The journey towards home is never easy. You get out of the building after saying “see you tomorrow” to as many people as you remember. You have to go back, if you had forgotten before and then you remember. Then you walk down the road, and wait for your bus. The bus comes after almost ten minutes, but all the seats are taken so you stand. While you stand and watch the bus passing the bridge (you say hi to Bagmati and smile), and other places, you take another journey inside your head. The journey of what life could be and would be. The journey of what to cook after reaching home or tomorrow. The journey of how your day went. Then you get down at the normal stop. Sometimes, you have to get down at a stop before so that you can walk down the crowded road, find you way through people pushing themselves and go to a shop to buy what your mother wanted. Most of the time you don’t remember at all. So you calculate everything while walking. Soap, shampoo, gofuki, rubberband. If you don’t remember till you’ve reached the large square turned small thanks to the crowd, people and shops on street, you turn right and come home empty-handed. If you do remember, which happens only sometimes, you go the shop, try to talk in Newari (sauji, ‘insert an object here’ dula?) hoping that you will get an extra discount, say you don’t need plastic bags when they offer to put the objects in one and then turn around and walk down the road that takes you home.
I always get surprised when I reach home. There are so many things going on my mind, that most of the times, I am sure I will never reach home. Most of the times, I am sure I will be walking certain path and before I realize, would have taken the wrong turn and got lost. But I always reach home, like my legs have certain sensor that leads them home.
But yes, the journey towards home is never easy.