Ola, I started writing this story two years ago for my fiction class. After numerous flase starts and extended period of writer's block I have not yet been able to complete it. But now with yall's support/critique and Pashupatinath's kirpa I am confident it will come to its rightful end and also stop tormenting me.


Grandpa's Omega
----------------------

Babu came inside Grandpa's room rubbing his eyes. He walked lazily to the bed, stood still for a moment, yawned and slowly lied down.
"Are you sleeping again?" asked Grandpa, pulling his cheeks sideways, looking closely for any remnants of stubble at the mirror hung on the wall.
"The bamboos made too much noise on the wind. I could not sleep."
Grandpa turned towards Babu and smiled. "So our young prince from Kathmandu city was disturbed by village noises, eh?"
"And why don't you build a concrete house as they are in Kathmandu? These wood creak when you walk. And the rats make noises too."
"That is why it is a village. Look at all the other houses here, ours is much better."
"But I think not," Babu said and pulled down the red cloth covered Almanac resting on the bedside stand.
"Grandpa?"
"Yes."
"Ask me countries and capitals."
"Ok. What is the capital of England?"
"That is too easy. Ask me the difficult ones."
"Switzerland?"
"Berne."
"There, you don't know the difficult ones. It is Geneva."
Babu knew that he had to show the proof when Grandpa was this certain. He flipped the pages of the Almanac and cried, "Grandpa, but look here. Berne it is." He pointed the page to Grandpa.
Grandpa looked at the small boy. He knew he was wrong. But he said, " It is Geneva as long as I have known it and I am seventy-three."
"But it says Berne."
"They must have changed it," declared Grandpa and went back to finishing his shave. He muttered under his breath, repeating Switzerland:Berne again and again so he would remember.

Babu was flipping through the pages again when his watch announced 9AM with a beep. He looked at his "blinking watch," so called because its digital dial blinked with every second. He had won it under the cap ofa coke. Since it had a red plastic band with Coca-Cola imprinted all over it, his friends at school said it was fake. So he always made a policy to verify its beep with more reliable timepieces. He jumped off the bed and snatched Grandpa's steel watch from the bedstand to check.
"Wow! It's heavy. Is this your new watch, Grandpa?"
"Yes it is. Your uncle Rajendra sent it from America."
"I have never seen them. They don't come to Nepal any more, do they?"
"They can't because they are very busy."
"My dad and mom are busy too."
"Yes, and your dad is my son," said Grandpa and he laughed heartily.
Babu inspected the watch all over and turned it to read the inscriptions. "Swiss! It says SWISS, Grandpa!"
"Swiss Omega. They are the best watchmakers in the world."
"Hmm...But why did they not send you an American watch?" But then he heard Badri calling for Grandpa from the front yard. He ran out to the porch. Badri was the shed-hand. He fed the cows and lived in a one-room place beside the house. He also went to cut grass and collect firewood in the afternoons.
"Babu, tell Grandpa that they are here with the bull and waiting," shouted Badri.

(..........contd)
mG.

(.....contd)

Grandpa dabbled water on his cheeks and rubbed himself dry with a towel. He walked over to the bed and picked up the watch. He held it in his hands. He looked at the long and elegant second-hand move a full circle over the Roman numerals that lit with fluorescent green radium at night. "Omega," he murmured in a small and proud voice.

Babu ran back and delivered the message. The old man pulled in his clean clothes and searched for his walking stick. Babu found it hanging from the door.
"What are they going to do with the bull, Grandpa?"
"Oh! It is for Ratu," said Grandpa climbing doen the wooden stairs that creaked. The stair landing was filled with smoke.
"Why don't you open the door, let the smoke out..." Grandpa shouted towards the kitchen where Grandma was blowing on a bamboo pipe to make fire. She was too busy to respond. Grandpa let out a cough and walked out. Babu followed curiously intent on an adventure.
"If you want to come, get your sandals," Grandpa said and walked on.

Ratu was so called because she was brownish in color though it literally meant red. Grandma could trace Ratu's lineage to a cow that she had got in her dowry and she loved Ratu as if she were her own child. Ratu, who had big, watery eyes, fascinated Babu having never seen a cow upclose in his seven years of life. Ratu eyelids were so black Babu thought she was wearing eyeliner. The cow-shed was behind the house. When Babu reached there Badri was whistling to the bull. It was a big brown bull and it snarled and swung his head from side to side as if it were a mad dog. Its large mouth was frothy and it curled its lip upward and put its nozzle below Ratu's tail. Two strangers were holding ropes tied to its neck on two sides and Ratu's head was stuck with crisscrossed bamboos. Grandpa stood on his stick at a distance and gave instructions to whistle louder to Badri. The bull leaped up and landed its chest on Ratu's back and Badri whistled ever so loudly and the two men pulled harder. Ratu mooed a wild and painful cry. Babu ran back home.

