I was always envious of my friends who had mamaghar near their house. They would go there every weekend and return with stories about their cousins. It was fascinating to hear how free and happy their weekends sounded when they went to their mamaghar.
Unlike theirs, my mamaghar wasn’t close. Not even close enough for a weekend bus ride, or a trip that would take just two or three hours. To get there, I would either have to take a plane or travel a whole day by bus. Maybe that’s why I have only been there 2 or 3 times.
Dharan, the place where my mother grew up and spent a quarter of her life. A place where my parents met, fell in love, got married and where my eldest brother was born. But more than anything, it’s the place that holds my mamaghar.
Well, my mother actually grew up in mamaghar with her brothers. My parents met when she was working in a small restaurant run by my mama in that same house. They even had a simple wedding in one of its tiny rooms.
The last time I visited Dharan was also the last time I saw that old wooden two-storey house I called ‘My Mamaghar’. It stood quietly between tall cemented buildings, small but full of life.On the ground floor was my mama's restaurant, serving chana, sukuti, thukpa, and more. Upstairs were rooms that felt like they had witnessed decades of stories.
I visited there with my mother. She moved through every corner as if she remembered each nook and cranny by heart. That day, I had a big bowl of Dharane Thukpa - my first and last time tasting it. It had big chunks of potatoes and chana, served with a side of Aloo Chop. I still remember the taste and have tried recreating it several times at home since then.
As I ate my Thukpa, my mother had her specially made mutton curry and rice. My mama and maiju told me how much she used to love mutton, and served her seconds. She smiled and said the taste hadn’t changed at all.
That was my last visit before the house was renovated. My mamaghar moved nearby but the old space, that time capsule filled with my family’s memories, was gone. Still, whenever I think of Dharan, I think of that house. My mamaghar.