lessons from Kaka

Reminder: live as an experience rather than the controller of the experience.

The blue terrace of my 4-story house. The entirety of samsara, lies in the view from the terrace. 

You can see how the sunrises from the vast terrains of the sub-Indian continents and sets behind those army-colored hills. If the mountains are not to play hide and seek, the sun sits perfectly between two perched arms of the Himalayas.  The thing I love the most about the terrace (chaat in Nepali) is that you are closets to the sky that you can ever imagine to be ; in the high altitudes of the Himalayas, you can perfectly lay on the clouds.

 One day before the grey and heavy clouds of the monsoon had arrived, the terrace changed its face. It seemed to me that the onset of monsoon was earlier this year with the global warming.

Terrace was a part of my kaka’s (uncle) daily hire. Before sunrise, between work breaks and before bedtime, you would find him perched on the edge of the sky-blue circular stairs, with dudh ko chiya(milk chai) in his left hands and a pilot churot( a brand of ciggartte popular in Nepal) in his right, he would fill the emptiness of his days with the colors of the surrounding, views of the mountains and the busy ness of the valley.

Every Dashain, the biggest festival in Nepal, we have a big culture of flying kites and competing to become the best kite flyer. If you don’t have a good terrace, you gather in your neighbors, friend’s, families. We compete amongst each other seeking victory to be the only kite soaring freely in the sky. My kaka was the best, he had the finest lattai (bobbin), which he preserved throughout the years, the kites were so dear to him, he would stitch them using rice and tape and still would bring the new kites of other down to the ground.

Symbolically like the kites. He was always a traveller at heart, lived in the US for 12 years amongst the mountains of colorado, travelled to places like Mauritius island, to different parts of Europe, India and Asia. After 12 years in America, life forced him to retun back to nepal to take care of family business and responsibilities. With him he bought on rock and roll to our family, heavy metal, his immense love for reggae and jazz mixed was his pure source of joy. He did take on his travelling endeavors even after getting back home but he seemed to have lost a spark, the free spirit seemed to be very confined. His dreams and aspirations still found life in his actions. One of his other daily routine was always watching national geography or BBC earth, specifically any shows narrated by David Attenborough, his voice created a deep peace within him.

Amidst the same old routine, the same festivals that repeat each year on end, the sky had started to make him jealous of its vastness and he started to envy the flights of the birds. He seemed aloof, islolated, shut down, The same darkness which he had cherished to make him a PUNK was now had no space within the limitations of society. He was slowly becoming the night sky.

Even the rivers were rushing him to life’s conclusion. His inner space reached out to the highest of the highest mountains in the world, within the never-ending existentialism of life. The big question of purpose and calling. His last trek was Macchapuchre and his last visit to Philippines.

On that particular stormy day, he decided to seek liberation from the same terrace, His inner space could finally expand infinitely to reach all parts of the world, no borders,no boundaries, no chains, no passports, no visas, to touch every corner of the sky. The truth fell as a wound in his chest, the only cure ever was love. Generations of suffocated veins. The rage that was only ever seeking the fresh breath of childhood. Joy!!!

 Marking back the time, I believe that was the day God came to our doorsteps, to answers my prayers for grace to enter my family’s adobe. Kaka was usually the one opening the doors for all visitors, the blue gate, the same steel that the cut and made the terrace’s water tank and stairs. As my grandma screams on top of her lungs from the small cornered window whose voices can be echoed to the front date, “Satish, dhoka kholde ta “(satish,open the doors) he lived on the first floor so it was always easier for him to access the front door, , my uncle went to open the door with all his desire to become like the sky, god took him as a dove on his wings and gave him eternal life. He was once again united with all of the earth.

The way he coped with his life was to live with a constant reminder that he is just an experience and most times fate gives you no choice but to accept life as it is or to gather all the courage and now I have decided to look at my life through the same lens.

 Even the sun took the whole night to set that day, it was in denial if it should move on, or never rise again.