Mr Bob

“ Hi, I am Dilip, your care provider for tonight”, I said. Mr Bob was in the hospital bed. He was about 85 years old, white and big. My greeting fell into the vacuum, no response came. He looked at me, into me and through me. After a few minutes he said, “are you going to be nurse?”

Not a bad question. As I had a different plan, I said ‘no’. I am planning to be intellectual and developmental service worker.” I believe he did not understand me clearly. “I am not entertaining” , he smiled. In this brief chit chat I had build a prespective towards him as a nice gentle white man. 

“ I had never been to hospital. All of a sudden this happened”, his eyes were telling me more than the words. He had strok a couple of week before. Since then he was lying in the hospital bed. I told him about my home country and background. Also I asked if he was ok. 

“ I have cottage in up North. I live there and come come to my home Ajex sometime to cut the grass. I like cottage. But life is very uncertain. You dont know what time you need them. “ while saying this, I could see tears in his eyes. 

“  Are you born in Canada?” I asked him. 

“No. Gremany. I was 19 years when I first came here. I came with a boat, very small boat. I workd all kinds of jobs from race track to construction. Reguale work can not take you anywhere in this country. You have to work extra. I enjoyed work, he told me. 

His words were life lessons. He was reminding me the value of time and hard work. “I have a cottage up North. I made that myself in three years. I put an extra effort. However, it never tired me. I enjoyed the work very much. People tell me I am rich, I have cottage. But trust me, you can have a cottage and house of your dream. Have a big dream. Crumble down the barriars. 

  

Mr King

 Mr King is a black man. He is alive, but  looks like he dead for years. His cold eyes are wide open staring the ceiling. If you wait to see his lids rolling down, you might be dead by that time. Not funny ahey. Yes, it is not funny but serious. 

You know how I got that best opportunity to observe that damn vulture eye so closely. You might be thinking that I am making a story because I am a fiction writer. You are one hundred percent wrong. I choose to be there for King. A man who doesnt know if he was alive. The man who knows nothing about the past or the  present. His stiff body is lying on the bed probably last cleaned in 1975. I may sound crazy. But trust me his butt is half rotten and balls are vanished. A plastic tube is connected at edge of penis which is attached with a plastic bag. First, when I saw mrs king, can call her queen if you wish but believe me Mr King is not the King like king of England Nepal. It is only the name. 

“You know how to clean the butt”, the lady says looking to the intestinal penis. She is cleaning the top part of it very gently. I take no time to guess how much she loves it. I am not rude. I am a kind hearted asshole. I say, ‘no no I only work with clients who have clean ass. She doesn’t like me because she doesn’t  like my answer, trust me. She is a bitch. She grabs a wet towel from my hand and shows me how to clean the ass. I look it from the beginning to the end and thank her doing my job. She does’t speak. ‘Hurry up mum. You will be late for the prayer”, Mr king’ s prince Mr Hollard says. Soon she leaves the room and goes to the kitchen. She whispers into Hollards ear. I guess she is complaining about me. 

After a few minutes, Mr Hollard shows up in the room and ask me to transfer Mr King to the wheelchair. I never know how to transfer dead like stiff body to the wheelchair. I know  I have made the mistake telling the interviewer that I know everything. I ask Hollard to assist me to transfer Mr king to the wheelchair. In that process I learn how to transfer a stiff and unresponsive body to the wheelchair. Hollard is a kind man. He tells me he is a firefighter in London, Ontario. 

Then we bring Mr king in the dining table. There are five children look like they have the birthday at the same day and the year. They all are sitting around the table eating breakfast and watching TV. When I Park Mr  King near the table, I look at the screen. There is a young black lady singing Christian hymns in the melodious voice. When Hollard sees me looking at the screen carefully, he comes closer to me and says “ she is my wife.” All five young children are watching her singing attentively. 

“You know how to feed my dad”, he asked me. “ Does he eat?” Buzzes my head. “ Tell me how, I will follow you”, I replied. Then he takes  a glass of gel like stuff out of the fridge and puts on the table. Then he carefully picks up a spoon from the spoon holder and dips into the glass. He scoops very little and puts into King’s mouth. Mr king after a long pause moves his lips and growls while shallowing it. “He chocks every time when he shallows food. You don’t have to be stressed out”, he says. Then he hands over me the spoon. As I scoop a tiny bit of food, Mr Hollard looks it checking if I have picked the right amount of food. I carefully shove the spoon  into his mouth and let him lick it. This time Mr King shallows without choking. Mr Hollard says, ‘ you are doing a great job.” What the fuck you saying like you are saying to the kid. I feel devaluated. 

