| Username |
Post |
| Soleil |
Posted
on 06-Sep-02 03:55 PM
It had been over a month I had moved to Virginia from the windy city of Chicago in the summer of 1993, and I had not been succeeded to get a job. Being an international student unauthorized to work, it was unlikely to find a nice position. I was not even finding a place to do a labor work. With only about $500 left in cash, I became anxious. Wandering in the Ballston Mall and other shopping centers around the area in a desperate attempt to find a job had already wearied me down. Second thoughts of going back to Chicago had already been occurring in my torpid mind. I called Shyamhari, a guy I had met and befriended while being in Chicago. He too had moved down to Washington, DC, a day after I had arrived in Virginia. He had been working two jobs unlike me. “Hello! ke chha bro?…… ani kata bepatta?……Chicago bata aaye pachhi ta bhet nai bhako chhaina. Ani kam kata gardai hunu hunchha?…………” He asked so many questions at once, enthusiastically. I convened my afflictions and explained. “Maile ta Chicago pharkine nidho garen, ahile Greyhound ko ticket kinna jana lagya…..” I added. “La! Kasto kura gareko Soleil ji tapain le?…. Aba aaisake pachhi kina pharkine?….ke bhanchhan manchhe harule? ….khurukka ma kahan aaunuhos ahile…..” His voice was commanding yet consoling. ”kina aattiya tesai?….yeta DC tira tanna kam painchha….la aaihalnos ….ani jaunla Georgetown tira….tapain dhandai namannus….ma lagaidiunla kam….bhayena?……” He comforted me. It was like finding a solace, an oasis in the midst of a desert.
I quickly pulled my jeans over a T-shirt, tied my sneakers, and hurried down the stairs producing a muffled sound with every step I took. It was one of those old fashioned two stories building with wooden staircase. It was not that bad at all; plus, it was the only place we (me and my room-mate) could afford to rent at that time. It was a two bedroom apartment at the Magnolia Commons on Columbia Pike in a mostly Latino community. Anyway, I got out of the house and began walking downhill towards the bust stop. After a few minutes, a 16J bus arrived, that runs between Annandale and Pentagon along Columbia Pike. The bus took about half an hour to arrive in Pentagon, the final destination. From there on, I had to catch a Blue-Line train to McPherson Square in DC, where I would have to walk another five blocks to get to Shyamhari’s place. He had already given me the directions over the phone. The subway station at Pentagon is anything unlike the AL-Stations in Chicago. Spacious Metro Stations with high vaulted ceilings with a modern architectural design certainly added more sophistication. Newer and cleaner trains are definitely more comforting. Despite being the best metro system in the nation, the service however, is not satisfactory comparing to the services provided by the metro systems in cities like Chicago and New York. After waiting for almost 15 minutes, finally the Blue-Line train arrived, heading towards Addison Road in Maryland that runs via DC. I boarded the train, and surveyed the metro map that is mounted on the side of the door. McPherson Square is only four stops away from Pentagon. It only took a few minutes to get there. It sure was a smoother ride than the others I had taken in Chicago. I got off at McPherson Square and exited towards the White House on 15th Street. It would be closer to walk from that corner, Shyamhari earlier had suggested. So, I followed his direction and headed on 15th Street. Four Blocks away is the Massachusetts Avenue. It wasn’t hard to locate the address, for it was the 1500 Mass Ave, right at the corner of 15th Street and Mass Ave. It would have been treacherous otherwise, in that summer heat of over 100 degrees with high humidity. I thanked God. I was already perspiring.
I dialed the code and a few seconds later the door buzzed; I opened the door and entered the hallway. Then I took the elevator to the 7th floor where his apartment was. The door to his apartment was left ajar but still I knocked on. He came rushing with his arms wide open and a smile on his face. We embraced. It was a warm welcome. “Kati dhilo garya?….maile bhat pani pakaisaken….. khasi ko masu pakako chhu…..la! tat-tato khai halaun….ani bistarai guff gardai kam khojna jaunla….” He spoke cordially. I nodded obediently. “Baru pahila ek gilaas chiso pani khwauna”. I requested as I sat down. He handed me a glass of water with couple of ice cubes and I gulped it down in one breath. “Pani mitho chhaina hagi DC ko?……. Kasto khallo chha….tirkha nai nametne…….harmo Nepal ko pani po pani…...” He complained. It was not even close to the water in Virginia, I agreed. “Soleil ji…… tapain le jasto mitho ta pakauna aaundaina……jasto tasto pakako chhu……Gorkhay lai bhat nabhai nahune ani bahira khayera saddhya pani chhaina……” He gave a clarification, and handed me a plate. “Liun….liun” I am not a great cook myself, but he has always enjoyed eating the food I cook. We sat down on the carpeted floor, placing yesterday’s Washington Post faking it for a dining table so as to protect the carpet from being stained if the orts were to be dropped while eating. My stomach was already squeaking like the out of tune violin attempting to find melody. I wasn’t sure of my friend’s condition. Thus, we attacked our plates filled with Masu Bhat, devouring like hungry hyenas. Bhoko pet, gama gam hasuryoun. We swallowed it down with a glass of water, a long and ferocious belch came out. We were immensely satisfied. “Aba euta bhusa taanna kya majja aaunchha…” my friend declared and lit a Marlboro light. I was not into smoking then, so, I passed. “Jaam bistarai Georgetown tira….hinddai…” he suggested. I followed him.
To be continued............
