BNKS Blog

A boring story

This is a story of a girl and it begins at the end. And you might be wondering what freaking story it is that ends before beginning. Actually, it’s the ending of one of the stories that she lived and beginning of the one she is going to start. As quoted by Mitch Albom, “Well, all the endings are beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time.”
Her last few hours in home were not spent, like most of the other days. Her bags were being packed, trunk was being locked with padlocks, clanking and rattling. Her grandma was preparing “tika” and “prassad”. Her mother was getting ready to accompany her. Her sisters were hovering around her begging for five rupees, their farewell share of money. Her neighbors were cluttered around her house waiting to put tika on her. And there she was in new dress beaming, carrying her baby sister for one last time, fighting with them for prassad for one last time, cramming those rupee notes in her kurti’s pocket while her neighboring friends and sisters eyed her with envy at her sudden richness.
Suddenly someone cried, “Bhauju, bus is on the way. You better hurry up.” The honking of  vehicle got louder(Doppler effect, she learned it recently) and she hopped into the bus with her mother waving goodbye to her home, family, village,  her granny trying to catch blurry vision of her granddaughter disappearing into dot while thick mist conjured her watery eyes.
Portus!
The next moment she was there. The place her father had described to her for hours in phone. The fairyland her mother had inscripted in her mind where her all dreams were to be fulfilled.
She had asked her, “Mummy would they give me anything I want to eat?”
Her mother caressing her hair softly replied, “Yes, but only if you behave nice.”
“Momma, will they give me a cake too?”
“Yes, sweetheart. They’ve got tonnes of cakes.”
Umm, she got the cake as promised but I wonder if she liked it.
She was waiting in “Hawaghar” nervously tugging at her mother sleeves. Quiet and shy. Clustered among the bunch of strangers. Actually strangers for time being only, because within that crowd there were her soon to be housemates, roommates, set mates, seat mate, team mates, sweeping duty partners, house duty partners and above all friends for life time.
It was raining but light. She set her eyes here and there. She observed people around her. She saw kids like her, smaller then her, bigger than her, taller than her, shorter than her, skinny like her, haughtier than her, fragile than her, with homes nearer than hers, further away than hers.
Finally, it was her turn to be interviewed. Three gentleman dressed in suit were sitting behind the long table, smiling to eyes showing their perfect set of front row of teeth. And they fired questions. Very easy. But interviews are scary whether you are ten or twenty. And finally at the end one of them asked her, “Ok! Now are you ready to leave your mother, family, home and stay with us here in hostel?”
Oh my god! That’s when it her hurt the most. She was not told that she had to stay in school all day and night for whole year and years ahead. She thought she would be living in Kathmandu with her mother and would be attaining school like normal as usual. But reality was not normal. Her heart twisted with all ventricles and auricles contracting at the same time at once. Her stomach felt hollow despite of having the very first tiffin “samosa” and banana few minutes back.
And she cried. Her mother cried seeing her daughter cry. Seeing them crying her relative grandma who had come with them also cried. The girl cried so ugly and hard begging her mother to take her back home. And what hurt her more was that coming Monday there was Mother’s Day for which she had planned for ages but the dim prospect of not being with her mother on that day just made tears flow like cat and dog rain. In her first school assembly she wept silently as Principal Sir talked about Mother’s day and all. She was such a crybaby. She wept in phone for hours every day, wept in classroom, wept during photo shoot for identity card, wept in clinic, dining hall everywhere. Such a weirdo child.
As one year turned to two and two years turned toward three she learned why her mother didn’t take her back home that day. She learned to do cat walk in Miss MD1, she learned to dance kathak, she learned to cut glitters in class and at night after light off hours without letting class teacher and duty teacher know it, she learned to play in team, she learned to lose and win, she learned to toss curry, dal, pickle in glass and make it edible, she learned to make strangers her family and BNKS her home.
Though, she was not life of her class as she rarely contributed to horrendous rupture of laughter, nor the one with those heroic stories of skipping the classes and jumping off the walls. Never did she sneak off to staff’s kitchen gardens to steal those appealing cucumbers, neither her story revolves around those ground breaking, daring and adventurous trip to black gate and so many other gates smuggling food. Nonetheless, that doesn’t mean she didn’t have best of times and neither that makes her moments here less enthralling than of bunkers, smugglers, mischief doers and trouble makers.
And mostly, she learned to live her life with grace, sincerity, and respect yet flavored it with minces of fun (singing at the top the lungs in the room with her people holding hairbrush or nothing as microphone), minute joys (getting best chicken piece), happiness (permission from HOH to watch one extra movie, one extra marks out of nowhere, dancing crazy like havoc in house, in rooms, in dayrooms, in assembly hall) and moments to cherish.
Well, today nearly nine years have passed, she has grown into big girl and she still cries in phone. She calls her mother saying she doesn’t want to leave this place. The sight of her first classroom, first house, her first desk, pitches, teachers, courts, and roads, trees of bhogate, guava, and pears leaves her feeling hollow and sad as she sniffs the air trying to hold back the tears.
The ending of her novel which she doesn’t want to finish but have to, is approaching but we, behind the scenes characters of her story know that her another story is about to begin soon outside these walls. After all every endings are beginnings.
P.S: Hope you find it interesting
Article by: 7033 Susmita
A-Levels