I look at the unresponsive corps like body and amazed how he only can eat little by little. I check my phone’s watch. I have been there only three hours, but for me it is ages. Then I finish feeding in three hours. I inform Hollard that i am going home. Ar first he was hesitating if I am unable to handle thsis. Then I left the yard silently. 

  

 बिहान ठिक चार बजे गाडिको इन्जिन स्टार्ट हुन्छ नग्र्र्रर्र्र्रर्रर्र गर्दै।  कोठामा बिरालो हिड्दा खुल्ने मेरो बिहानपखको निद्रा पानि परे पछिको आकास खुले झैँ छ्याँङ्ग खुल्दिन्छ। पर्दा खोलेर झ्यालबाट बाहिर हेर्छु। थर्थर्थर्थर गरेको एकोहोरो आवाज मात्र सुनिन्छ। न कसैको ग्यारेज खुलेको हुन्छ न बाटोमा नै गाडीको बत्ति देखिन्छ। घरको ठिक पारिपट्टि बाट थरथरथर गरको आवाज बाहेक केहि सुनिदैन। सबै घरका झ्यालका पर्दा लगाइएका छन्। बाटोको बत्ति बाहेक कहिँ कतै बत्ति बोलेको पनि देखिदैन। मैले खोलेको झ्यालको आवाजले गर्दा घर अगाडिको म्यापलको रुखबाट ब्लु जे फुर्र उडेर पछाडीको हाँगामा गएर बस्छ। 

म बिस्तारै झ्याल पुरा लगाउछु र निदाउने कोशिस गर्छु। निद्राको त्यान्द्रो पनि बाँकी हुदैन। फोनमा चार्ल्स बुकोवोन्स्कि को 'पोस्ट अफिस' अडियो बुक लगाउछु र सिरानीमुनि राख्छु।  

अहिले क्यानाडाको मुख्य शहर टोरोन्टो नेपालीमय बनेको छ। एकातिर बिद्यार्थीहरुको घुइचो नै छ भन्दा हुन्छ।  बस, सबवे , मल जताततै भेटिन्छन कलिला अनुहारहरु। कसैले आफन्तका छोराछोरीहरुलाई बैठक कोठामा सुताएर कोठाको बन्दोबस्त गरिरहेका छन् भने  कसैले बेसमेन्ट प्लस टु सकेर उच्चशिक्षाको खोजीमा क्यानाडा अहिले नेपालि बिध्यार्थीहरुको रोजाइमा परेको छ।  अर्कोतिर रक्तिमपरिवारका गीतहरु अर्थात् जिबन शर्माका गीतहरुले सम्पूर्ण नेपालिहरुलाई जोडेको छ। सबैको अतित ब्युझाइदिएको छ।  

 " जनै लाछैनौ। आउ भित्र, पाडाको माशु चाख", सुबेदार्नी आन्टीले हाँस्दै भनिन।

म अलमलमा  परे। भर्खर सात कक्षा उतिर्ण गरेर माध्यमिक शिक्षाको लागि लेकको घरबाट बेसीको घर झरेको थिए। कहिलेकाँही बुवाले थाहा नपाउने गरेर कुखुराकोसम्म त चाखेकै थिए। आमाले "बर्तबन्द नगर्दासम्म कुखराको चिची चल्छ " भन्नु हुन्थ्यो। लागो , मसानलाई बलि दिदा  छिमेकी हवल्दार बाजेले तिर्तिरे खोलाको मुहानमा जंगी भालेको माशु हामीहरुलाई पनि दिन्थे। निकै स्वादिलो चिज खान नहुने कस्तो जात हो बाहुनको भनेर कहिलेकाहिँ अचम्म लाग्थ्यो। 

"भो पाडाको त खान्न। बाले थाहा पाउनुभो भने मार्नुन्च ", भन्दै म माथि बाटातिर उक्ले। सुबेदार कान्छाबा पछि पछि आए  र च्याप्प हातमा समाते।   "हिड, कसैले थाआ पाउन्न " भन्दै तानेर घर भित्र लगे।हाम्रो घर संगै जोडिएको थियो। साइलो दाई र म मात्र बस्थ्यौ घरमा। त्यसबेला दाईको बर्तबन्द भैसकेको थियो। उहाँ घरमा पनि हुनुहुन्थेन। 

