eyes. Little did I know that it would change my life forever. I was a rememberance notice that said “It has been a year since you departed and you are still in our hearts, we love you son.” Aama and Papa On it was a picture of Mukul. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I splashed more water on my eyes and looked at the mirror again, they were sullen and red. Prior to that I had vomited my last night’s dinner in the commode until my stomach muscle had cramped. I had sat down on the floor motionless until the floodgates were open. I had cried hysterically for few minutes. I turned off the faucet with my trembling fingers and looked myself in the mirror again. My contact lenses were still intact. I looked closely at myself in the mirror, looking carefully if I could see Mukul standing beside me, I thought of that Bruce Willis movie where the little kid sees dead people, maybe my gift of seeing those who departed wasn’t as good as that kid, otherwise I would have seen Mukul right now, or my dead grandfather, or that neighbor who had killed himself few years ago.  I could’ve given anything to see Mukul once, just once. I just wanted to shake his hands and say goodbye. “Da bhuja tayar bho” Govind knocked at the bathroom door and yelled. My mother looked at me curiously as I walked out of the bathroom. “Everything okay? You do not seem alright” “I am fine mom” I said without looking at her “These new contacts didn’t fit right at first” As I sat down at the dining table flanked by cousins who inserted every small chair they could find I realized it seated ten people when the table was only good enough for six. I stared at the blank space, avoided any eye contact and picked on my food for few minutes. “I need to check my email” I mumbled with sudden fervor. “What?” One of my cousin asked. “I need to go check my email right now” My voice was surprisingly louder. I then pushed my plate away and ran into my bedroom leaving everybody agape. As the computer was establishing its connection I paced back and forth in the room, wondering what I was looking after.  Soon as the desktop finished loading, I typed in my username and password for my Hotmail account. As expected, there was a new email in my inbox. It was received ten minutes ago. “Good luck my friend” It read  ”I wish you all the best in your future endeavors” It was signed by Mukul.   Last edited: 02-Jul-13 09:46 AM