The Day I Left My Home
The Day I left Home
The dusk is approaching so soon. The sun seems to be teasing me turning yellowish or rather more orange in the other side of the hill. Ah! I always love the scene of this sun getting engulfed by the hill. There is yellowish glow everywhere in the surroundings; yellow clouds, yellow hills, yellow sky and what nots!!!. The cloud is changing its form into an object that we could fly in today (these clouds turn into every shape I imagine it to be, I just need to think about the object and relate it to the clouds and lo and behold! it will change the shape.)
I am now asking the sun of these parts to remember me as I really am going to miss him getting swallowed by the hill, as from tomorrow, I will be far away from this place. Moreover, I am not certain whether I am going to see this beautiful sun getting swallowed by the hill in the other part that I am moving to.
I've sweet memories of this place, words are getting shorter to describe my memories. I wonder from where I need to begin to write about it. Do I need to begin from the cute smile of my innocent brother, who has not seen this world for more than 4 years ? or I need to begin from the loving look of my parents who are little bit scared that I am going to start my studies and living on my own in a unknown land. Or rather more, I need to begin from the loving smile from my peers and the teacher who knows my inside out, and all their eyes are saying, "Be brave, We trust you."
It is already 7.30 in the evening and everybody are carefree and in their own worlds, but I am thinking hard not to forget every single memory of this place. This place is far more beautiful than the heaven itself for me.
I remember once, when I was a child that there came an uncle to our place and I had pleaded him so much to tell me a story and at last he had agreed. He went on telling me a story about an witch. The story was so good and terrifying that when I had finished hearing the story I had cried and for the whole night, I cried and slept in my mother's lap. Poor she, she didn't even shut her eyes once when I was in her lap for the whole night. There beetle-nut tree in the terrace of my home, my childhood imagination had turned its lanky trunks and the leaves into the body and hair of the witch of that story respectively. I used to have trouble going out late alone from the terrace as in my imagination it had swallowed me raw for number of times. Now, as an adult I am looking at that tree again from my balcony and I am filled by that childhood nostalgia. As a grown up me, I have fancy for ghost and vampire stories as I like imagining and scaring myself. So most of the night, I read ghost stories just in order to get to the places that the protagonist of the story goes and it helps me to dream.
Yesterday I had called all of my friends to my home, almost everyone that I was going to miss. I created a video sitting with them, there was Rahul who had done the playback singing and Rohit who was cracking jokes in the middle of the video to make everyone smile. These all are going to be a treasure for me when I am long gone from here and when I feel low, this is going to boost me up.
Two years ago there was a couple of Hippi around our place. They were strange humans. They used to wear long and light clothes and had even pierced their toungue. Both of them had hair like that of Bob Marley( a famous Africo-American singer, who used to sing about the stories of the Afro-American lives.) Their hairstyle had intrigued me so much that I started growing up my hair and when my hair was long enough, I had run to their place to ask them to make my hair like theirs. It was a happy day,I roamed in the street with my new hairstyle like a king. I smiled at the surprised face of my neighbours. On the next morning i found my lock of hair falling down, someone had cut up my 'cool' hair down. That day I'd cried a lot remembering my hair. Those hippis had strange language, the girl used to call her guy, "hombre, como estas??" (Man how are you?). Their tone and the way of speaking used to surprise me a lot so I used to go to their place everyday just in order to learn one new word from them.
The more I am writing all these, the more I am going in my childhood. I wonder sometimes, had this happened at all? or was it just dreams??
Robert Frost in one of his poem had said,
Two roads diverged in the woods, and I,
I took the one less travelled by
and that has made all the difference.
I might be sitting in that transit right now with a ticket in my hand, all excited and a bit fearful about the future. I hope though I am choosing the road that is less travelled by from these parts, it is going to make some difference.
Adios Biratnagar!!(bye bye Biratnagar)
tu estas siempre cerca de mi corazon. (You are always going to be near my heart.)
