The fair weather in the valley was adorned with the scenic view of high hills in the northern east probably the hills of Nagarkot and Shivapuri. The captivating sight and the inflow of cool breeze gave me a sense of relaxation to some extent. Inhaling a long deep breath, I was gazing at the wind screen and the road that lays in-front of my eyes through my multi layered PRADA’s sun-glass. I took out "Dreams from my father", a recently purchased, brand new book of Former American prez Barak Obama from my bag and started going through it.
A middle age women get into the bus at Balkhu. She looked around and decided to sit on the burner by my side. Her canopy was sufficient enough to occupy the space around gear box which would definitely obstruct driver to change gear time and again. The driver requested her to sit comfortably into the cabin. She had some luggage, seems like she immigrated outside the valley. Adjusting the huge Zebra bag on the desk of windscreen she asked me with a outrageous smile, "Yaha basna milxa?" (Can I sit here?). I reciprocated her smile and said "milxa"(Yes Please) to response her courtesy. Her luggage opaque the side mirror so the driver again genuinely requested to adjust her zebra bag. Being a companion of the journey I assisted to pull out one of her bag and put it into my lap above the collage bag of mine. Looking at the thin cloth bag in her hand I passed a compliment to her. "Kasto ramro jhola raixa tapaiko kaha linu vayeko?"(You have got nice bag where did you purchased it). After a short pause she replied with a soothing voice " Timro jasto ramro kaha xa ra?" (Not as much nice as yours) with a strong sense of brevity. I guess she tried to be ingenuous thinking me a school boy. She was carrying a blue colored cloth hand bag with some Korean letters on it.
After a long unusual pause she added, "Timro jasto umerdarile bokne, asadai dherrai urjale variyeko kaha xa ra? mero jholama ta fagat nirjib kagatpatra haru chhan" ( Your bag is contented with so much of youthful energies while my bag is so unfortunate with these dead documents). She poured all the dark and deep piece of thoughts over my light conversation opener sentence. Looking at the book on my hands she further asked, “Do you love your father". “Yes I do as everybody does, in parallel I love my mother, brother, sisters and all of my family members" I replied in jest. I could feel she was just trying to be nice to me, on purpose, which only meant, not be rude to the travelling partner. She was constantly looking at her cell phone time to time. In a minute the mobile phone blinked with a number.
" Batoma Chhu" (Iam on the way) was the only word she uttered and then within a few interval of time she flooded with all of her frustration and emotions that turned into the lumps in her throat," Hospitalko sifaris pesh garnu vanchha. Buwako daktar pani aja bhetini ho haina. Dikka lagisako" (They have asked to submit recommendation letter of the hospital. Im not sure today I could meet my fatther's doctor. Iam so deserted). May be the caller asked her something that she was uncertain about. She said " khai. Saas rahunjel aash hunchha" (Who knows, what the tide could bring) and then she put off her phone.
The term "recommendation letter of hospital" reminded me the huge hoarding board of Nepal-Korea Friendship Skin Care Hospital at Madhyapur Thimi and connected me to her blue colored bag imprinted with Korean letters which I initially opinionated as a fancy stuffs. Now it wasn't any rocket science for me to understand that she was right back from the Metropolitan office and on the way to visit the oncologist of her father. Her soothing voice and fainted upward curves in her lips were evident enough to portray all the drudgery of the unnecessary paper work that one has to go through to take the medical treatment of the deprived citizen from Bipanna Naagarik Kosh under the subdue of Ministry of Health and Population. I felt guilty for my own deeds. Why had I ask her about her bag? Is it mandatory for Nepalese to make conversation with strangers while travelling? I asked myself. For the first time, I feel so remorse for being garrulous. The women by my side was quiet and looking forward with a pair of an empty eyes to the perilous distant future......
The bus stopped at traffic. Construction of Fly over had created an irritable pandemonium of the vehicle at Gwarko chowk. Street vendors were requesting passengers to buy Mineral water, wiping clothes, balloons and toys for children. Dumb-street-child were asking for charity. The driver asked the conductor to buy khaini. Passing a long chain of Parag sachet (a brand of tobacco in Nepal), the conductor told that tobacco has been banned in Kathmandu. The driver and the conductor discussed about the contemporary issues regarding new traffic rules and the newly elected mayor and about his conduct.
The traffic signaled to proceed ahead. I realized it was the same bus I traveled in the morning. I used to take part in their conversation sometimes. After knowing I was his passenger for the second time on that day, the driver asked my profession. I replied him I am a teacher and an undergraduate student of the degree simultaneously. The women bulged her eyes expressing a surprise and asked" Tapai kaha padaunu hunchha?"(Where do you teach?). This time she upgraded her greetings from timi to tapai. I was on cloud nine to know the existence of people who still have some respect for people with some sorts of academic degree and is a teacher by profession. Soon I replied," I am an instructor at Narabahadur Bahuprabidhik Sikshalaya at Lalitpur municipality. It is a CTEVT program". We talked on several topics, such as weather, scopes in Nepal, and current political discourse as well. I was close to my destination. I convey my wishes for the speedy recovery of her father. She recalled a typical Nepali quote, "hune har daiba nataar vanchhan". (If you’re born to be shoot, you will never be hanged). It seems like she was well prepared for worst. She shook her head with a faded corporate smile and said "Huss. Ramaro sanga janu hola" (Safe journey). I showed my ID card to the conductor, put the change into the side pocket of my joggers and get off the bus. The bus resumes it’s journey.
On the way, the women and her attitude towards life triggered me for so long till I reached my home. One has to prepare for the worst, and still hope for the best. A man has to pretend well despite of adversities, that's why the appearances are decisive. With the objectives of achieving at least good, mind-make ups and relentless effort are to be made because the life of the survivor must go on.