Even now, the memories of Banglamukhi Temple and Mangal Bazar, linger in the recesses of my mind, like old sepia-toned photographs. It was a time when life was simpler, and hopes were woven into the fabric of everyday existence. My childhood was painted with the vibrant hues of a bustling town, where I and my mother resided just opposite the Banglamukhi temple and my school was a 3-minute walk from where we lived.
Every morning, at 6 am, my mother woke me up and we went for a walk around the vegetable market to buy the necessary groceries for the day. Just stepping out of the house, we would be greeted by the strong smells of incense that were offered and lit by the daily devotees at the Banglamukhi Temple. I remember covering my nose and hating the smell. But now, every time I smell similar burning incense, I am immediately transported to my childhood home and the surroundings where I grew up. We were among the few Tamang families in the indigenous Newar town. Our house was also owned by a Newar family. I do believe Newars have a rich culture. Growing up, I witnessed their multiple festivities throughout the year. And their foods are truly mouthwatering. My favorite growing up was Choila, which remains true today too. The marinated buffalo meat with traditional species hit the sweet spot for me.
So, even though I couldn’t bear the smell of the burning incense, I loved our morning stroll.
I also loved our stroll because I loved walking past the beauty and cosmetic shop, right beside the temple on the way to the vegetable market. It was recently opened and it brought a lot of customers day in out. The shop also sold toys for young girls. I used to see mothers and their young daughters visiting the shop whenever we passed by it. On the windowsill, there was a baby doll displayed inside a beautifully wrapped transparent box. The doll set came with a pacifier, soap, and a towel for the baby. The first time I set my eyes on it. I knew I wanted nothing more in the world, but to own the baby doll set. I wanted to play with the baby doll set. I wanted to care for that baby, carrying in on the side waist how I saw mothers carrying their kids, how my mother would sometimes carry me.
But I never dared to tell my mother to buy it for me. I knew, of course, that I wasn’t meant to play with dolls. I was born a boy, so it meant I had to play with toy trucks and other toys that boys played with. My cousins who were girls would get Barbie dolls and my cousins who were boys got toy trucks or toy cars. As a child, I would give my toy truck to my male cousins and go play with the dolls my female cousins were playing with. My mother and my aunts would scold me sometimes for playing with dolls.
“You are a boy. You go and play with your male cousin. Last birthday, you got a nice toy truck, where is it?” They would say.
Other times, they were too tired or too busy because of their work that they wouldn’t bother.
As a little kid, I didn’t understand why I was told time and again that I shouldn’t play with dolls. Hearing everyone around me saying it over and over again, it was engrained in my brain that playing with dolls as a boy was seen as a bad thing even though however much I wanted to play with them. But as a young kid, I didn’t know better. I didn’t like it when my mother told me I couldn’t play with dolls or when my aunts told me I should be playing with the boys instead of the girls. I liked playing dolls with my female cousins. I like talking with them and playing with them. In school too, I liked sitting with the girls. I wanted to grow my hair like theirs and have them braided. I wanted to wear skirts to school instead of trousers.
I remember I would sit on my mother’s vanity and use her make-up. I painted my face with whatever I could, imitating my mother. I would take out her red lipstick and purse my lips as I had seen my mother do it. I would wrap her shawl around me and stare in front of the mirror. I used to see myself in the reflection and imagine that I am a woman, just like my mother.
I wanted nothing more at that moment than to hold that baby doll in my arms that I had seen in the new beauty and cosmetic shop on our street. In my head, I had decided that I would be the absolute loving, caring, and nurturing mother to that doll if she could get her hands on it.
One day while coming back from school, I stopped in my tracks. I told my mother that I wanted that baby doll set. She looked at me. I told her I wanted the baby doll set as my birthday gift. She told me that she had already bought me a toy truck a month ago for my birthday. I told her I wanted the baby doll set for my next birthday. She sighed and said, “Okay. I will buy you the baby doll set for your next birthday. But you have to promise me you will be a very good kid until then.”
My joy knew no bounds. Every day I would pause a moment while passing the shop and look at the baby doll set knowing that it would be mine one day. Like this, days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. The baby doll set that I had seen on the display was still there along with other toys jammed into a shelf.
Finally, it was my birthday. I had never waited for anything so long. I ran back from school to home. Hurriedly throwing my bag on the floor I ran to the kitchen. My aunt was cooking momo. On birthdays and special occasions, our family always gathered together and made momo. She pointed me towards the corner where she had placed new sandals. She told me it was her gift for me. I thanked her and asked where my mother was.
I was jumping up and down with joy. I told her about the promise my mother made me a year ago. To buy me a baby doll set for my birthday.
My aunt said, “Have patience and eat some momo. Your mother will surely come back with the doll.”