The War

I pulled the trigger for the last time and let the bullets take control of an enemy’s life. His body twitched with every shot in the chest and blood gushed out like a burst water pipe. At last, his legs gave in and knelt to the ground with his eyes taking a glimpse of me for one last time, and then he collapsed on his back. I marched towards the dead corpse and unbuttoned his cameo uniform. A steel plate, dog tag went round his neck and I pulled it out to see his name. ‘James” I read out and closed my eyes as I prayed for his safe journey to the afterlife. He was the last of them I thought.

I used my remaining utter strength and got myself up and then heaved a loud sigh that all the dead around me could hear. I tossed my weapons to the ground and I took a jog on the velvety red carpet of blood to the pontoon bridge. There, I sat on the extreme edge of the cold, hard cement so that my legs dangled freely. From my left pocket, I fished out a white out a white cotton damp handkerchief, which I wiped my face with till the very last speck of dirt off. I noticed every detail of camouflage paint, sweat and blood, from the people who fought alongside and against me, on the once white cloth.

I examined the war debris, observing every part of the horror panorama. The only voice I could hear was the crackling of fire. Half fallen buildings grabbed strongly of the ground that was full of blank bullets and dark red blood. The place smelled like an iron smoldering warehouse and flies were roaming around the lifeless bodies. It did not take too long for crows to come speeding and crashing with each other’s beaks, fighting for their indulgent gourmet meal. There was a luxury for the army of birds as they had an army to feed on.

I slid my hand into my right pocket and took out the metal dog tags which I had collected from the cold war. I read out the names written on each of them as I replayed their majestic death. “Andrew, Peter, Evans, Larry, Damien, Sam, Paul” and then “James”. The lives I took were like me, a warrior who fought with all their might for their country and families. A stream of consciousness flowed through the valleys in my mind as I looked at my reflection on the stream of river beneath my feet. Unconsciously, tears of remorse rolled down my cheeks, subtle at first then profusely. I could not differentiate whether the saltiness was the tears or the blood from the cut on my lips. After a long hesitation, I jumped into the warm waters and let the current drive my body away from this devastation.

