It was then the hardest days for our parents. Without our notice, my mother would sneak out of our bamboo hut (warm home) at an unearthly hour. She would go to neighbour with a small home woven side bag containing half a bottle of ara. Within a couple of minutes, she would return home with a plateful of Indian rice. Landscape and the climate don't favour the rice cultivation in my village. Rice is hard to be seen, except in the small aluminium pots of wealthy neighbours.
By the time we wake up to return to boarding school which takes a day long journey, my mom would be ready with a warm white feast. With heavy heart of departure, i would hold my mom's weak neck tight and firm crying aloud. Eyes glistened with tears of agony, my mom would lift me with her last strength of the day long farm work, kissing my red round cheeks.
Handing me a sum of 15 Ngultrum and a heavy wild walnut, she would promise me for her presence in my upcoming school variety show with delicious putang and eazey. Those bygone days of my parents' hardship keeps me moving. My parents are the greatest source of my inspiration and wisdom. I sincerely pray that our parents live happy healthy long life.
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