Hunted by my past memories I went to my village of Kafalghari near the Nepalese city of Pokhara after nearly 16 months of absence.
The place where I was born, where I spent my childhood days. The place where I was showered with the unconditional love of my parents and relatives.
Like any other child born in the outskirts of the valley, I left my village very young in order to study and then find work in the city. I left the warmth and care of my beloved mother. I always long for those lovely moments with her, the touch of her warm hands and the beautiful smile on her face which takes all my worries away.
Manikunj, or “a garden of jewel”, as dad calls our home, had become more beautiful, more peaceful and more lovely than ever before. Situated in the lap of mount Annapurna and Macchapuchre, the sound of the gushing Bijayapur River adds magic to the area.
Counting stars was my favourite free time activity in my childhood days. I used to submerge myself in counting the stars and am still unsuccessful in this task.
My maternal grandpa, Bhuwaneshwore Koirala. He was a popular mystic in Pokhara who dared to leave his home in search of “The Truth”.
Feeling at home is lovely, simple and beautiful.
My mother: a symbol of unconditional love to all the members in the family.
Her every step is full of grace and rhythm. That's how life should be.
She loves her pet so much. Every time she comes to Kathmandu, she keeps thinking of her pet.
Religiousness, prayer and devotion are all important. The way to practise them may differ.
The ultimate joy. I know my mother is talking to my dad here.
She listens to others and gives them advice. After all, she is a teacher and has been teaching for more than 20 years.
Silence, undisturbed silence which I always long for.
Known for her name and work, we relate her to tell our identities. She is a famous teacher. Her students have become engineers, journalists, bankers and others.
The trees and the forest make the village more beautiful. Though the village is called Kafalghari, I hardly see Kafal [wild fruit
Just like in any other place in Nepal, power cut has hit my village too.
This story was the outcome of the Photographing the Everyday workshop with Frédéric Lecloux in Pokhara, Nepal, January 2013.
