Monday 7 March 2011, by
Somewhere along the path, Ilost it, don’t know where or when.It wasn’t a one-fine-day incident.As I grew up it just got left behind,very slowly, and I didn’t go back for it.It was there when as a kid I used to waitfor the annual momo dinner,when we lined up for gifts that camewrapped in newspapers in ourrefugee school, it was there whenwe all gained a year together, beforebirthdays were cakes and candles.Somewhere along the path, Ilost it, don’t know where or when.When new clothes started to feelstiff and firecrackers frightening, whenour jailed heroes ate in pig sties there,or were dead, heads smashedagainst the wall as we dancedto Bollywood numbers here,when the boarding school and uniformstook care of our daily needs, whenfamily meant just good friends,sometime when Losar started to meana new year, few sacred routines,somehow, I lost my Losar.Somewhere along the path, Ilost it, don’t know where or when.Colleged in seaside city, when it wasstill Bombay, sister’s family on pilgrimage,uncle in Varanasi, mother grazing cowsin South India, still need to reportto Dharamsala police, couldn’t get train tickets,too risky to try waiting list, and it’sthree days, including return journeyit’s one week. Even if I go,other siblings may not find the time. Adjustingtimings, it’s been 20 years without a Losar.Somewhere along the path, Ilost it, don’t know where or when.Losar is when we the juveniles and bastardscall home, across the Himalayas and cryinto the wire. Losar is some plastic flowersand a momo party. And then in 2008when our people rode horses, shouting ‘Freedom’against rattling machine guns, when theydied like flies in the Olympics’ spectacle,we shaved our heads bald and threatenedto die by fasting, but failed. Icouldn’t die, it’s forbidden by law.Somewhere along the path, Ilost it, don’t know where or when.Somewhere, I lost my Losar.