Granny was cutting onions. The fire was burning better now and it gave less smoke. But Babu's eyes watered.
'Grandma, Grandma, they have a big bull outside," he said, breathless from the run.
"Oh! Are Badri and Grandpa there?"
"Yes, they are. But Badri is whistling like a fool and Grandpa is just watching."
"Then it's all right."
"No, Grandma, it is Ratu. The bad bull is trying to jump on her back. Let's go, please, she is wailing, she will die."
Grandma looked at him for a moment and said, "You should not talk about it." She let out a small laugh and pointed her finger to the sky saying, "God will punish you. They are doing it because Ratu needs a baby. It is all right. Just stay here till they are gone."
"Baby? Is that how cows get babies?" But he did not wait for the answer. He ran back to the shed. One of the strangers were now talking with Grandpa. The bull still had frothy mouth but was more calm. Badri had tied Ratu to the wooden pole inside the shed where she stood sedately.
"So how do you like Kachide?" the other stranger, who was washing his hands in the tap beside the shed asked as he saw Babu.
"Fine."
"You are here for vacation? How is your father?" he inquired as he dried his hands on the sleeves of an old jacket he was wearing. It had dark smudges where it had started to permanently fold.
"He is all right. Where did you get that big bull?" Babu pointed his finger to the bull.
They all laughed. "I bought it at the cattle market. Do you want a bull like it?"
"No. I like Ratu better."
Grandpa took out one hundred rupee bill and handed it over to one of them who thanked him. As he pulled back his hand, Grandpa managed a long glance at his wrist.
"I got this watch from Rajendra. Swiss," he said casually.
They said it looked really nice.
"Omega, they are the best watch makers in the world," Babu quipped.
The strangers then asked for leave and led the brown bull by a rope. It followed in slow, deliberate steps.

(......contd)
----
mG.

aight aight Mind games, we all know now how cows make babies.... now we want another story about describing how human makes babies dawg ... eyah .....

Nice reflection, reminded of my firts trip to my grandpa's village.

(.......contd)

In the evening Grandma made an early dinner. She gave Babu milk and rice and also a banana as he liked them. She also added some vegetable curry because she said they were good for eyesight and strong children had to have good eyes. After she cleaned the dishes she took Babu outside to the parapeet and started washing his legs with warm water. Tommy, the dog, came and laid by Babu's side.

The silence of the night was punctuated by the noise of the bugs in the bushes and the commentator on the radio which Grandpa had tuned to BBC Nepali Service. The news bulletin talked only about the Maoist insurgency that was getting bloodier and bloodier in the Western Nepal. Grandpa listened intently. A police inspector killed in the capital, a bomb blast in front of a senoir military official's residence, a journalist found with his throat slit and tied to a tree, three rebels dead in army cordon, several security personnel ambushed. The announcer's somber voice added undeniable sense of insecurity. Grandpa turned off the dial. "This country is going to pieces," he said.
Grandma, still rubbing Babu's feet with a rough stone, looked up to him. "All this looting and killing...one cannot trust anyone. Hare bhagwan."

The moon was shining the cobble-stoned yard in a warm hue. But it was quite dark where the yard ended and the bambooes started. Insects gathered around the lamp and Tommy snapped his jaw at them once in a while. Babu saw a moving star in the sky and pointed that to Grandma and Grandpa.
Grandpa looked at the sky and said, "Oh, that is just a rocket."
"What is a rocket?" Babu asked.
"They are like aeroplanes. You can fly to the moon on them."
Babu looked up again but could not locate the rocket but it could be any of the millions of shining objects in the sky.
"Can I fly a rocket, Grandpa?"
"Why not? But you have to be a good boy and not trouble your Grandma and me."
"And not trouble Mother, right?"
Grandma repled before Grandpa, "That too. No trouble to her either. God knows she has had enough already."
"But I will be a good boy and can I fly a rocket?"
"Yes, yes," Grandma said. "Now give me your other leg." By then Babu was tired of having of his feet washed.
"Can't I wash the other feet tomorrow, Grandma?"
"Now, whoever thought of having just the left foot washed? Don't you know what the night demon says?" she said.
"What does the night demon say?"
She raised her hands to her face and bent her fingers crooked and sang in a shrill voice, "Should I eat the clean foor or the dirty foot?" Grandpa laughed out. Facing the prospect of the demon Babu complied. Having washed the feet Grandma massaged them wieh mustard oil. Then she stood up and held down her index finger; reaching up to hold her finger Babu followed her up the steps to his bed.