So long!!!!
The dusk is approaching so soon. The sun seems to be teasing me turning yellowish or rather more orange in the other side of the hill. Ah! I always love the scene of this sun getting engulfed by the hill. There is yellowish glow everywhere in the surroundings; yellow clouds, yellow hills, yellow sky and what nots!!!. The cloud is changing its form into an object that we could fly in today (these clouds turn into every shape I imagine it to be, I just need to think about the object and relate it to the clouds and lo and behold! it will change the shape.)
I am now asking the sun of these parts to remember me as I really am going to miss him getting swallowed by the hill, as from tomorrow, I will be far away from this place. Moreover, I am not certain whether I am going to see this beautiful sun getting swallowed by the hill in the other part that I am moving to.
I've sweet memories of this place, words are getting shorter to describe my memories. I wonder from where I need to begin to write about it. Do I need to begin from the cute smile of my innocent brother, who has not seen this world for more than 4 years ? or I need to begin from the loving look of my parents who are little bit scared that I am going to start my studies and living on my own in a unknown land. Or rather more, I need to begin from the loving smile from my peers and the teacher who knows my inside out, and all their eyes are saying, "Be brave, We trust you."
It is already 7.30 in the evening and everybody are carefree and in their own worlds, but I am thinking hard not to forget every single memory of this place. This place is far more beautiful than the heaven itself for me.
I remember once, when I was a child that there came an uncle to our place and I had pleaded him so much to tell me a story and at last he had agreed. He went on telling me a story about an witch. The story was so good and terrifying that when I had finished hearing the story I had cried and for the whole night, I cried and slept in my mother's lap. Poor she, she didn't even shut her eyes once when I was in her lap for the whole night. There beetle-nut tree in the terrace of my home, my childhood imagination had turned its lanky trunks and the leaves into the body and hair of the witch of that story respectively. I used to have trouble going out late alone from the terrace as in my imagination it had swallowed me raw for number of times. Now, as an adult I am looking at that tree again from my balcony and I am filled by that childhood nostalgia. As a grown up me, I have fancy for ghost and vampire stories as I like imagining and scaring myself. So most of the night, I read ghost stories just in order to get to the places that the protagonist of the story goes and it helps me to dream.
Yesterday I had called all of my friends to my home, almost everyone that I was going to miss. I created a video sitting with them, there was Rahul who had done the playback singing and Rohit who was cracking jokes in the middle of the video to make everyone smile. These all are going to be a treasure for me when I am long gone from here and when I feel low, this is going to boost me up.
Two years ago there was a couple of Hippi around our place. They were strange humans. They used to wear long and light clothes and had even pierced their toungue. Both of them had hair like that of Bob Marley( a famous Africo-American singer, who used to sing about the stories of the Afro-American lives.) Their hairstyle had intrigued me so much that I started growing up my hair and when my hair was long enough, I had run to their place to ask them to make my hair like theirs. It was a happy day,I roamed in the street with my new hairstyle like a king. I smiled at the surprised face of my neighbours. On the next morning i found my lock of hair falling down, someone had cut up my 'cool' hair down. That day I'd cried a lot remembering my hair. Those hippis had strange language, the girl used to call her guy, "hombre, como estas??" (Man how are you?). Their tone and the way of speaking used to surprise me a lot so I used to go to their place everyday just in order to learn one new word from them.
The more I am writing all these, the more I am going in my childhood. I wonder sometimes, had this happened at all? or was it just dreams??
Robert Frost in one of his poem had said,
Two roads diverged in the woods, and I,
I took the one less travelled by
and that has made all the difference.
I might be sitting in that transit right now with a ticket in my hand, all excited and a bit fearful about the future. I hope though I am choosing the road that is less travelled by from these parts, it is going to make some difference.
Adios Biratnagar!!(bye bye Biratnagar)
tu estas siempre cerca de mi corazon. (You are always going to be near my heart.)
So long!!!!
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