Parents who did not give birth to me

It's fun to look out the window before landing in a new place. I looked down at the huge city that was getting bigger and bigger and started thinking, where would my Amma Appa's house be in such a big city?

Amma Appa. South Indians call their parents Amma Appa. I have come to Bangalore to meet my Amma-Appa. My South Indian parents. You must have wondered how the parents are South Indian, North Indian, Nepali or something else. But, there have been.

My father had a sudden heart attack a few days ago. They were all set to visit some of their relatives in America. How excited they were about their plans in a video call. In such a situation, Amma-Appa were overwhelmed by the sudden calamity. Appa underwent bypass surgery. He could not travel for a long time now. Ma takchu mudho - the adage that the ax stabs the knee did not come from that. We plan for tomorrow, the day after, the next week, month or several years. However, we don't even know what will happen in the next moment. Appa has returned home after staying in the hospital for a few days. So I have come to Bangalore to see her.

One has to go back a year to understand how I became the unborn son of Retired Colonel Vishvesharan Ganapathy and Professor Lakshmi Ganapathy. Come on, let's take a trip back in time with me. Are you free? Also today is Saturday.

2017 Amritsar Shatabdi Rail Air Conditioned 2 Tier .

Believe it or not, I have experienced extreme peace of mind in three places to date. I didn't want to go back from those three places. It seemed, this place is the stability of this age. I will forget everything and stay here now. I will spend the rest of my life in this place doing sadhana or worshiping that supreme power, which people believe in different ways according to their religious beliefs. The first place was the Rumtek monastery on the Gangtokpari hills in Sikkim. I experienced an incredible joy and peace as I fell down spontaneously on the cold marble floor. The second place was Jame Mosque in Kathmandu. One day I went there to offer namaz. I felt a sense of supreme peace there too. The third place is the Golden Temple in Amritsar. As soon as I entered there, the magnificence of the place, the supernatural atmosphere, the sound of Amritvani being sung in a melodious voice by someone in the mic suddenly took me to another world. But, from those three places, my destiny led me out. leading? Or wearing an elephant?

Anyway, the Golden Temple was an unforgettable experience for me. While staying there, the infamous Operation Blue Star of 1982 also flashed in my mind. In such a holy and peaceful place at that time, the Indian Army launched a major military operation to capture Khalistan Freedom Movement leader Jarnel Singh Bhindrawale and his supporters. Soldiers, protestors and ordinary pilgrims suffered hundreds of casualties. Those agitators who were terrorists for the state were sympathetic to the Sikhs. However, what is right and wrong depends on where you are looking at it. Nothing is right or wrong in itself. What is right for one is wrong for another. Sikhs were traumatized by the barbaric attack on the center of their faith.

As a result, five months after Blue Star, the then Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, who ordered the operation, was assassinated by her two Sikh bodyguards, Satwant Singh and Beant Singh. It is said that around 17,000 Sikhs were killed in the riots that broke out. This was a dark chapter in Indian history. On the one hand, I was fascinated by the current atmosphere of the Golden Temple and on the other hand, I was excited by just imagining the horrific shelling of Operation Blue Star. Being caught in the tidal wave of these two extreme opposite emotions at the same time is a unique experience in itself. It was my old desire to reach Harmandir Saheb, the great pilgrimage site of the Sikhs. I was about to return to Delhi from Amritsar after fulfilling that old desire.

When traveling to unfamiliar places, I always prefer to reach the railway station or airport ahead of time. It has two advantages. If there is any problem or confusion, I have time. If nothing else, only a writer would understand the joy of imagining the surroundings, life and people. Sometimes new characters are found, sometimes new stories. This time a new relationship will be found. What do you know until then! That day too I had already found my compartment and seat and was watching the station activity outside the window. At that time, some soldiers carrying pokapuntura came to the seat in front of me and started thanking me. A young man like their boss was ordering them to place things here and there. I thought, this time I will travel with Indian soldiers.

The boss went outside and in a few moments came with a couple in their 70s. The young men had packed their things and gone out. Only the senior officer remained. He seated the couple respectfully. They were basically talking to each other in Madrasi, although they mixed in some English. Be it Tamil, Telugu, Kannada or Malayalam, South Indian to us all Madrasi. Language too - people too. Even though I didn't understand anything else, I guessed that the couple must be his parents. His Amma-Appa. Little did I know at that time, by the time I got down to Delhi, they would also become my Amma-Appa, who would come to Kathmandu to meet me after some time. And I'll reach Bangalore, worried that Appa has had a heart attack.

