“It was very difficult growing up. My father would yell at me if I mentioned school. I was the eldest son, and I had to do all the hard work of the household. From going into the forest and collecting firewood to working in the fields. My father’s argument always remained, ‘You are the eldest son, what’s the use of school and education, it doesn’t feed us.’ But my father loved me and wanted me by his side all the time. As a kid I remember tailing him every time he was around the house. I know that he left his job at the army to stay closer to home. I know he really loved me. As he grew older and sick, I thought he regretted his decision of not sending me to school. He would see young men reach high places in the government offices, and wear nice clothes and ride on motorbikes, while I toiled away in the fields, doing the same thing I was doing decades ago. Before he died, he would watch me work for long hours, constantly wiping tears from his eyes. Maybe he couldn’t bear to see me struggle. He would usher me to sit next to him. He would then run his hands over my forehead and say, ‘You’ve had a tough life, son. Forgive me.’ And with quivering lips he would cry as I held him in my arms. (Shiv Shah, Nuwakot)