A mere picture that makes me walk through the memory lane and then chuckle and cry. A scene that I used to behold from the terrace of my house on every  tranquil yet cold morning, being seated calmly and enthralled on the chair, webbing strange dreams and imaginations, cherishing each gulps of delectable tea prepared by my mom. There was always a certain mystique when I sipped the tea prepared by mom as if she had mastered some sort of magic. Perhaps, the magic of love. I clutched the cup of warm tea with both my hands and fiddled with it in order to feel it’s warmth on my cold hands. The grinding of my teeth from cold ceased and a sense of immense pleasure rattled me as the sun showed up from between the clouds nudging them away. It blanketed me with its warmth in those bone-chilling cold mornings of Dhankuta. 

My heart leaped up with joy and I let out shrieks of delight as the chirping birds flew across the distant horizon until they disappeared into the clouds in no time. Witnessing the trees swaying and dancing and branches fluttering in the cold breeze made my heart to swell in excitement and joy. I joyfully listened to Mother Nature as I let go of the roaring engine of the broken-down bus that rattled on the road. The scents of beautiful flowers dancing to the breeze made their way to my nasal cavity leaving me hypnotized. The green hills and the clouds seen at a distance seemed like stairway to heaven.

I remember waddling through the green grass barefoot as I was constantly reminded by Baba that walking barefoot on the grass cures most of the diseases. I remember walking, through the desolate streets, highway with no traffic congestion, without any fear of having my dress smeared with the muddy water on innumerable puddles, without bothering being engulfed in the lethal layers of dust, unlike here in Kathmandu. I remember not having to travel by the bus crammed full of people, clutching on the bar of the bus and vigorously pushing and pulling each other throughout the journey. 

Dhankuta is an embodiment of Mother Nature’s mystic. And it is a mystical experience to behold the nature through the eyes of a writer to realize her magnanimity, her inimitableness. I could never resist my propensity to lose myself in the lap of Mother Nature for hours, communing with her. I was, and still am, a firm believer of the fact that true and pure serenity lies in the lap of Mother Nature. No pollution, no traffic congestions.  Just an endless serenity, fresh air, eye-catching greeneries and down to earth people in this small yet vibrant piece of paradise. I feel like this piece of paradise summoning me as my rickety bus of memories chugs down the memory lane. I feel like my soul wanders around the green hills of Dhankuta. My heart beats like a drum at the spellbound prospect of flying to Dhankuta.