I. Metamorphosis *************** Goosebumps were rampant when I reached Bahrain, the last transit before KTM. This was the first hand reminder of Nepal in almost five years. The waiting room was filled with hundreds of Nepalis with whom I wanted to share my excitement but I decided to save the loaded exuberance with my parents first. I also realized in years, what human flesh smelled like?smell of sweat, blood and tears that thousands of our compatriots have shed in the gulf region to provide to their families back home. I was overcome with guilt, for I was covered up in American Brand, a disguise that far represented by identity. If I thought the waiting room was a mini Nepal, the atmosphere inside the aircraft was more vigorous than Asan Bazaar, which also made me nervous. I knew I wasn?t for a smooth ride as the passengers just didn?t get the importance of wearing seat belts before take off. They exhausted the alcohols served in meals, they rushed to the window to catch a glimpse of KTM at 35000 ft, even when we were as much as two hours from the destination, the only respite coming as a thunderous applause for landing in KTM in one of those humid and bleak mornings. I was thoroughly exhausted as we walked from the plane to the airport from more than 21 hours on air. I just wanted to go home and sleep for a change. The reality dawned upon me as I observed the emptiness of the hallway, rudimentary amenities, sweltering heat, lobbies that lacked AC, paper towel less bathrooms, but I remembered what I had vowed to do before my trip?focus on the positives. And there was the first sign of rejuvenation, seeing my maami come from afar with a garland. I was nervous and shy as hell. Yes! I was shy, I didn?t know if I should bow down to her or hug her. Would I be too American if I went in for a hug? I bowed down anyway but my mom met me in an embrace. I felt in seventh heaven. The first question that left my flickering mind was straight away ?maami, ma motako chu?? She observed me for a while and said ?darho jeu bhayecha? I was relieved. After bowing and hugging my dad, we left the airport in a mini van kinda taxi, and right away the goosebumps turned into volcanic bubbles as we swerved towards gaushala. Nothing seemed to have changed, except the exponential crowd and the compact houses. The dusty tupsy turvy road, pollution, busy traffic, horns buzzing all around, dogs barking people shouting --. Thank god! Up the maligaon?s ukalo and my excitement reached its threshold getting the first glimpse of my beloved handigaon. It was a mixed bag. Cleaner, nicer and ostentious alleys with towering houses all around, but too many strangers, and I felt like a stranger once more as I did in my childhood returning home from hostel. I rushed to see my grandparents and bowed to them. I felt awfully bad for they didn?t recognize me. After half an hour of dilemma and explanation, both of them burst into tears. I was dizzy, sleepy hungry, but I had to see around to satisfy my virgin mind. After a hearty meal of quati and farsi ko munta from our own bari, I decided I needed a nap badly. It was transient as restlessness besieged me. Something had transpired that I just couldn?t figure out and it made me feel very uneasy. It was not only seeing my grandparents unable to recognize me, not only my dad who looked older in retirement but with unusual friendliness, not my mom?s hyper exuberance, not the absence of my sisters, not the parijaat that had been a cornerstone of my childhood that was missing from our yard, it was something else. I went to the bathroom and gazed at the mirror which I had done ten thousand times before I left for US. AH! There was the answer. The figure I was looking at wasn?t the same. He had transformed into an adult without my consent. And it made me a whole lot nervous. However, thankfully I was home, only place where I felt good about being nervous. To be contd?