Kathmandu :

I hated it whenever my mother danced, especially during Teej. I could never understand it.

She did not even dance well. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that I did not want to watch or even see her dance. Whenever she danced, I got embarrassed.

I cried when I saw her dance for the first time. I was so, so embarrassed.

Last Teej, we went to my aunt’s house where my mother was pulled to the dance floor. No sooner was she pulled then she started swaying and moving wildly around. I forced myself to look at her and pretend as if I was enjoying it.

Then suddenly it struck me — my mother a different being when she danced.

I looked closely. My mother, whose face was always pinched with worries, her forehead forever wrinkled with a frown, looked free as she swayed to an inner music only her ears could hear.

She was waving her hands high above her head denoting that she had forgotten her worries, her troublesome husband, her two children, her in-laws, sisters and brothers, and was enjoying herself. Her steps suggested she had reached that stage without boundaries and limits.

I kept looking at her but her eyes did not see me nor did they focus on anything. She looked straight ahead yet seeing all the misery that lay ahead. Her lips were closed. They did not play with smiles nor did they hide any kisses.

My heart filled with tears. I cried because for the first time in my life I realised that I did not want her to have her own life. I wanted her to belong to me.

This Teej, I wish my mother the dance of her life.