Sure, I went to the phase when I thought my dad was a hero. I thought nobody was stronger and wiser than my dad. But gradually I became “wiser” myself and realized that he was just a commoner. I still remember when every question he used to raise at me were answered enthusiastically, like “who wants to goto bazaar?” “Me! Me!! Me!!!” I also remember, how quickly those enthusiasm were taken over by indifference and his offers used to just escape from another ear, when I grew over 8 years old. My hero dad was downgraded to be a character artist, while I idolized my friend, Vineet’s dad. I don’t know why, don’t ask me now. Dad worked hard, sure, mom was a housewife so he had to. He had to, to keep up with our rising bills and our demand to goto the same school as our peers from neighborhood. I started drifting away from home, would come late. I was well liked outside, I just didn’t care much inside my own house. I would dread the I had to walk with my parents. We used to goto our relatives during festivities, and I couldn’t skip those visits. Well, I had some incentives, I’d get some “dakshina” in return. Every time we used to walk pass the Tundikhel, my dad would pause for a while, would stretch his chest, almost unbuttoning his shirt with the sheer force of buffed up chest, and give a tight salute. I’d die with shame every single time he did that. I’d just keep on walking as if I didn’t notice him doing that gesture. He was a retired army Subedar, you see, and he was proud of his service time. He was also proud of his current job of a school teacher, but no single job could have wiped his memory away from his glorious days of Royal Nepal Armies (though he didn’t have any wartime stories to tell).