Kathmandu, I carried over
the years as a place of romance, adventure, hardship, joy. A perfect small
world behind green hills and somehow shinning mountains (if the day is good and you
are lucky). However, last week, on the mist-covered kathmanduian winter morning, i
was made to realize that this was my imagination, came with prejudices
while I tried to give shape to the landscape and people I hardly explored, if I had
ever, then very less. In other way my purpose to define my own habitat where so
long I lived. Or should i say my struggle to survive rightfully without justification where
I lost my inheritance. Now when I look back, It was reflection of time prior to
morning, way before the incident, before my nose was smashed hard by four well
build professional pickpockets inside the Micro (public vehicle), before drops of
blood bleed-ed from my nostril. It was off when, I speak less, and so less of
myself.
As usual winter morning sun
was to shine late, I the protagonist of this story…. Waked early as the
clock strike four. Washed what has to, comb, ah! I never have, went to kitchen,
poured boil water in a cup (Chinese manufactured though my sister claims it to
be German, she had a habit of associating all her objects originated from Germany,
I feared someday she would declare our very civilization was born there, and I
and her are German nationally by origin), soaked Rhododendron Tea, at the tea
wrapper; it reads rhododendron tea clears your stomach and improves digestion,
which I knew was unlikely as per experienced drinker. After a while, I seated
on the sofa, in front of the ceiling long arms of clock indicated Tenzin, it's
five five now, time for college or you would be late. My nieces say object doesn't speak. But I know, object speaks, everything in the world speaks, let
instance BoudhaNath, it speaks of devotion, serenity, you to behave; there is
saying Goons to become holy in premises of BoudhaNath. It’s simply call
nonverbal communication, universal language.
I waited ten minutes
to arrive seatable micro. Public vehicles in Kathmandu are like twenty hard
bread served to single child, and force him to eat even if he can’t. Invention
of Micro upon bumpy, dusty road of Kathmandu is and so far had contributed the greatest to
ride away old norms. People of all caste and creed without felling of
superiority and inferiority populates the micro, or they made to, abandoning
age old system. The micro I entered was white; almost ninety percent is white
according to my calculated statistics on a boring day. More than that, I remember
nothing, for I had observed nothing, not even the face of only man seated next
to me, neither the driver, nor of child conductor. Micro ply over with speed to
reach the next stop. Black crows are lined up on electric wire, and half orange sun
was glimmering from the eastern horizon. There on stop, cold looking college girl
entered the micro. Now we were three, on the next stop several old women get in,
making it full. Driver Dai, started the engine again. Until we reached Old bus
park. Everything was okay, to be okay.
But four guys came in, there.
Being in public vehicles we on a daily travel had to adjust with uncomfort,
slowly it becomes habit. Later, only on occasions things will irritate and
give birth to anger. That morning being belong to me, it was mine share. I
morally sound person, asked a man next to me to move little, so one guy from
four can seat. But it later came out to be the stupidest thing I ever said.
Micro gear up speed. Newari married
women in red sari were complaining about their husbands to each other. The one
whom I compassionate, not for the cause of my additional Dharma, a white bead
on my account, but just sake of humanity. He kept his rucksack on my bag, his
right hand above his rucksack to illustrate He is doing nothing, but his
left hand between our (his and mine) bag was making move.
When I inspect he was
unzipping my bag. Before I literally open my mouth or asked what you are doing? he swing-ed his entire right arm and launch on my nose ( Sarah Brightman quote realistically danced for me "anything can happen to anyone at anytime"). It hurt, 'I said
foolishly (from my mouth, right word never come out in right time. Another guy jumped, attacked on me. I was unmatched, four well build
equal to one. Well, the one who, whom I compassionate, one who jumped on me
first, seem innocent. To me, his facial build up deceived, dominated and
outclassed his personality. But apparently, in the end was doing his job. When he
failed, the sky grew heavier; he revealed his inner monster, shown his identity,
encouraged others to participate.
In the middle of halfway I was
Boiled, cut-out, yet I remain silent (ancient word of wisdom), Clever part
within me suspended anger, unwillingly. When I reach home later that evening, at
least the incident; clearly explain me at last, that I am man of brain not the
power, of devotion not Shakti.
Other passenger were old and
weak, they watched the explosive explode. After it did, they turn around
to defame their husband. And I started to chant lowly or haven’t;
Cunning crows’ curbs cow
Countryman can't counter
Counterproductive can cost
Context continues.
Now, I have been rightly; paradoxically
treated by so call free naked man; and guardian of our somehow functioning
democracy, who aspire to make this country a paradise of naked man. Ah! Guys,
thou are wrong Nepal only aspire to be safe country, and Kathmandu a safe capital
of the country.
I like, us who got
practically exposed to the darker side of a beautiful valley. Those of us who got
wrongly experimented without fault of ours. Who in fear tried to boycott many things
(like Micro). I like to tell them, and more to
me; be like Braveheart of Scotland who even on verge of dead summoned his
desire of freedom. For he knew what it means to be free, to run over free Scottish's hills.
We on our part have to raise our small voice to those deaf big people
seated on wheeling chair, and hold entire authority. To ride on public vehicle
freely, without
fear of mob, watching us, and eventually attack us. That, I think is, not a luxury, but essential and very basic right, guaranteed
to us by our will (right to free movement) with many of our very own sacrifices at the past.
