Every time someone talks about love, I get so furious towards some great personalities like Khadga Sumsher who built Rani Mahal, Shehenshah who built one of the Seven Wonders of the World, Taj Mahal and many more lovers of the history who left such great marks in the name of love that an average lover like me is in an undesirable situation.
I am not able of building Taj Mahal or Rani Mahal but does that conclude that my love for someone is inferior to the love of people who made those monuments? Since the measure of love is based on such outrageous activities that one does for their partner, people like will me will always be a flop lover and people like Khadga Sumsher will remain an evergreen hit.
Today’s love story may or may not be mine and if it resembles someone’s reality that can be considered as a co incidence. This is ‘his and her’ love story. He and she can be anyone in this crowd of millions. Our society has many him and her and I would like to dedicate today’s story to each one of them. All of them fall in the list of people who have loved and been loved. Come let’s hear their story.
I am pretty sure that he also learnt how to love through movies, he didn’t know how to dance however; action scenes were his favorite. Everyone in school had a doubt on his and her relationship. Unlike today going on a date wasn’t privileged during old times. He still remembers how they sneaked out to the garden in front of their school and exchanged their letters. It was different those days. Cell phones weren’t common during his time let alone chatting in social media. He wrote a letter after hours of practice and tearing many pages one after one and finally ended up with his first love letter. It was Saraswati Puja that day. They had a function in school. He was sitting in a queue with a packet of Prasad and he went up to her and handed his letter with that packet of Prasad. But he didn’t get his answer for the longest time. He believed that an unanswered love is an accepted love and didn’t step back. He knew that she used to come to fair every Thursday and he used to go there running just for a glimpse of her. No communication, no hugs, nothing just a glimpse. Every kid of the school used to be the happiest during holidays but he was fond of going to school because he got to watch her.
They both studied in same school. He had a bicycle whose half color was already faded. He used to ride that in various ways. Sometimes with one hand, sometimes ditching the rider’ seat and sitting at the back and sometimes standing while riding. With the paddle of his cycle his love story was also moving forward simultaneously. Once during the time of New Year he gifted her a postcard with picture of actors and actress which had, “One glass of water, two glass of beer. Oh! My dear, Happy New Year” written in it.
She didn’t become his Juliet or let’s say he couldn’t become the Jack to her Rose and their love sunk down just like the Titanic. He and his “her” had to part their ways and shatter their dreams. He also received her wedding invitation but didn’t go. His father told how revelry the wedding was. The man she was married to had a good earning in abroad. He heard many good things about the person who swept away his childhood love. “She must be happy; if she ended up with me I couldn’t even buy her a small ornament with my salary of 6 months. Maybe whatever happened is for good; that foreigner must have bought tons of jewelry for her. But again if she was with me she would stay in the soil she was born and brought up on. Even if I couldn’t buy her all the fancy things in the world, I would fill her life with love. Who knows we might have flown to abroad after our marriage?” He is still tangled in these possibilities.
All those things above are flashbacks. He is still not fond of the noise of those big airplanes coming from abroad. He has his own reasons.
In every plane there are Nepali brothers wearing tidy clothes, carrying huge suitcases who come to small villages in the search of a civilized loving wife and take them along. He had an utter sign of depression while saying this. And the romeos like me have to live with their faded old cycle, few postcards and lots of memories. “It’s really hard”, he adds. His heart says that she still loves him. She still cries in the corner of her room in the unknown foreign country while remembering him. At least he assumes that.
He has a request. Don’t come in those big jets and take away the love of small and average people like me. You people go to abroad, earn and live there find a foreigner or even Nepali girls residing there. Please don’t come and take away the pure love of small villagers like us.
The earth is round. We have to come through various paths and life is long. One day he will meet her in one of those paths and ask her why did you do this? But the reality is no matter how much she was against of this marriage no one was going to hear her voice. Her parents were extremely happy that their daughter is going abroad; their son in law was a rich Laure. But her mother was admitted to hospital last year due to her disease that couldn’t be cured by any medicinal herbs. She was at a critical condition so I dropped her to hospital in my same old bicycle along with villagers. Her mother shed tears while sitting on her deathbed regretting that she couldn’t even meet her daughter before dying. But if you wish your daughter to be near you why did you send her abroad? Now her mother is out of danger and rests at home but time and often we need to rush her to hospital. I heard that she was visiting village in Baisakh after 4 years.
When emotions fill you up you don’t need questions to share your answers. He was answering everything although I didn’t ask him anything. Maybe it’s meant to be like this. When those guys with shirt perfectly tucked inside their jeans come from abroad, who would even have a glance at losers like me? I don’t know why everyone’s heart melts when they hear someone has come from foreign country. She didn’t even wait for her +2 result and flew away.
She left, his life was meaningless but time stops for no one. Every morning sun rises the same way and sun sets the same way, climates and weather change, festivals came and went but she didn’t come although she never left his heart. It’s even harder to forget, better to remember and embrace those memories. He took a deep breath.
He is at village right now and still living a good life. He easily makes money to feed himself but his earning may not be as good when exchanged in dollars. He hasn’t tried to contact her since she came back. He once had sent request on face book but it didn’t get accepted.
That was her habit. She kept everything on pending. First time when I kept a proposal in front of her, she kept it pending and today my request is pending, he smiled. But I won’t stay in pending anymore. She left me now I will find my new ‘her’.
Here many ‘him’ are sitting on constant and never ending wait of ‘her’ and stories like this are reborn every day. If it resembles with someone’s life it’s just a co incidence. Why did she do that? Why did she leave him? As a writer I want to know ‘her’ side of story. Her emotions couldn’t be collected and put in this story and this story is incomplete without her emotions. One day when I meet her I will try to complete this story. If you find her somewhere do let me know. I want to know what kind of life she is living right now. Far from her village in big cities has she completely forgotten him or still thinks about him?
This February, Valentine’s month, we present you this Nepali Valentine story. Those ‘him’ who have lose hope of their love and for those ‘her’ who exchanged their love and flew leaving it behind are abundant in Nepali society. Here his life is filled with stories and characters. He has become a good friend of mine these days. I meet him quite frequently and I will write his stories which he has captivated in his heart since forever.
Story writer:Suyog Dhakal
Translated By:Archeesa Aryal