Shristi Karki - My Mother’s Drive 

 

Ever since I was a child, I had to write essays about my idols. I would always write about these powerful Nepali women, like Pasang Lhamu Sherpa or Anuradha Koirala, women who have achieved heroic feats like climbing the Mount Everest or tackling human trafficking. I would always see my friends write about their aunts, their grandmas or their moms. But to me, my mom was just an ordinary woman. 

 

My mom is a middle school teacher to underprivileged kids, so it didn't help that we had the exact same schedule. [chuckles] We often woke up at the same time, we went to school at the same time, we came back home at the same time. Ironically, she spent her evenings in clubs like Jaycee's or the Lions Club International, clubs that dedicate their time and resources towards social work. But because I never got to see her work, firsthand, I didn't view her as exceptional. Hey, maybe I was a bit jealous. My mom spent her entire day with other kids in her school and her entire evenings with friends at clubs. [audience laughter] 

 

Anyway, one day, she asked my dad to teach her how to drive, which was unexpected. Living in a small valley in Nepal, women in our community didn't drive. None of her friends drove. Some drove scooters, but never a car. My dad was a businessman who spent 12 to 14 hours a day working. When heard about this, he was ecstatic. 

 

The women in my mom's generation were the first to start working, but their motivations never really extended towards driving. So, I was so surprised to see my dad being so supportive. But my dad was the kind of man that said, “If you want to learn how to swim, just jump into the river.” That's exactly what he did. He took my mom directly to the road. She did not like it, [audience laughter] so she took matters into her own hands. Not wanting to start her journey in the midst of a busy road, she started to take the car out in the afternoons, in these small alleys or dead ends, driving back and forth every day until she felt confident enough. 

 

I used to watch her drive from our balcony. Seeing her relentless effort, I really wanted her to learn, but then I would see her stumble every time there would be a person or like a motorcycle trying to pass by in a tiny road that barely fit her car. But when she was confident enough, she took me and my sister on a long drive. 

 

Sitting in the passenger seat, strapping my seatbelt, I sat there like a hawk, making sure she's not tailgating, checking the side mirrors, turning my head every so often to check the blind spots. But that's when I noticed her unwavering attention to the road. Balancing the brakes, claws and accelerator, she was driving so smoothly. In a city free of traffic lights, traffic signals or zebra crossings, amidst a busy road, she was navigating beautifully. 

 

I felt so proud seeing my mom break cultural barriers with something as simple as driving. That's when I asked her what motivated her to drive, all of a sudden. She replied that she wanted to make more time for us. Because dad was always busy, going out meant he would have to drop us off in the morning and pick us up at night. Or, sometimes we'd leave at 09:00 PM, an hour before closing. So, her driving would give us the freedom to plan outings on our convenience. And that meant everything to me. 

 

Not only was she breaking generational barriers, she was doing so for us. But the first-time driving was only one of many. In the upcoming weeks, we went on shopping sprees, [audience laughter] we went to eat out. And within months, there weren't any significant monuments, be it hills, the rivers, the lakes, the temples that we hadn't ventured. We made sure to include our three aunts and seven little cousins, [audience laughter] all of us compact in one single car. [chuckles] 

 

We would visit our relatives, ones that we often didn't get to see, sometimes because of the different schedules and sometimes just the distances. My life became a vibrant mosaic, incomplete without all these people that I never imagined would be important to me one day. Ever since then, I've taken the time to look more into her work. [audience laughter] 

 

Teaching middle school students is not an easy job. [audience laughter] After eight hours of work, putting oneself out there to build community is remarkable. My mom has redefined heroism for me. It isn't the intent to achieve the improbable that makes you a hero, but the way you can improve the lives of others at any scale. With something as simple as driving, my mom was able to lift restrictions for me and my sister. What was so hard for us is so achievable. It's just a mere skill for us. 

 

Years later, we moved from Nepal to America. My mom was the first to go to the DMV and get her license [audience laughter] even before my father. [audience laughter] She was the first to drive us to the city, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, the iconic skyline, the tall buildings illuminated in the night light. Seeing my mom drive in the City of Dreams, I felt the same joy and pride I had felt the first time she took us on a drive. So, looking back, even though I never wrote essays about my mom as a child, I will share her story as my idol every chance I get. Thank you.