A Portrait in the Mirror of Memory

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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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