The train signaled that it was time to move. Many satires have been written about the Indian Railways period. However, now it is gradually improving. At the same time, the train was about to move. The military officer followed his mother and father and went out. The train was crawling like a long worm. The soldier came from the platform to the window of the train. They were still talking fast. The train began to accelerate slowly. Accordingly, he walked along the platform for a while, limped for a while, and finally gave up on the speed of the train and stopped and waved. His parents also waved until they saw him.

After a while, everything was left behind. I was on my own tune. The old man was resting his head on the seat with closed eyes. The old woman started looking around. Suddenly his eyes fell on his companion. She looked at me with a kind smile. I laughed too. The old man opened his eyes and said something to his wife. They Khadyangkhudung started talking in their own language. I also started looking out of the window.

The fun of traveling by train begins with a long journey in the same compartment, even if there is no conversation. Appa was not so talkative. He was sitting down. However, the old woman looked sad. A large red spot on his forehead illuminated him. The conversation proceeded in a simple manner. Amma started talking to me in English. Where am I going? Where am I from? what do i do Amma's initial questions started pouring in. I also started giving short sweet answers. Knowing that I am a Nepali, she became even more curious and told me the same thing everyone says to me during the trip to India, 'Son, you don't look like a Nepali.'

Nepalis have a special image for people in India and other countries outside. They have their own belief of how a Nepali person should be. A face that doesn't match it is more surprising to them than to a Nepali. Appa didn't say much at first, just kept giving a formal smile. However, the speed of Amma's speech had overtaken the train. Amma had a wonderful charm. She talked more and more, but it was not annoying at all. I started to enjoy my conversation with her. Amma is a professor teaching English. Retired recently. The military officer who comes to escort him is a colonel, their son-in-law. And Appa is also a retired colonel of the Indian Army. I laughed and said, "You don't look like a retired colonel to me." He asked curiously, "Why?" What should a retired colonel be like?''

I said, 'Neither have you spoken out loud yet, nor once have you said bloody hell. How can I believe that you are a retired colonel? This time he laughed and said, 'This North Indian cinema has created an image that is not ours.' We have seen. Although he is sincere, he speaks harshly, speaks loudly, gets angry, wears a pick-up, pulls out a gun in conversation, and most of all, says bloody hell. During the seven-eight hour journey, I heard various interesting things about his military life, including his experience of the Kargil war. From his wife, I would like to get information about their lineage, family, friends, etc. By the time we arrived at the New Delhi station, we were very intimate.

You call us Amma-Appa. There will not be much difference between our son Karthik and your age. Emails were exchanged. The train reached Delhi. Amma-Appa went to one side promising to keep in touch, I went to the other.

Kathmandu-regular life

Such incidents keep happening on the journey. Travelers who have met with such leanings will take a look at something or some souvenirs. People get busy with the hustle and bustle of their lives, and the passengers tend to forget each other due to other priorities. However, this time it did not happen. Appa's email came on the third day itself. I also immediately sent a reply. And Skype IDs were also exchanged between us. As family members separated by circumstances and living in two different cities, we started video chatting within a few days. A strange intimacy grew stronger between us. They had never come to Nepal. Nepal had no other sign of them. I invited them to come to Nepal. Without saying a day, Appa said, "Well, we have booked the ticket for the 22nd of next month." Without saying

, Amma-Appa came to Kathmandu. I went to pick them up at the airport. They mingled with our family. They used to laugh and tell, 'When we were called by the man we met on the train and told the news that he was going to Nepal, our children, relatives and friends thought we were crazy.' Amma and Appa returned to Bangalore after staying at their unborn son's house for ten to twelve days. "We came, now it's your turn," they kept saying. It was not getting along. After Amma-Appa returned from America, plans were being made to go anyway. Appa suffered a heart attack.

Bangalore

The Uber I took from the airport was weaving its way through the streets of Bangalore city towards Whitefield, the home of Amma-Appa. I was wondering, where is it that relationships are always made by blood or birth? In places where you don't think about it, when you don't think about it, there are stronger and deeper ties than blood. A vivid example of this is Amma-Appa. The Uber entered the compound of an apartment building called Foyer Infinity and stopped. Rolling my suitcase, I headed inside. In Apartment 205 on the second floor of Tower B live Amma-Appa – my South Indian parents.