Suman breathed a sigh of happiness as he started counting the clouds. It was a perfect Falgun day. The air was warm. A few fluffy clouds were swimming here and there in the wide open sky. The fleeting clouds reminded him of his father… and how his father has changed lately after his mom ran away with a night-bus driver.
For the last couple of years, his father had been living on alcohol. His normal routine was – get drunk in a bhatti, come home late, and sleep on the floor. Suman’s mom would be hitting him with a broomstick (sometimes with a daadu), throwing hurtful profanity at him and making the lousy neighbours shut their windows. Her usual scathing rant – I made a big mistake marrying this son of a poor man. How I wish I had listened to my parents when they told me afno khutta ma aafai le bancharo na haan chhori. She would pound her forehead with her palm and moan… why did I fall for his stupid romantic poems?
Now, with mom not around anymore, Suman could see his father transforming into a better man, a better father. His father even gave up drinking. It was a beautiful metamorphosis. As Suman counted the fluffy clouds swimming here and there, he tightly hugged his father and said, “buwa, please write a poem about clouds”.