There is still time for the stars to appear in the sky, the twilight is usual. From somewhere I smell the froth of boiling tea. Ah!! there it is the push-cart, a hotel in a wheel. I have never had tea from these push-carts one I am not a great fan of tea and the other I am concerned about cleanliness and the jazz. It’s been a while that the cart has stood in front of me and as the naughty froth try to come out of the kettle the owner of the business lowers the flame of his stove. I must have been watching the over enthusiastic froth for almost ten minutes and in all these minutes not a single customer has come yet the owner seems to be in hurry. He opens one container after another. There is no reason behind my standing before the book shop watching the cart. Yes I had come to the book shop to check for a book unfortunately the book was not there. I had stopped to think what should I do next as like many times I had become thoughtless, had forgotten everything as if it were some amnesia. I could not make sense of the crowd, they make me feel dizzy, my existence become so minute and trivial, and everyone is in hurry. On the other side of the road a slogan is painted on the wall. It is an appeal I don’t understand, appeal to reconstruct the country. But that is none of my concern; I am irritated by the hubbub. All these people seem to me to have been directed to move, walk, trot in random and they are doing what they are told without knowing why they were told to do so. The book shop is crowded too and people are seeking books in all kind of subjects, subjects even my father wouldn’t have heard in his youth while he was student in a huge city of Calcutta. I believe they have renamed the city to Kolkata, may be they don’t like Shakespeare (“What’s in name that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”). Even many places in Kathmandu city have been renamed but that makes sense to me because that is what New Nepal is. I won’t be surprised if they changed the name of the country itself.
The twilight has come on a hold, it is not changing, the sky has stopped the roads are however busy, I feel the pace of people has widened. This seem to be a competition where every man on the road wants to overtake the other, as if they are running for a jewel and everyone fearing that the mine might be empty when they reach there. The steam from the kettle rises and vanishes. A gate opens and the students come out of the college chattering, playing, laughing just to lose their identity in the crowd, just to lose their voice in the noise. Small glasses are wiped and are arranged upside down in the cart, he picked a small dirty piece of cloth to lift the kettle from the stove and soon small glasses were filled as the student came directly to his stall.
Unfortunately I lost my confidence in academic degrees just after I joined the college and yet the fear of unemployment had me stuck in the college for four years. I won’t deny that I was different when I came out of the college but it has been a little help. Unwillingly I am back at the doors of college once again just to get a proof of knowing things. I try to seek if these students have different opinions. I seek it in their eyes, in their body language and in their expression. Whether it’s the light that has become scarce by this time or because of my own problems I fail to find anything. I see people more aware of political alignment and consciousness than consciousness for quality living. Soon the glasses of tea start emptying, a small boy probably the owner’s son is busy cleaning the glasses. I didn’t notice when he joined his father but I can see a man in the making I hope he grows up to become someone whose shop is bigger and more profitable than his father’s. He dips glasses into a tub of water whose color changes from colorless to light tea. He rinses them with clean water next and it becomes ready for another round.
The crowd fails to clear and I come out of my amnesia. I mix in the crowd and a bus sweeps me from one crowd to next. In my lonely room I feel significant, I feel sad to seek myself in the crowd.
The twilight has come on a hold, it is not changing, the sky has stopped the roads are however busy, I feel the pace of people has widened. This seem to be a competition where every man on the road wants to overtake the other, as if they are running for a jewel and everyone fearing that the mine might be empty when they reach there. The steam from the kettle rises and vanishes. A gate opens and the students come out of the college chattering, playing, laughing just to lose their identity in the crowd, just to lose their voice in the noise. Small glasses are wiped and are arranged upside down in the cart, he picked a small dirty piece of cloth to lift the kettle from the stove and soon small glasses were filled as the student came directly to his stall.
Unfortunately I lost my confidence in academic degrees just after I joined the college and yet the fear of unemployment had me stuck in the college for four years. I won’t deny that I was different when I came out of the college but it has been a little help. Unwillingly I am back at the doors of college once again just to get a proof of knowing things. I try to seek if these students have different opinions. I seek it in their eyes, in their body language and in their expression. Whether it’s the light that has become scarce by this time or because of my own problems I fail to find anything. I see people more aware of political alignment and consciousness than consciousness for quality living. Soon the glasses of tea start emptying, a small boy probably the owner’s son is busy cleaning the glasses. I didn’t notice when he joined his father but I can see a man in the making I hope he grows up to become someone whose shop is bigger and more profitable than his father’s. He dips glasses into a tub of water whose color changes from colorless to light tea. He rinses them with clean water next and it becomes ready for another round.
The crowd fails to clear and I come out of my amnesia. I mix in the crowd and a bus sweeps me from one crowd to next. In my lonely room I feel significant, I feel sad to seek myself in the crowd.
1 comment:
I wish I could write like this. Good as always. I visualized the crowd and feel like I am watching it now.
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