Prettypur

Sunday morning, I was getting late for college. Slipping on my tie with one hand and polishing my shoes with the other, I hurried out of my house, ran up the path...splash! ... right into a huge puddle.

With no time left, I rushed on, hopping and skipping along the bigger puddles. Soon, a girl observed that I was wearing mud-colored pants. My teacher asked me why I had not polished my shoes. And my friend queried whether I had just come from the fields. Once upon a time, I would have found all this hilarious.

Then, I used to go out and squash around in the mud, sit on the grass, dig dunes and tunnels. But back then, I had nowhere to go and no deadlines to meet. Now I do. And I am beginning to understand what everyone means when they nod their heads knowingly and mouth ‘irresponsible.’

This path is the worst example of irresponsibility that I have ever seen. In the records, this path is probably described as a smooth twelve-feet mud-path. Except in the monsoons, it should have been quite satisfactory. But it’s winter, not a drop of water has poured for weeks, and I still shudder to think how the others living farther up the path go through this hell that I have to bear for a mere five minutes everyday. With houses treating the path as their private drainage and garage and driveways and toilets, it has become a gooey, yucky mass of mud and dirt and earthworms.

Me and my friend were shocked the other day to see a woman hurling a huge plastic bag right on the bridge above us. “What are you doing?” We, the environment conscious students, screamed. The woman calmly chuckled, “Throwing some sweets, you know.” What do we call this? Insensitivity? Ignorance? Or plain indifference?

Take an example from this evening. We were all waiting for our dad’s great treat, and all he could reach home with was one fourth of the original delicacies. He had dropped everything when he had to push and pull his bike, to find a way, as a huge truck was parked right at the mouth of the path.

It’s not as if we have not done anything either. Forms have been signed, funds have been collected and land has been donated. And yet, this lackluster attitude provides no initiative for any sort of development.

If getting to the main road is a hurdle, the less said after that the better. Up to the gate of Tribhuvan University (TU), all you can see are an endless number of potholes and pebbles with tiny patches of pitched road here and there. It is a heroic task to wrestle your vehicle within that teeny-weeny space that too after swerving and dodging an alarming number of cattle let out just anywhere. By the time you get down, your back is black and blue, and every nerve of yours is aching and trembling.

Yet, another recent phenomenon is a dumping-site (?) created right in front of TU gate. Even at 5:30 in the morning, it spreads such a disgusting smell... you feel giddy and nauseous for hours afterward. Agreed, a site must be built somewhere but it must be properly planned. Think of how it must be for the people who actually live there day in and day out. And I do not even want to imagine what example we are setting by raising Mt. Waste in the gateway of the most prestigious University of the nation.

I was just giving an example of Kirtipur. The truth is that progress is always focused on the main streets, the already developed places and the concrete jungles. Why not on really attention-deserving places like this? Why do we have this all-embracing laziness to any work in these places?

The problems won’t just go away. Without any beginning, the path won’t dry up, the potholes won’t get evened out, people won’t tie their cattle and will not stop flinging their dirt on our face either. Let us begin now, before it is too late to create a Prettypur.

Underneath my pillow

I sleep with pure dynamite under my pillow. Sometimes it is a two fanged snake waiting to get at me; sometimes it is a harmless clown. But these are just my melodramatic definitions. In reality, the object under discussion is a little ruled notebook commonly known as a diary. When I first began keeping a diary, nearly seven years ago, I had no idea that it could be this powerful and addictive. At first, I wrote what a typical thirteen-year-old does: friendship and lifelong (?) treachery; how this teacher scolded me; will I ever have a gf bla..bla..bla... The entries were very ordinary, colorless and flatly written. "I ate mango pickle" or "I brushed my teeth with Colgate." It was a sort of compulsion in those days. I felt an obsessive need to write down everything that had happened during the day, howsoever insignificant and boring it might be. I was greatly influenced by guidebooks and ideas learnt in school. It gradually became a burden for me, something as drudging as making the bed. So I stopped the daily recordings for some time.

