While reading the poem Picnic at Rush, 1954 by Éamon
Mag Uidhir published in this issue, I was transported back to a shocking experience
I had a few years ago. I was standing in front of a stationery shop. Meanwhile,
a small kid ran across the road, shrilling like a peculiar siren. He was being
chased, as if he were a mouse, in a game, by his sister and friends. His mother
was busy in the shop, dusting the shelves and keeping
the stationery in their proper order. The mother carried a baby on
her back and was madly yelling at her daughter for not helping her in the shop.
Unable to keep my qualm unexpressed, I asked: ‘How can you so carelessly let
your kids play hide-and-seek by this heavily trafficked road side?’
Before she could answer my question, there occurred something
really terrible. The boy was hit in the legs by a howling motorbike that came
rushing. The rider was only a reckless teenager who was thrown off to the
narrow footpath and got seriously injured.
In Asian way of life, particularly in Nepal and India, children
are generally not given proper attention which they are in need of. In most
social visits, parents get so engrossed in their gossips that they often forget
to make sure where their kids are and what they are doing. I have seen kids
fighting over food or toys in such situations, and have heard about accidents
also. Equally questionable is the fact that most parents or grandparents create
illusions of hauguji (phantom figure, for example, of ghosts
or of witches) in young minds. Do we need to have a kid’s ken for us to know
how kids feel and what they want or are in need of?
With this question to ponder upon, I welcome you all, the readers
of Misty Mountain, to this small collection of sweet and sour memoirs in
poetry. I also thank all the contributors.
Happy reading!
Haris Adhikari
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