Monthly Archives: April 2015

fine china

I put the water to boil on the stove to make a cup of tea for me… then I picked up a china cup, opened the water tap and swirled the white china with gush of water.( ahiley samma nothing had occurred in my mind, it was just making a cup of tea for me)…then my eyes caught the sight of the same cup I was holding ,only that it was handicapped, without its handle…then thoughts started to swirl into  my head softly. Those neatly shining china were so delicate. I remember how mom had kept her china cup sets away from us when we were little. She had saved her wedding gift from breaking up. Me and my sister used to be so amused by those cups which we rarely got to hold. She had kept those babies safely so that they wouldnot break, in this process she hardly used them.

So, now let me narrate what really was playing in my head and what might actually make some sense. One year of fellowship I spent whinning “I know and am aware I can do amazing things, I have so many ideas in my head but why “oh sweet why” am I not being able to do any of those things.” What came to my mind was, I was keeping those ideas to me safely in a cupboard just like those fragile china worrying and getting scared if it might break apart (more like scared of failures).

What I was missing was the delight of drinking in that fine cup made of those finest clay with white glowing glaze, decorated with beautiful  strokes of brushes in fear of breaking it.


Fear sipped in my heart,
Like monsoon inside earth’s bed.
Spreads like a wildfire,
Burning all soul’s desire.
Creeps in my dream,
Shouts with a silent scream.
Follows my shadow,
In the day light I try to hide.
Stitch a smile hoping it would die,
Feeble it would lie.

The year.

I still remember me counting months all over again and again… days counted numerous times like a kid trying to memorize seven days of the week… sometimes I would do the maths dotting the three lines on my fingers when I would be alone and for the times I was not, I would get it done in my head. Oh sorry, you must be wondering about the relation here of week days, months and numbers. 😛 Well, I kept track of the number of months that passed by and of those that were to be passed to complete a year. Sometimes it would be the days left for a fat vacation ahead (trust me days would just not pass, I would just count the days on my fingers and yet the thumb would just stop at the same stop every hour of the day :P). And now look! A year passed by just like that.

My year teased all my tastebuds with sweet, sour, bitter, tangy moments. Just like people say “life is not just white or just black, it is grey”. Likewise all the days were not just bitter and sweet, it  tasted different every day (sorry, I know not the names of all tastes). If you ask me how was it? If you are a stranger, I would surely say you the good parts of it. If you are better than a stranger I would tell you about all the burnt tastes as well.

The heat! Whether it be due to those walks on sunny mornings uphill or reaction when your class goes all crazy or that one student pulls up your nerves. I have lost my temper and been a mean person occasionally; I get furious  and throw my temper at the students but then I feel myself shiver getting all nervous and worried if the student might hate me. They curse me for being too strict during exams. They get mad at me if they don’t get things their way.

The frustration! What did I do? Do I matter? Is me being there instead of some other person makes any difference? Why am I so lazy? Why do I have to get back home every week? Why do I feel this unnecessary guilt and worry myself? Should I really be here? What would life be if I were not here? What after two year? Why did they not study at home for exam? Why are you not remembering “Na” is Sodium and not “So”? Why are you asking me questions?

The learning! “Yay!” for me. I got the most out of this year. I must have learnt the same quantity as to totalling all my life (approximately). First thing, my vocab for nepali words have  swollen like crazy. I actually taught “bigyan”. I still remember when grade ten waited for the moments I would take a long pause translate English to nepali, they would just have a wicked grin on their face. Man, they intimidated me good. The most important lesson was understanding people and life in village. One thing is for sure, you learn the most when you live your life as a teacher.

The love! ‘Miiiiiiiss’ little kids call you out and I answer back “hajuuuuuuur”. This has been my routine. I love being “miss”.

IMG_20141110_141639 IMG_20140918_165823The little gifts that they bestow on us…padhaudai garda she would call me up and then take out kakro(cucumber) and offer

IMG_20140609_142546…that enormous green mango she gave me all wrapped in her handkerchief…those tiny sweets presented in those wee little palms(which probably they needed more than me)…IMG_20140613_142926

ah!and those bunch of prettiest orchids that she gave me and I wore on my hair that induced giggles amongst the girls… And all that satires that screamed love…gleam of joy in those eyes when the story ended with a happy note (that joy encourages me to be a better  storyteller).

The year was all about the love that I got to relive, the love that I gave my teachers when I was a student…