Then, as I grew up, I reached out for my diary more and more often. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. And this time around, it started being fun. I did not bother writing about anything that didn’t evoke an emotion in me. So I found it easy going. Today, I have filled up many pages and I still enjoy entering my thoughts. I have found out that now it is possible for me to be perfectly polite to a tiresome (but socially unavoidable) person because I can be sure of getting even in my diary by freeing myself of all ill-feelings and grudges I might have. I don’t need to analyze anything I don’t want to: I can note it down like a cool observer and come back to it when I feel like it. After a while, your diary gets crammed with all sorts of memories: poems, lyrics, random quotes, photos, cards, even bills and pressed leaves. It becomes easy to please people by remembering everything to the last detail: like when the chief guest wore mismatched socks or that their second cousin’s aunt is a doctor. In fact it is your diary that does all the dirty work, acting as a who’s who of dates and names and places that you can refer to when you want. And as it is filled with genuine emotions, a thought rarely has a chance to turn mechanical. Like George Orwell, I believe that a diary makes (and should make) sensational reading. My diary is jammed with the most embarrassing and awkward selections: truth, gossip, rumors. There are times when I feel like tearing away things written in the heat of the moment; things that shock and frighten myself. But I let it be. This landed me in trouble a couple of times when my cousins got hold of my diary. Things turned ugly because they became more furious than me – they could neither accuse me nor forgive me. But I still maintain that it was their fault: the first page of my diary declares that it is personal and hence is to be handled at one’s own risk. A diary is a combination of your feelings, mum and best friend. It is the worthiest and most reliable psychiatrist. It does not lie, it does not tell. It just makes you clear about your sentiments, relations and life as a whole. I have found out that the fear of discovery is the reason people cite for avoiding entries. But you can combat this by a secret code, lock and key, invisible ink. There is always fire to burn it away. I don’t follow anything because I don’t care if anyone is callous enough to read my diary. Curiosity will undoubtedly kill that cat. The only idea is to have peace of mind – to leave behind negative emotions and engrave joyful moments in ink. Even if the end result is a bomb waiting to explode underneath your pillow.

The Very Narrow Escape

I got a very narrow escape which took my breath away last night. I encountered with the black big dog in the dark night while returning back home from my work. Actually, that was not a dog that was a lion for an instance and I was the prey of that hunter. As his barking sound entered in my ear and was getting even closer and louder by every moment passing by it compelled to rush my heartbeat twice or may be trice as compared to normal. I though I lost my sense of smell, touch and taste. Just I have two sense remained to hear his barking and to see his forty vampire teeth.

In an instant, I knew "Now I can't get away from his bite". I also know if I let him know that I got scared from him then he would certainly attack me. So encouraging my insensitive heart, I say just le, le, le …... (go away). He came barking at me with the vampire teeth at a distance of 1 feet informant of my knee.

Then, I saw the picture of teeth print on my knee and feel the deep pain before his bite. Unconditionally I pressed the mobile button and he stopped barking as he saw the light. I was really thankful to my mobile which saved me from that dog. Sometimes something that we don’t even expect to do can also helps us in many more things. Like a mobile became my shield that protected me from the fierce dog.

A pair of pretty shoes

I overslept today again.I woke up at 6.30. My lesson suppose to be at 6.15. Went for the next lecture at 7.15 instead. I hate waking up late. I feel horribly stupid when I woke up late.Damn it.

Went to bus park and waited for Sabindra, and I saw push cart selling pretty shoes for just Rs. 300. As the day before I visited one shop it was around Rs. 1000. I was too exicited seeing such a pretty shoes that just I would have like insuch a cheap price in such a chilly cold morning.

Craving for New Road after collage, but went to have breakfast with Pradip, Dipak and Boby instead.Thanks Pradip.

It's time I memorise my jap for shopping in new road… for some shoppingvery boring:(Pretty shoes,I'm going to get you tomorrow as I said to them showing my new pretty shoes that I bought in the morning.

My Class Friends

Here's something that I wrote in the memory of my 10+2 college (Richmond Academy) friends. So, the title begins with;

My Class Friends

My Class is the best

Among all the rest

It is full of wonders

And sometimes with thunders.

Sudarshan is the monitor

You can call him an alligator.

Kishor and Sabita are always fighting

Over silly things you know.

Bijaya, Laxman and Amrit

Always play games of what you cannot say

Nirmal and Sabindra are great liars

They take advantage of shiers

Pragya is a quite one

Admired and loved by everyone,

Sanjaya and Saroj are class heroes

But they always make fun of zeroes.

