“When I was small, I remember this little boy pelt stones at my father. And I remember my father running after him, bare feet, shouting angry words while the boy ran away with his friends laughing in glee. It was a very sad moment for me. Soon after I remember mother not allowing him to leave the house, most of the times locking him up in the room while she cried in desperation. I finally came to realize that father had lost it. I loved him as a father but those days when he carried me in his back had become memories. I was angry for people labelled me “the son of the mad.” He never recovered. He died in madness. Never said goodbye. But a few weeks ago, he came in my dreams and he said, ‘Son, take care of your children, your daughters for they will need a father. I am sorry I could not be there to look after you.’ I told him that it was not his fault. From that morning, after all these years, I let go of all resentments I had against him.” (Antare Tamang, Nuwakot)