Amid a society deeply entrenched in capitalism, a mother and daughter reunited after two decades. In a distant corner of Kathmandu, in her daughter’s room, an old drawer holds a clutter of worn clothes along with her purses. These purses are filled to the brim with ATM cards, student IDs, journalist, lawyer, and dental cards. In one bundle lies 100 rupees, on which “Mother” is written in black ink. When they parted, it was the money her mother had given her. With tearful eyes, a heavy heart, and weary hands, the daughter inscribed her mother’s blessing onto that note.
Though only 100 rupees from her mother, she has walked countless kilometers by foot until midnight many times over. She was never driven by thirst for water or the aroma of tea. Time and again, she journeyed empty-handed but survived. The note bears the guarantee of the Government of Nepal, stating: “If payment is requested, the Nepal Rastra Bank will immediately pay 100 rupees.” Against the backdrop of capitalist glitter, another innocent father and son will someday meet again. At parting, the son will receive the 100-rupee blessing given by his father, remaining unnamed in the backdrop—somewhere here among us, somewhere here among us.