Sushila and Mahima are like Japanese dolls

Brings tasty in our class,

Shambu and Bibek are the tallest

They are also the strongest

Sanjita is of course a class topper

But I am no doubt a good taker

Deepa is a shining star

Who comes all the way from Naikap

Nineteen-Nineteen makes thirty eight

Is the total number mixed

We are mischievous yet perfect

That's why class XII "D" is the best

From all the Rest

5 WH of Bunking

Teenagers today demand for a lot of freedom. For the sake of their independence, they are willing to go to any length. One of their forms of rebellion against authority is bunking. This growing menace needs to be tackled as effectively as possible through careful study and analysis. Simply speaking, bunking is the process of leaving a certain period or all the classes of the day.
Who Bunks? The greatest numbers of students who bunk their classes range from 14-18, i.e., high school students. But this trend is rapidly on the rise, with kids as young as 11-12 opting for the canteen than the classroom. According to Isha Rai, 15, "I began bunking when I was in class eight; now even my younger sister regularly misses her classes." So, bunkers are likely to be teenagers with a happy-go-lucky attitude.
Why do they bunk? The majority do it just for the heck of it. The new found freedom and peer pressure have a lot to do with this. Pradip Kyastha from Khowpa Collage has a very short answer to this, "It's cool." Many bunk to show off, fit in or oppose authority. Binod Timilsina, 16, says, "I used to bunk a lot, maybe due to my immaturity and irrational wish to outwit the guardians."
When do they bunk? Students bunk when they do not want to attend classes or have problems with the institution. If a teacher is absent or the forthcoming subject seems boring, the class becomes empty. Babu Ram Bhattarai, coordinator of Richmond Academy, says "Sometimes students leave for school in the morning but instead of arriving here, they go for a spontaneous shopping trip."
Where do they go? There are various options available, depending on the situation. Most schools are strict about letting students go out, so they opt for some place inside. It turns out to be the garden, library, terrace, canteen or empty classroom. Sharmila Gahatraj shares a unique experience, "Once, we hid inside the toilet for a whole hour. It was stuffy but we had a lot of fun chatting in low voices." If the venue has been fixed, it's often a popular eatery, mall or entertainment center. Thamel, New Road and Putalisadak are the favored areas. Going for the latest movie, party or concert are also preferred.
What do they do? There's a single word: chill-out. Depending on the time, place and budget, the bunkers can be found eating, singing, playing games, roaming and shopping. Smriti Bhagat, 16, says, "I was a timid person but I enjoyed bunking, I loved the shared camaraderie of the thrill."
How does the authority react? Parents and teachers alike are understandably concerned. According to Anita Bhagat, Smriti's mother, "Even we were mischievous in our time but we never behaved in such an irresponsible manner. I am always worried that my daughter will fall into bad company or that she will not realize importance of dedication toward education and career." Parents often retaliate by restricting privileges like telephoning or going out, while the school issues suspension orders, counseling and rustication threats. "But," opines a high school English teacher," We can't make a difference until the individual decides to be conscientious of his/her personal accord."

Memorable Journey

Yesterday's my friends weeding. It was not that big party so all of our friends were not invited. Just four of us were invited i.e. Pradip, Suresh, Sabindra and me of course. Sabindra couldn't make it because he has some work so we all decided to reach to the venue at 1.00 pm but we couldn't make it possible on time. It was short but quite a interesting journey from Ratnapark Bus Park to Sanga (Venue Place). The journey that I won't forget easily.

We decided to reach the venue by 1.00 but it was already 1.30 when we were at the Bus Park and we were getting late as we promised to reach early and return back home also. The journey was of 1.30 hours but we couldn't make it by that. It took us nearly three hours to reach there.

It was cloudy day from the morning and all of us were hoping not to rain today. To our surprise when we reached the Koteshwor it began to rain slowly and as we move forward towards the Thimi side the rain gets bigger and bigger. We were afraid if it was raining in the venue coz it would be hard to manage to crowd so we called our friend who was over there. So when we reached Thimi we called Boby on her cell and as we were talking on the phone suddenly a noise struck to our mind and as we looked backward the two person were lying on the road slipping from their bike and their bike was beneath our bus. They were on the high speed and the road was slippery and they couldn't grip the bike and they fall down. Then suddenly the police men came and asked the our bus driver to park the bus on the corner. We waited there approximately for 15 minutes. Then as there wasn't any fault of our bus driver the traffic let us go and as we moved a bit forward there were a group of crowd gathered as we looked from the window of the bus we saw the bike colliding with the bus and it looks pretty serious. We got stuck on the jam for an hour and finally reached the venue at 5.30. It was pretty late and I have to reach far so I went to my friends home and stayed with him.

It was a pretty memorial day for us not everybody sees the three accident in the same day on such a short journey. The day of course was a memorable day coz one of my good friend (Deeps) was getting married also we saw the three accidents in just a nick of time and one looked pretty serious too.

Hope everyone's Fine.