“Who the hell are you?” they said. Finally, I swore on them and they shut their mouths up. I felt so powerful. When the bus’s last station came and it halted to a complete stop, all passengers got off, we also got off from the bus only to discover someone from behind hit me so hard on my head that the whole town whirled around my head.
Gradually the opened window pulled me to the world outside where a couple of lovers, I suppose, were going around the Baudha gumba, reminding me of the barren life…
He holds corruption, groupism, and sycophancy responsible for most of the ills the nation is suffering from. With his constant tirades against nearly everything under the sun, Thakur reminds me of a character, Krishna, in RK Narayan’s novel, The English Teacher, in many ways.
I cannot let go of his sight. His spontaneous song spills over on the themes of betrayed lovers, tragedy of common man and the story of Ramayana, Mahabharata and Muna Madan. I listen to each of them in awe and curiosity and cannot control the tears rolling down my cheeks.
मैले निर्णय गरे म लेखकनै बन्छु। मेरो पत्रकार हुने चाहाना पनि थोर बहुत पुरा हुन्छ । किनकि म लेख्छु। आफ्नै ब्लगमा लेख्छु। भिड्यो बनाउछु आफ्नै ब्लगमा हाल्छु। लेख्छु, नेताको बारेमा लेख्छु, जनताको बारेमा लेख्छु, उनीहरुको आवाजको बारेमा लेख्छु, झुपडीको बारेमा लेख्छु, मनमा लागेको कुरा लेख्छु । अब आफ्नै देश नेपाल फर्केर लेख्छु।
I grimaced and remained self-contained because he was reminding me of my ground reality, my poverty. Being a son of a farmer who worked on the farm that hardly yielded enough crops, I could barely have two pieces of clothes in a year, nor quality flip-flops to wear, let alone shoes. He was right that one should be lucky enough to acquire such privileges as he was in.