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Perhaps, it was 30th of Poush 2058
B.S, Mr. Y.N Sharma was teaching us Compulsory English. He had worn a
black cotton pants and dark blue sweater. His shiny black shoes were
well polished. With his delightful personality, he had a commanding,
captivating presence in the classroom. His calligraphy was famously
illegible. He would check student’s assignments regularly with his bold
red pilot pen. A number of girls in the class insisted that Mr. Sharma
is indescribably sexy and have raging crushes on him.
I was sitting at the desk by the window and watched the Theule Khola flowing incessantly. As far as I remember, Mr. Sharma was revising a short story by Anton Chekhov entitled “About Love”
for the upcoming examination. The entire class was listening to Mr.
Sharma. But I wished the class had been over because there was nothing
new for me, I had already prepared the chapter well.
When
Mr.Sharma dropped his chalk on the blackboard ledge, students started to
complain about the story, saying that that was too long. It was hard
to get through. There was the talk of difficult Russian names.
As
soon as the English class was over, I, Dipendra K.C Hastu Malla and
Jeeban Pratikksha Paudel bunked the remaining classes. We hid the books
at our back and went out one by one. Mr. Narayan Acharya, the
principal, Ananta Guru and next Narayan sir who used to teach us
Economic and Environmental Science in those days (He has been teaching
English for years.) were sun bathing outside the staff room in the
ground. We didn’t care them and went to our respective habitant to have
our lunch.
The local fair named The Kaligandagi Mahotsab 2058
was commenced the day before. The attraction of the fair was volleyball
competition among teams from neighboring VDCs. We all gathered at Kushi
Sera bazar at sharp 11 A.M to watch out the game between teams. The
crowd used to divide in two groups chaired to support their favorite
team. We were doing the same.
Among the supporters of
Team Falebas, I saw a girl hooting over there next to me. She was about 5
feet tall. I stared at her unknowingly. She was pretty, slender girl,
wearing crimson color Kurta and Salwar. Her long, dark, black hair was
curving toward her checks. Her face was heart-shaped, her lips painted
glamorous red. She might have noticed my glance; she started to smile at
me, revealing the two front teeth that were slightly overlapped.
Then,
the entertainment of Volleyball game changed in to something else. I
felt, I had never seen such a beautiful girl. The God must have taken
lots of days to sculpt her.
When the games for the day
completed, we returned toward habitant through the stone paved narrow
road between two columns of Kushmi Sera bazar, crowded with the people
came in the fair.
Luckily, I saw her on HAJURBA’s fancy shop once again.
‘This will be warm’ she said, placing her fingers inside a thick dark blue sweater.
‘What do you think?’ she asked her friend standing beside her.
She smiled pointing to the mirror. Hajur Ba was busy on telling her the features of the sweater.
I was sitting on the chair waiting to my friends. I felt some sort of nervousness over there.
She
asked the price. When she heard it, she blushed a dangling from a
thread on one side of her face. “I am afraid. It’s out of my budget for
today,” she said.
Then, Hajur Ba replaced the sweater on the shelf.
She
went without taking something from the shop. But she took my heart with
her. When she went neglecting my glance, I felt some sort of bitter
pain somewhere inside me.
I murmured, ‘Thief.’ I smiled lightly.
If
the proprietor of the shop were not my relative, I would immediately
ask who she was. But he was my Grand Pa, I could not dare.
Boys
came at the shop. They requested to have something. We all were hungry.
So, we went to Resham Sir’s shop and sat together on the weak wooden
bench inside the narrow small tea shop. Resham sir was too busy. His
cooking utensils hung, all slightly coated with grease. He wiped sweat
from his face with free end of his light blue shirt before getting our
order.
He kept an iron pan on the wooden stove, poured some
mustard oil, chopped red onion and put it on the pan; he added thin
slice of chili and three plates of peanut curry to warm it. He squeezed a
piece of lemon on it and served us. We had the Samosa besides curry. We
didn’t forget to taste the banana hung outside the door of his shop.
I
saw the girl in my dream talking to me. When I woke up, I switched on
the lamp by my bed and looked at my wrist watch it was 2.30 A.M. I
wished it had been a reality.
The following day was the main day of the fair, locally known as Maghe Sankranti Mela.
I went to Kushmi Sera with my friends, thousands of people around the
localities had gathered in the Fair. We watched the finale match, met a
lot of friend and shook hands, shared hi and hello. Actually, I was
pretending to watch the game and doing other things, my eyes were
searching the big black lovely eyes and incredible smile that I had met
the day before.
There was folk song and dance competition when
volleyball competition was over on the day. I was appointed MC (Mass
Communicator) for the competition. Both grounds, in front of Shanti
Higher Secondary School, were full of people to watch it.
I was in blue jeans pants, light yellow color t-shirt and leather coat over it. I had converse as my footwear.
The stage was made up of some bamboo stick and the tent by the Saraswoti temple in front of the class 12’s class room.
The
program commenced about half past four in the afternoon. I was holding
the mick and working as the bridge among competitors, audiences and
judges. Suddenly, I saw her standing by the temple with some of her
friends. How powerful she was at the time, her presence alone had
painted a wave of happiness on my face. My heart started to roam happily
like a piece of thin white cloud from one corner to another corner of
the sky.
She was carefully dressed, with gold jewelry at her ears
and nose. I saw her more beautiful than the day before. She had worn the
pink Kurta and yellow salwar made up of stretchable clothes. A small
pink colored Tika on her forehead made her more attractive. Her eyes
were heavy lidded and boldly lined on the top lids. Her hair was
middle-parted, gathered into a chignon.
I pointed to her from the
stage again and again as one of the audience and requested, “Will you
dance?” She shook her head with smile kindly refusing my request. She
was frequently waving her hands and smiling at me. Sometime she showed V
shape of her finger to encourage me.
When the program was over, I
threw the mick somewhere and rushed out to search her. I met her at the
entrance corner of the upper ground in front of the stage. She might be
waiting someone by the school gate.
“Hi! I am Bishnu” I extended my hand towards her.
We
shook hands a bit longer than necessary. She also smiled and said
“hi….” But suddenly some girls came and interrupted her. They even
didn’t let her to accomplish her sentence.
‘Hey! It’s late. Lets’
go soon.’ They were hurried to be at home. She followed her friends
and went waving her right hand to bid me good bye. I felt very sad and
standing over there for some time with cold heart and blank mind. I came
back to my home with a heavy and looped heart.
After that, I
searched her here and there in village, town and fair but I never could
get those black shiny eyes with incredible smile. Still today, I wonder,
who was she? Where was she from? What was her name? I know these
questions will remain unanswered throughout my life. But her picture has
been carved in my heart.
I giggle sometime she may have some children now, as beautiful as she was.
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