(......contd)
(thanks killerbuzz, TMA and Kalekrishna and OYS and all ya'll.)

mG.

aight mindgamez , interesting Read from a child's perspective .... write some more ... it was short ....

Absolutely riveting mindgames! Enjoyed it a lot. As I read, i travelled back in time visiting the serene village of my grandparents by the breathtaking Sunkoshi. Times have changed a lot. I wonder if u r going to continue this story. :) It looks like a story that bounds no end...

Mindgames,

Nice posting, I enjoyed reading this and othe stories from you. It seems to me that you should continue writing . Your wrting style is touchy, you are good at childs psychology. By the way what about publishing "Small stories by Mindgames"
Cheers,
enjoy the life

(.....contd)

Saturday was the market day. Grandpa took the whole morning prepping himself up. He took a batj, shaved, brushed, ironed his new safari suit and polished his black leather shoes and left them on the parapeet outside the house to shine. He listened to the news bulletin from the capital on the radio so he had enough to talk about when he met with his friends in Hamro Tea Stall. Badri had left with a basket full of fresh oranges early in the morning. At luch Grandma told Grandpa what she needed from the bazaar. She wanted cloves, spices, a kilo of salt and her prescription medicine. Babu wore his best tee shirt that had a picture of a car and below which was imprinted CARS each letter in a different color. As Grandpa and Babu walked down the dusty path through the pine woods towards the bazaar they saw many people coming and going. Many of them stopped and greeted Grandpa or made small talk. As they reached the pitched road, Grandpa stopped by the road and from his pocket took out a piece of cloth and wiped the dust from his shoes so that they shined again. He also pulled out his golden chain from under his shirt and tucked it neatly so Babu could see it glittering on his safari suit.

All the villages from Kachide to Sartap tp Falametar, surrounding the Dhankuta bazaar proper held their market in a alrge public ground near the high school. Women started early in the morning with radishes, spinach, oranges, cauliflowers and potatoes in bamboo baskets and took a firm place on the square of the ground. Men carried milk and brought the cattles and animals to the cattle market which was on the adjoining field. Hawkers from Dharan came in buses and brought with them plastic sunglasses, rubber toys, flutes, key-rings and other cheap gadgets which they spread in front of them in blue plastic sheets and shouted loudly for attention. Clothes merchants had wooden boxes where they dropped all their income. Many stalls had stereo players that they turned up full volume with movie songs and when Babu walked through the stalls all the different music fused to form just one loud noise of commotion as if he were inside a beehive. Grandpa had stayed in the Hamro Tea Stall where they had day-old dailies from Dharan and Kathmandu that came in long distance buses that left the cities the previous nights. All of the self proclaimed intellectuals of the area gathered in one or the other tea shops and talked politics, crops and the prices on market days. They chose one teashop for another based ont he political affiliation of the owners and the rugular patrons. Congress party crooners who were generally old folks huddled inside Hamro's bigger shop while the Communist affiliates and their supporters frequented Surya's place where the owner had hung a large poster of Marx, Engels, Mao and stalin on the red background with crossed hammers. Though the two camps conducted business as required they rarely discussed politics among themselves.

The animals market was behind the bazaar grounds and it smelled of pigs, goats and chickens. Butchers set of stalls there.They set up fire and cooked chicken and sold it in large leaves. They also sold local rye liquor and dumped the stinking residue of rye-grains beside the entrance of their make-shift shops where flies buzzed. Many a drunks slept about red-faced. Once in a while some drunk would start to curse and the storeowners spalshed bucketfull of cold water on him while the idle spectators laughed They sold meat by the kilos and dogs waited lazily for the discarded innards and when they got any they fought among themselves and made harsh dog-noises while the merchants shooed them away with a stick that they kept for the purpose.

(.........contd)
mG.

short dawg ... wanna read more ....