My Story Begins

Somewhere in late 1960s, a man set out for a journey limping all the way from the rusty, unfriendly hill to the plain lowland with a dream to bring his large family to the lowland one day. He survived a fatal illness seven times, the illness linked to the wrath of some angry god. Later he knew that the wrath of the god had a name and they called it Typhoid. It took away his ability to walk properly and he would limp for rest of his life. It didn't bring him down, waters of the unfriendly hills had made him stronger in will if not in his body.
The decent profession of his time was that of a teacher and that is what he wanted to be, he became one. He won a scholarship to study sub-engineering in India, giving a hope for a decent life and he could see his dream to bring his family to lowland coming true. And yes he did bring his family to the comfy of the lowland.
That was my father!!!!
Born to an almost blind father and a beautiful mother, she was raised in the capital city. Vagaries of life were no different though. A small family of four still struggled to keep the ends meet. Her mother sometimes earned wage serving as labour in paddy fields and her father was a peon at the government office.
When her aunt asked her if she would take the limping man she had seen a while ago as her husband, the only thing she thought was if she said no the man would be heart-broken and at 16 she probably was not much concerned about her life ahead. She was married to a man with permanent limp who was 12 years older than her. She was brought in inside a small rented room with a bed that was just enough for two to sleep. Her struggle with life started the very same day she got married. She inherited unpredictable mood from her mother which would only come to exhibit on her late forties. Probably she somewhere felt life had cheated her.
That was my mother.
Together they sow their dreams in their two sons, the first was born in the cold December of 1981 in the city of Kathmandu, in a rented room and second was born 17 months later. The first showed lame chances of survival with his minute body and failing health. He was born in the time of financial hardship for the couple just trying to keep things moving. Probably my fate was written on the very same cold day of December when I was born.
I, the first son of the couple survived not because he had to see the beauty of the world, not because to enjoy the life but because to suffer, because to yearn for death every morning he woke up yet drag himself for the very same couple that brought me to this world and for a lovely daughter and a naïve wife and for the best brother in the world.
I have all one would want from life except for the happiness. I suffer from depression, unending, unrelenting depression.