Page 8 - My Creative Writing Portfolio

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daily in an enclosed space. At that time, I did not understand the connection between smoke and
health.

Yet blindness did not make her a burden. She was astonishingly capable. She ground grain in the
janto, made ropes, prepared gundruk, roasted maize for us, and performed numerous household
tasks. Her hearing was extraordinary. From the sound of footsteps alone, she could identify who
was approaching the house. She could sense when an animal had broken into the terrace fields,
and we would rush out to drive it away.

She visited neighbours confidently, and neighbours visited her. There was no fear of theft; doors
were rarely locked. If she ever lost her way, someone would guide her home. Everyone knew
everyone. Community functioned as security.

Sometimes I now ask myself: how would I cope if I were blind in today’s urban Pokhara? The place
has transformed into a busy tourist centre. Neighbours often do not know one another well. Social
bonds are thinner; filial responsibilities feel less assured. Would I be able to move about with the
same confidence she had? Would someone notice if I lost my way?

Her blindness was cushioned by community. In today’s urban environment, blindness might feel
far more isolating.

Our household also changed gradually. After the road connected Pokhara to Bhairahawa in the
early 1970s, zinc sheets became available. We replaced our thatched roof with metal sheets.
Earlier, every winter we had to spend days collecting thatch grass for repairs. A full replacement
required nearly a month’s labour, often cutting grass in places like Ram Bazaar. Sometimes we
paid in labour—if we cut four bundles, three went to the landowner and one came home with us.

Then electricity arrived. Later came piped water—first through a public tap, then privately. Before
that, we depended on the lake for drinking water, irrigation, and feeding animals.

My grandmother never saw these changes. The images she carried in her mind were of the earlier
Pokhara—the malarial plains, the fragile houses, the struggle for survival. Had she witnessed the
transformation into today’s prosperous Lakeside, she might have considered herself fortunate
after all.

When people now tell me I am lucky or wealthy because of that land, I remember her tearful
wedding farewell and the illnesses that haunted the family. Wealth and poverty are not permanent
conditions. Places once considered undesirable can become valuable; valued places can decline.
Time rearranges meanings.

This long view of change helps me remain composed. It prevents me from becoming boastful about
wealth that accumulated without my own effort.

Whenever I think of that land, I do not see only its market value. I see my blind grandmother,
moving confidently within a tightly woven community, carrying memories of hardship—and
unknowingly living in a place that the future would transform beyond imagination.