Article by: 7165 Dina

A-Levels

Best things in life are free

Today is such a beautiful day, full of the promise of spring: clear skies, puffy white cottony clouds roaming out in blue haven, the sweet scent of early sprouts and flowers blowing in on the breeze. The sun is shining bright in horizon. The birds are soaring in zenith playing hide and seek between the parallel green hills. The air is crisp, still carrying that morning freshness. The trees bough in their lush green shade bend resisting the wind as their leaves tickle the bugs and life in the tousled grass beds.Those lovely Lilacs raise their cups for bees to drink as they sing the tales of the places seen an unseen. Meanwhile these branches share their gossips and whispers hymns of the jubilant atmosphere to their neighbors like nosy souls. Far out in the hill, the rooftop of a Gumba is line with beautiful and colorful fabric crepes which are shimmering in the faint wind. The grasses in the lawn and Freesias, Buttercups, Sunflower, Daisies, Butter mellows in orchard are enjoying the good bask under the sun. The wind chimes hanging in the window is chiming beautifully with this soothing and so calming music….. Everything is so good. Everything looks so good. It’s just like a favorite scene of yours cut out from our favorite picture. Insanely magical yet so real and alive. So full of life….. It’s simply a beautiful day, just a little bit different from yesterday and unknown tomorrow. But then, I wonder did any one even notice or care to notice the difference? Difference between the beautiful today and the other days?

दुई सुनौला बर्ष- बूढानीलकण्ठमा

आँखा भरी सपना र मुटुभरी चाहना बोकेर बूढानिलकण्ठ स्कुल छिरेको त्यो दिन राम्रैसंग याद छ |मलाई एउटा नया परिवेश, रहरलाग्दो वातावरण अनि पिछटई नौलो अनुभूतिले भरिएको थियो त्यो दिन | नौलो जीवनको सुख्यत भएको थियो त्यस दिन मेरो | जति-जति दिनका पत्रहरु पलटौदै जना थाले, त्यति-त्यति नै नौलोपनाको महसुस हुन थाल्यो | सुरुसुरुका दिनहरु हजारौ जिज्ञासा लिएर जन्मंथ्ये अनि उति उति नै प्रस्नहरु दिएर ढल्ने गर्दथ्ये | जति-जति पर्यावरण बुझ्न थाले कुंजिएको मन उति-उति नै खुल्न थाल्यो प्रकाशमा तुलिपको फूलहरु खुलेझई |

हरेक बिहानी नया जोशका किरणहरु बोकेर अँध्यारो कोठामा प्रवेश गर्दथ्यो अनि न्याना हत्केलाहरुले सुम्सुम्यौदै सुस्केरामा बोल्दथ्यो, ” उठ बाबु ब्रेअक्फ़ास्त टिएम भयो |” कहिलेकाही ति आत्मिय किरान्हारुका कुरा नमान्दा भोकै क्लास गएका दिनहरु पनि अझै याद छन् मलाई | हरेक अनुहार हाथ्भारी पुस्तक र मनभरी जिज्ञासा बोकेर क्लास जाने गर्दथ्यो अनि सट्टामा हंजारौ प्रस्नाहरुको भरी पनि बोकेर फर्कन्थ्यो भोलिको नया दिनको लागि | सेतो ल्याबकोट लगाएर प्राक्टिकल जानुको शान नै अर्कै | कहिलेकाही एक्सपेरिमेंट ट्युबसंगै कुरा गर्थ्य बिज्ञानका दिवानाहरु |

दिनभरीको पढाई र लगातार मेहेनतको बाबजुद पनि कसैको अनुहारमा थाकेको संकेतसम्म देखिन्नथ्यो | मिठो आस्चर्य ! पछि थाहा भयो, थकाई त प्रतिस्पर्धीलाई लाग्छ | जब कसैलाई उछिन्न नै छैन, कुनै हतार नै छैन भने के को  थकान?
BNKS संग थुप्रै तितामिठा यादहरु जोडिएका छन् मेरा | कहिलेकाही काम बिगार्दा खाएको सरहरूको मिठो गाली र न्यानो झापडहरुले मेरो डाएरीका पानाहरु भरिएका छन् | “चिकेन डे” मा  गरेको दौडधुप, रसबरीको लागि गरेको झगडा, घलेगाउ भ्रमण जादा गरेका थोरै मस्तिहरु, अन्तिम दिन मा खेलेको रुमाललुकाई खेल, सिक्षक नआउदा साथीसंग गट्टा खेलेको  क्षनहरु अझ दिमागमा ताजै छन् | आज पनि म मस्तिस्कको टाईम मेसिन चढेर त्येही दिनहरुम पुग्ने गर्छु अनि तबसम्म फर्किने गरिन जबसम्म कोहि आएर भन्दैन,”ऒइ कहाँ हराईस?”

