Welcome!! the new season of strikes in the new Nepal. The vehicles were off the road, the environment was fresh and clean. The huge number of people could be seen making it to work as if it was a huge procession or a pilgrimage like those in Mecca during hajj. These strikes are more painful if they are during summer. The sun does not spare because some irresponsible political parties, community etc. have called in a general strike.
I somehow made it to the office in the morning but returning home on foot in the scorching heat is quite a challenge. I wonder how the rickshaw pullers work in these situations. Luckily there was rain that came to the rescue in the day. I love walking in the rain; it is a strange game where the sky goes adamant in bathing the reluctant earth. When the drops of water fall on the leaves the sound is as soothing as a good piece of music. The leaves rattle and tattle among themselves. It’s a purgatory in its own washing away the dirt and filths from the earth, breathing a life into the whole nature. Its so fulfilling. Despite an irresistible want to wet oneself many of us have to run for cover, open the umbrella or wrap ourselves in the rain-coats.
I thought about taking the chance and left my office in the somber day. The clouds were black but it was not very dark which signed toward a heavy shower. I had an umbrella in my bag in case it rained heavily. When I was at the main road the sprinkling had started and the street children were busy feeling the drops in their faces as if they were trying to see the pores in the clouds from where the drops of rain were falling. People were walking freely as the rain was very light and rejuvenating. I felt lighter as if I was in the paradise and had nothing to fear. Just as I reached in the front gate of the palace the rain was heavier and people had started running for cover. The bike riders either sped up or stopped to get inside their raincoats. Soon the rain grew to the capacity of drenching a man from top to bottom, I covered myself with my umbrella. The roads were clear as the people were under shed, they were below the trees, standing at the doors of shops, inside coffee shops, under the roofs wherever they could avoid the rain. In my umbrella I could protect a greater part of my body. Soon at one point of time except few exuberant students I was the only one at the road. I walked on while others looked at me from the shelters. I felt proud like a child as I could walk on in spite of the rain. When I realized I was feeling proud for the silliest of reason I felt little embarrassed. The thin streams had started to form and they were running down the road as if they were in a hurry for some kind of appointment. Few children were splashing water to each other. Down the Mitrapark road, few school children had collected some water from the stream in their transparent water bottle. They were feeling proud for having captured fish in their bottle though they were tadpoles. I remembered my childhood. We used to go to Jhapa specially during festivals and vacation. There used to be a rivulet behind our house and we loved going there, playing with the water taking bath and try fishing. I never intended to kill the fish, I just wanted to have them inside my small bottle which I used to carry from home. The first time I went home happy and proud for being able to capture some small fish and proudly showed that to one of my aunts. She laughed at me and said I had caught tadpoles not fish. I didn’t believe her and took the bottle to mummy who repeated the same thing. Later we could really capture the real fish but always there used to be few tadpoles which we thought were little grown up fish. Sometime we used to put those bottles in our room where the fish will eventually die by next morning but most of the time we used to pour the bottle in the small stream made for irrigation purpose. We had seen our bigger cousins catching the mud fish in the marshy paddy fields. We thought if we poured many fish in the stream they will go to fields and later when they grew larger our cousins will catch them. Sometime I even used to pour the bottle in the well from which we fetched water for drinking purpose. I thought the elders will be surprised when a fish will come out when they dip the bucket in the well for water. I used to think the fish will multiply very soon and at least few will grow enough to be of noticeable size. Never any fish was found in the well and I doubt I might have dropped tadpoles instead. Many times while cleaning the well they found frogs.
The students were excited for having caught tadpole. There is no chance of catching fish in the stream formed by rain water. When young we used to read that fish fell from sky during rain but haven’t seen any fish falling with rain.
I somehow made it to the office in the morning but returning home on foot in the scorching heat is quite a challenge. I wonder how the rickshaw pullers work in these situations. Luckily there was rain that came to the rescue in the day. I love walking in the rain; it is a strange game where the sky goes adamant in bathing the reluctant earth. When the drops of water fall on the leaves the sound is as soothing as a good piece of music. The leaves rattle and tattle among themselves. It’s a purgatory in its own washing away the dirt and filths from the earth, breathing a life into the whole nature. Its so fulfilling. Despite an irresistible want to wet oneself many of us have to run for cover, open the umbrella or wrap ourselves in the rain-coats.
I thought about taking the chance and left my office in the somber day. The clouds were black but it was not very dark which signed toward a heavy shower. I had an umbrella in my bag in case it rained heavily. When I was at the main road the sprinkling had started and the street children were busy feeling the drops in their faces as if they were trying to see the pores in the clouds from where the drops of rain were falling. People were walking freely as the rain was very light and rejuvenating. I felt lighter as if I was in the paradise and had nothing to fear. Just as I reached in the front gate of the palace the rain was heavier and people had started running for cover. The bike riders either sped up or stopped to get inside their raincoats. Soon the rain grew to the capacity of drenching a man from top to bottom, I covered myself with my umbrella. The roads were clear as the people were under shed, they were below the trees, standing at the doors of shops, inside coffee shops, under the roofs wherever they could avoid the rain. In my umbrella I could protect a greater part of my body. Soon at one point of time except few exuberant students I was the only one at the road. I walked on while others looked at me from the shelters. I felt proud like a child as I could walk on in spite of the rain. When I realized I was feeling proud for the silliest of reason I felt little embarrassed. The thin streams had started to form and they were running down the road as if they were in a hurry for some kind of appointment. Few children were splashing water to each other. Down the Mitrapark road, few school children had collected some water from the stream in their transparent water bottle. They were feeling proud for having captured fish in their bottle though they were tadpoles. I remembered my childhood. We used to go to Jhapa specially during festivals and vacation. There used to be a rivulet behind our house and we loved going there, playing with the water taking bath and try fishing. I never intended to kill the fish, I just wanted to have them inside my small bottle which I used to carry from home. The first time I went home happy and proud for being able to capture some small fish and proudly showed that to one of my aunts. She laughed at me and said I had caught tadpoles not fish. I didn’t believe her and took the bottle to mummy who repeated the same thing. Later we could really capture the real fish but always there used to be few tadpoles which we thought were little grown up fish. Sometime we used to put those bottles in our room where the fish will eventually die by next morning but most of the time we used to pour the bottle in the small stream made for irrigation purpose. We had seen our bigger cousins catching the mud fish in the marshy paddy fields. We thought if we poured many fish in the stream they will go to fields and later when they grew larger our cousins will catch them. Sometime I even used to pour the bottle in the well from which we fetched water for drinking purpose. I thought the elders will be surprised when a fish will come out when they dip the bucket in the well for water. I used to think the fish will multiply very soon and at least few will grow enough to be of noticeable size. Never any fish was found in the well and I doubt I might have dropped tadpoles instead. Many times while cleaning the well they found frogs.
The students were excited for having caught tadpole. There is no chance of catching fish in the stream formed by rain water. When young we used to read that fish fell from sky during rain but haven’t seen any fish falling with rain.
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