Kristina Adhikari

Some trips stay with you long after they’re over. For me, one of them will always be the hike to Pathibhara Temple in Taplejung.

There was a long, open field I used to cross every day on my way to school. It stretched endlessly, the kind of place where time felt slower, where grass bent with the wind, and where each season painted a new face onto the land.

There used to be a small waiting area just outside my school gate, our own “pratikshyalaya”. It wasn’t grand by any means but that waiting place was my after-school world

Years have passed, but whenever I crave that taste, especially during festivals, I still ask her the same thing... “Aama, sel roti banaidinuna.” And she smiles, just like always, brushes her shawl aside, and starts the process.

Sometimes I wonder what it must have been like to grow up there: in bicycles and streets that do not really indulge in the chaos of traffic, what it felt to cross a river to reach the school and how must it feel now when they narrate their stories of mischief for their daughters.