दिनभरीको पढाई र लगातार मेहेनतको बाबजुद पनि कसैको अनुहारमा थाकेको संकेतसम्म देखिन्नथ्यो | मिठो आस्चर्य ! पछि थाहा भयो, थकाई त प्रतिस्पर्धीलाई लाग्छ | जब कसैलाई उछिन्न नै छैन, कुनै हतार नै छैन भने के को  थकान?

BNKS संग थुप्रै तितामिठा यादहरु जोडिएका छन् मेरा | कहिलेकाही काम बिगार्दा खाएको सरहरूको मिठो गाली र न्यानो झापडहरुले मेरो डाएरीका पानाहरु भरिएका छन् | “चिकेन डे” मा  गरेको दौडधुप, रसबरीको लागि गरेको झगडा, घलेगाउ भ्रमण जादा गरेका थोरै मस्तिहरु, अन्तिम दिन मा खेलेको रुमाललुकाई खेल, सिक्षक नआउदा साथीसंग गट्टा खेलेको  क्षनहरु अझ दिमागमा ताजै छन् | आज पनि म मस्तिस्कको टाईम मेसिन चढेर त्येही दिनहरुम पुग्ने गर्छु अनि तबसम्म फर्किने गरिन जबसम्म कोहि आएर भन्दैन,”ऒइ कहाँ हराईस?”

नया परिचय लिएर नया घर(house) पस्दा लागेको थियो, आज म फेरि एकचोटी जन्मदै छु | टाढा पुग्ने लक्ष्य बोकेर जीवनयात्रामा निस्केको मलाई समयले यसरी धर्तिको पहिलो स्वर्गमा पुर्याईदियो अनि पहिले जीवित स्वर्गबासी पनि बनाइदियो | आज कोसौ टाडा बसेर यो कुरा लेख्दा सैयेयुचोटी रुमाल भिज्ने गरेको छ अनि पोखिएका आँसुहरुक भावाना बोल्दैछन, म लेखिरहेछु निरन्तर……………………………………..

नया परिचय लिएर नया घर(house) पस्दा लागेको थियो, आज म फेरि एकचोटी जन्मदै छु | टाढा पुग्ने लक्ष्य बोकेर जीवनयात्रामा निस्केको मलाई समयले यसरी धर्तिको पहिलो स्वर्गमा पुर्याईदियो अनि पहिले जीवित स्वर्गबासी पनि बनाइदियो | आज कोसौ टाडा बसेर यो कुरा लेख्दा सैयेयुचोटी रुमाल भिज्ने गरेको छ अनि पोखिएका आँसुहरुक भावाना बोल्दैछन, म लेखिरहेछु निरन्तर……………………………………..

Article by: 6179’D Bisarjan

फेसबुक र महेशकी आमा

“गड कुड नट बि एभ्रिहोइर,सो हि क्रिएटेड मदर!” भगवान आफू सबै ठाउँमा उपस्थित हुन नसक्ने भएकाले उहाँले आमाको सिर्जना गर्नुभएको हो भन्ने महेश श्रेष्ठको ‘स्ट्याटस’ मेरो फेसबुकको भित्तामा देखा पर्यो। तुरुन्तै मेरो दाहिने हातको बूढी औला ‘लाइक बटन’ तिर सोझियो अनि स्पर्श गर्यो। ‘लाइक बटन’ निलो भयो अनि लगत्तै मेरो नाम पनि अरू पन्ध्र जना संगै ‘लाइकर्स’को सूचिमा थपियो। अनि म मुसुक्क हाँसेँ। ————————-————————-————————-————————-————————-————————-