भित्र धुवाले उभिन सक्ने स्थिति थिएन। भुइमा बस्यो भने अलिक राहत मिल्थ्यो। चुलोको छेउमा मकैको पोस्करले बुनेको चकटी थियो। त्यहि तानेर बसें। सुबेदारनी आन्टीले ठुलै कराहीमा माशु पकाउदै थिइन। डाडुले झिकेर कटौराभरि माशु मेरो अगाडी राख्दिन। 

सुबेदार बाले स्टिलको गिलासमा तरल पदार्थ दिदै भने  ' लौ यो चिसो स्वाट्ट पार। " इन्डियन आर्मीको सुबेदार बक्सिङ्ग खेल्दा पाखुरामा डल्ला निस्केका थिए। डम्मको शरीर "खान्न भन्यो भने एक बक्सिङ्ग ठोकिहाल्छ्न कि झैँ लाग्थ्यो। 

नाकले थाहापाइहाल्यो। थाहा पनि कसरि नपाउने। लेकमा होस् या बेसी सिंगो गाँउमा उपाध्य बाहुन भन्ने हामि मात्र थियौ। छरछिमेकी सबै मतवालीहरु। चाडबाड आउनै नहुने हरहर बास्नाले टोलै ढाक्थ्यो। हामि मोही पार्थेउ, उनीहरु रौसि। 

"मनमा कता कता डर पनि लागेको थियो। एकातिर, त्यो जिनिस खायो भने जात जान्छ भन्ने छाप थियो दिमागमा भने अर्कोतिर मान्छे हँसाउने र फसाउने त्यो जिनिस एकपल्ट चाख्ने कौतुहलता पनि थियो। 

"सट्ट पार, केहि हुन्न " सुबेदारबाले आधा गिलास एकैचोटीमा स्वाट्ट पार्दै भने। टिमुर हालेर परपर भुटेको माशु पनि निकै स्वादिष्ट थियो। गिलास उठाएर पानि पिए झैँ मुखभरि हालेछु थुक्नु न निल्नु भयो। आँखा चिम्लेर घुटुक्क पारे।  मेरो खुम्चेको अनुहार देखेर आन्टि खित्का छोडेर हाँसिन। 

दशैँ सुरु भैसकेको थियो। दशैँको बेला रक्तिम परिबारको नाटक निकै चर्चित थियो। नजिकै गाँउमा रक्तिम परिबारले सास्कृतिक कार्यक्रम राखेको थियो। तिनपानेले रिनिनी परिसकेको थियो। रक्तिमको नाटक हेर्न जान भनेर  एभ्रेडी बेट्री घरको पालीमा दिनभरी सुकाएर राखेको थियौ दाजुभाइले। " जताततै खोजेँ, यहाँ पो मुन्टेको रैच', भन्दै दाई भित्र पस्नु भयो। मेरो सातो  पुत्लो उड्यो। स्टिलको गिलाँसमा अझै बाँकी थियो। जर्फराउदै उठें। 

हाम्रो घरअगाडी पाँच सातजनाको ग्रुप भेला भैसकेको थियो नाटक हेर्न जानको लागि। हामीले पनि टर्चलाइटमा बेट्री हाल्यौ र उनिहरुसंगै राम हेर्न तयार भयौ।  कार्यक्रम स्थल घरदेखि करिब आँधा घन्टाको उकालोमा पर्दथ्यो। जुनेली रात थिए।  खोल्साखाल्सीमा बाहेक अन्त खासै टर्च बाल्नु पर्दैनथ्यो। हामि स्कुल पुग्दा दुइतिन जनाले स्टेज मिलाउदै थिए। कसैले माइक मिलाउदै थिए। घरि घरि "सिमली छायाँमा बसी भरिया लामो सास फेरेको" भन्ने बोलेको गित घंकिन्थ्यो र एकैछिनमा कानै खाने गरेर  टेर्रर्र टेर्रर्र  गर्दै चुईइइअँ को आवाज निस्कन्थ्यो। मन्चको एउटा कुनामा कसैले मेन्टोललाइ दम दिराखेका हुन्थे। एक्कासी ह्वार्र गर्दै पाखै उज्यालो पार्थ्यो भने, एकै छिनमा निभेर अन्धकार छाउथ्यो। कुर्कुरे बैसले मत्त केटाकेटीहरु घरि गुरुरु गर्दै पाटाको कोदो माड्न पुग्थे, घरि स्कुलको कोठाभित्र छिरेर रक्तिमका गित गाउदै नाच्न थाल्थे।