One of my dear friend Shivani Sharma from India writes a very heart melting note on her wall about the recent incident that took place in Nepal. Her deep connection to my country was very emotional.
This is what she wrote :
Tears welled up in my eyes as I spoke to my mother after seeing pictures of chaos from Nepal. A country which has been part of my fantasy since the summer of 2011. I remember, in three days time, I had a big interview for a Master's program. I was anxious about it and resented my parents for this untimely trip. As soon as we landed at Kathmandu airport, there was an old man who greeted me with the warmest of smiles I had ever seen. I still remember his face. I still remember all their faces: the natives, the marketplaces, the stupas, the monks, the prayer flags, the chants, the folk music, the panoramic view of the city, the food and so on. As the hours trickled away, I started finding solace in the company of this beautiful city. I felt welcomed and loved.
When I started writing, I chose Kathmandu as the setting of my story. I kept revisiting those places inside my head: Patan, Boudhnath, Swayambhunath, Pashupatinath and so on.
Finally, growing tired of Delhi last year, I flirted with the idea of moving to Kathmandu. Then, Fulbright happened. I came to Boston. Here, I met so many people from Nepali community. The gentlest of all. Their smiles warm my heart every time I meet them.
When I heard the news of the massive earthquake through a friend's Facebook post, I could not believe my eyes. When I called Delhi, no one picked up the phone the first time. In those few minutes, my heart felt so heavy. It felt as if it will break my ribs and come out. I think I am still in denial. Some lines from this poem by Eliot about death, destruction and despair comes to mind. He does start with "APRIL is the cruellest month" and ends with "Shantih, shantih, shantih (peace)"
I left a part of my self in Nepal which was being nurtured all these years. What happened in Nepal is a personal loss. Now, I realize why I could not bring myself to sleep last night. The fragment of my self I left in Kathmandu was bruised and buried in the debris. It lived inside a delicate house I had made out of my desires. My "intended" home in the mountains where I wanted to spend a part of my youth. The same mountains that followed me around. The same mountains that watched over me when I first visited Kathmandu. Personal loss. Public loss. Historical loss.
— feeling emotional.