दिउँसभरिको अफिसको कामले गर्दा थकित थिएँ। फ्ल्याटमा आएर नुहाइसकेपछि सोफामा पल्टेर एकछिन आराम गरिसकेपछि टेबलमा राखेको मोबाइल हातमा लिएर फेसबुक खोलेँ। फेसबुक नखोलेको जम्मा २ घन्टा के भएको थियो, नयाँ ३ वटा ‘मेसेज’,२ वटा ‘नोटिफेकेसन’ र एउटा ‘फ्रेन्ड रिक्वेस्ट’ आएका रहेछन्। ३ वटै ‘मेसेज’ हरु कलेजमा संगै पढेका साथीहरूको थियो, ३ वटै ‘मेसेज’ हरुको एउटै सार, “अमेरिकाको बसाई कस्तो छ त?” ‘नोटिफिकेसन’ चाँहि हिजो अफिसमा खिचेर ‘अपलोड’ गरेको फोटोको बारेमा थियो भने ‘फ्रेन्ड रिक्वेस्ट’ महेश श्रेष्ठको थियो।१३ वटा ‘म्युचअल फ्रेन्ड’ भएका उनी फोटोमा मज्जाले हाँसेका थिए। उनको ‘रिक्वेस्ट’ ‘असेप्ट’ गरिसकेपछि उनी मेरा ७१७ औँ साथी भएका थिए। फेसबुक बाट साथी भएको एक हप्तापछि उनले ‘मेसेज’ गरे। “हाई!” मैले जवाफ दिएँ, “हेलो!” मैले जवाफ फर्काउने बित्तिकै उता बाट ‘मेसेज’ आयो, “क्यान वि इन्ट्रोडिउस विथ इच अदर?” मैले फेरि अंग्रेजिमै जवाफ दिएँ, “अफ कोर्स !” अंग्रेजिमा सुरु भएको हाम्रो कुराकानि एकछिनमै नेपालीमा परिणत भयो। आखिर जता बसे पनि नेपाली दाजुभाई संग नेपाली भाषामै कुरा गर्न छुट्टै आनन्द आउँदो रहेछ। परिचय आदान-प्रदान भयो। म भन्दा अलि जेठा नै रहेछन् क्यारे, बिहे गरेर छोरा सम्म जन्माउन भ्याएका। बुवा उनी सानै हुँदा बित्नुभएको रहेछ, मधुमेहका कारणले। घरको एक्लो छोरो। पेशाले ब्याङ्कर रहेछन अनि स्वास्नी चाहिँ नर्स। काठमाडौंमा ३ वटा घर रहेछन्।असाध्यै धनी तर उनको कुरा गर्ने शैली र प्रयोग गर्ने भाषामा कहिल्यै धनी भएको प्रतिध्वनित हुदैनथ्यो। मैले पनि आफ्नो परिचय दिए।अमेरिका आएको ५ वर्ष भइसक्यो।पहिलो ४ वर्ष स्नातक गर्दै बित्यो। एउटा आइटि कम्पनीमा जागिर खान थालेको १ वर्ष भयो। घर चाँहि सुर्खेत तर १२ सम्मको अध्ययन काठमाडौं गरेको। त्यसपछिका थुप्रै कुराकानीपछि हामी फेसबुककै माध्यमबाट अत्यन्तै मिल्ने साथी भइसकेका थियौं। संयोगवश उनी पनि राजनीति र खलकुदका विषयमा खुब रुचि राख्दा रहेछन्, मैले जस्तै। दिनहुँ खुब गफ हुन्थो। भइरहने र घटिरहने राजनैतिक र खेलकुदका घटना सम्बन्धि आ-आफ्ना विचार र विश्लेषण साटासाट हुन्थ्यो। त्यति ‘स्ट्याटस’ र फोटोहरु नपोष्टिने म उनले सधैँ पोष्टिरहने ‘स्ट्याटस’ र फोटोहरु सबै ‘लाइक’ गर्थे भने कुनै-कुनैमा कमेन्ट पनि। उनले फेसबुकमा निरन्तर पोष्टिरहने आमा सम्बन्धि ‘पोष्ट’हरु खुब मजाका हुनुका साथसाथै मन छुने पनि हुन्थे। उनले आमा सम्बन्धि पोष्टेका फोटो र ‘स्ट्याटस’ दख्ने बित्तिकै अनायसै आफ्नी आमाको याद आउन थाल्थ्यो।अझ भन्नु पर्दा धेरै काममा व्यस्त भइरहने र घरपरिवार लगायत आमालाई त्यति नसम्झिने मलाई ति पोष्टहरु आमालाई सम्झिने बहाना बनेका थिए। एकदिनको कुराकानीमा मैले उनको प्रशंसा गर्दै भने, “तपाईको आमाप्रतिको अगाध माया देखेर म अत्यन्तै प्रभावित छु!” खै कुन्नि, किन हो उनले यसपटक ‘मेसेज’ हेरेको धेरैपछि जवाफ फर्काएका थिए, “आखिरमा आमा भनेको भगवानको सुन्दर उपहार न हो, उँहालाई माया नगरे कसलाई गर्नु त??” मैले मुस्कुराउँदै जवाफ दिएको थिएँ, “वाह! क्या बात!”

