(Part 2/2) “Father would come and visit me sometime. He would hand over the herd to his son, ask the women to feed them and he would start walking to where I was. When he came he always brought with him something. I remember one day he surprised me with an ink pen. It was called the fountain pen and I think it was famous all over Nepal. Until then I was using bamboo stalk to write. My happiness knew no bounds. From that day on, I would look for every opportunity to write. I wrote my home works, class works, poems, essays, and songs with it. And I kept with me with pride. It was my father who ensured I finished my education. I did. I did not let my father’s dream break. I finished university and eventually became a teacher at the school here where I now teach primary level. But this age and time have changed. Father has become very old. The children have become smarter. They no longer like to use fountain pens. They have their phone and laptops and music and all of the other things that I do not know about. Even before I start my lecture, they have so many questions unlike people from our generation who were quiet and subdued. I think it is all for good. Change is bound to happen and no one can stop it. To my children at school, I try to encourage them to learn. I am their teacher but I am also their friend. And at home, I look after my old father. He spent all his life looking after me and making sure I have a future. And now it is my turn to provide him some sun and some relief. It is my turn to look after the old man.”