————————-————————-————————-————————-————————-————————-

मलाई नेपाल जाने अवसर मिल्यो। तुरून्तै महेशलाई ‘मेसेज’ गरेँ, “अर्को महिना नेपाल आउँदै छु।” उनले जवाफ फर्काए, “नेपाल आएपछि एकदिन मेरो घरमा डिनरको लागि जसरी नि आउनु पर्छ है!” मैले सहमति जनाएँ। नेपाल आइसकेपछि आफूले गर्नुपर्ने सबै काम भ्याएपछि महेशको घर जाने समय मिल्यो। त्यो भन्दा अघिल्लो रात उनले आफ्नी आमासँग एउटा ‘सेल्फि’ ‘अपलोड’ गरेका थिए ,फोटोमा दुबै मज्जाले मुस्कुराईरहेका। फोटोको माथि ‘क्याप्सन’ लेखेका थिए, “आमासंग हुँदा मुस्कुराउन कुनै बहाना चाहिन्न!” फोटो जति सुन्दर थियो,त्यति नै सुन्दर थियो ‘क्याप्सन’ पनि। अर्को दिन मलाई लिन उनी आफै आए, गाडी ल्याएर। उनको घर देखेर अचम्म परेँ, घर नभएर महल थियो त्यो। सानो छोरो सुतिरहेको थियो। उनले श्रीमतीसंग चिनजान गराए, आफूजस्तै सुशिल स्वभावकी भेटाएका रहेछन्। यस्तो उत्कृष्ट स्वभाव, उच्च विचार अनि परिपक्व व्यवहार भएको छोरालाई जन्म दिने भाग्यमानी आमालाई भेट्न मन थियो। अनि महेशलाई सोधेँ, “आमा खै त?” उनले भने, “आमा त पशुपतिनाथको वृद्धा आश्रममा हुनुहुन्छ। त्यहाँ बस्न लागेको ३ वर्ष भइसक्यो।” त्यो सुनेर फेसबुकमा देखेको आमाको फोटो दिमागमा घुम्न थाल्यो। मुटु चसक्क पोल्यो,मन अमिलो भयो। त्यसपछि केहि बोल्न सकिन।

————————-————————-————————-————————-————————-————————-

Article by: 7017 Bijay

Byasrishi House

A-Level

Budhanilkantha School

अख्तियारप्रति

read more »