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| oys_chill |
Posted
on 06-Sep-02 04:07 PM
u r very good in tadpaing soleil bro..
could u jus post the remaining sections.......i wish i could be in your position and look back, and write bout days of My life ;).as for now, really need to read yors...
chado hai.......k tha.manager always on call ;) u know ni..real work is ta tough raicha ;) eheh ahile free bha bela padam na
oys
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| Herndon hataare |
Posted
on 06-Sep-02 04:07 PM
So far very good story, Hurry up and post the rest. I do not want this to be another "Indu" love story alright.I know it takes time to right but I also know it does not take time to post.
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| its me;) |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 12:33 AM
good one... was highly recommended so i had to read... mundiye tune to kamal kar ditta... ;)... better post the rest soon!!
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| sunnysideup |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 02:13 AM
"My stomach was already squeaking like the out of tune violin attempting to find melody"
nice work Soleil. :)
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| MystriousGal |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 04:45 AM
hop 2 see the rest of it soon!opss!
MG
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| SOULFREE |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 08:00 AM
Is "Kramasha" and "to be continued" a brand new fashion in sajha or what?
Nice work soleil. You are almost there to inspire me to write about my days of hurricane.
"chiso paani with ice cubes, and maasu bhaat and ciggie after that??? " sunne bittikai kuch kuch hota hai.
Later
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| bideshi |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 09:46 AM
hey complete ur story.Why kramasa ni?post it soon.Just want to know what had happened?
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| white_angel |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 12:50 PM
hey there.. nice story.. juss wanna knoe if theres more to it.. juss post it up quick:D
PS wen i saw the title i thut it was the soap opera "days of our lives" hehe
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| What happen Mac**kni |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 03:37 PM
Where is the story Mu***. mac***kni DC ma ta harayena. katai Ch**kni Homeless bhayera ta basya Chaina. Ke bhayo. Ki jad dherai Bhayera bataamuni Dhalya phela parera katai ja**alai hospitalma ta Rakheko chaina. katha ta ramro Thiyo, Bahndai bhandai yo Bhate Mu**i ta harayo ba.
Bhatabhat pandit bajele puran bhattyayeko jasto katha bhanna chodera Apranhako Bishram liyeko pandit jasto yo ta hara- harai bho ba, Mac***ni ta. katai tukucha ko Bhuutle ta khaidieyena hamro katha bhanne bajelai .????????/
No OFFENCE to anyone >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 04:48 PM
First of all, I would like to thank all of you who have taken their time to read my story and appreciate it. I am sorry to post it partially. I should have finished the story first, and then, would have posted it in one piece. I've realized my mistake. The story is not yet complete. I will try to finish it soon and post the end. However, here is another portion that is done. Sorry folks!....
We strolled on Massachusetts Avenue on the shaded side trying to avoid the sweltering sun. It was around 2 O’clock in the afternoon and having had our lunch just a while ago, we were lethargic to drag our feet along. On top, Nindra Devi had us under her spell. “Bhat khaye pachhi yehi nahune…….Bhatay nindra le chhopi halchha…..” we both murmured. “Dupont Circle hundai jaun bistarari…….” My friend took a last puff of his cigarette to the end reaching the filtered section, and guided me to that direction. Four blocks ahead is the Dupont Circle, where Massachusetts Avenue, Connecticut Avenue, 18th Street, P Street, and Q Street merges into a big circle and extends to separation. A huge statue was erected amid the circle. I was not curious enough to find out who that was. I am positive there would be a description about it somewhere. But, it sure looks realistic with every detail. Unquestionably, it is a fine work of art. The fountain underneath would have supplemented more to its surreal beauty, had the water been streaming down. The area around it would have been a romantic park at one point, but the shrubs and the flowers that remained had been withered in the arid weather. The trashcans were overfilled, more trash were scattered around. The benches that are serving as a shelter home to many homeless people, had lost their luster. Still, there was a big crowd. “Yo ta chhakka ko area ho ni……” Shyamhari confessed, “Woo…..tyahan hernus ta!…..” he pointed toward a couple afar on a bench, I eyed them hastily. To my amazement, they were two guys, in their bare naked upper body with only shorts and shoes on, involved in a passionate kissing. Lost into their own world, unaware and undisturbed by the surroundings. Free society it is, I thought. Not that I am uninformed of the homosexuals or their lives in the western world, but to witness such an act in a public place was a shocker to me then. More appalling was to see a transvestite dancing in the humid sun with erotic gestures to the music played on a boom-box by the side. “Yehan ramita herera kam chhaina…….khurukka lagaun haami……jaaun na!……” I dragged my friend along and pleaded. We traversed en route for P Street to the North West direction. “Yehan bata ekkai chhin ma puginchha Georgetown…..” he assured me. “Ani manchhe! ..yesto bepatta ni hune ho?….phone garnu pardaina asti nai?……ahile samma kam mili sakthyo…” He went on conversing. “Ma ta herana nirash bhai sakya…..ke garne ke nagarne…..dimaag le kam nai garna chhodi sakyo……$500 jati baanki chha….arko mahina ko rent tirne bela aaisakyo….tes maathi utility ra telephone ko bill alaggai chha……School ko tuition fee tirne ta parai jawos…..Bina sitti ma ke kumati lagya ho?….. yeta aayechhu…..Chicago ma kam pani ramrai chali ra thiyo….School lai paisa ni bachai ra thiyen……Chauta khana gaki budhi jhol ma dubera mari…..yehan ta jhol pani chhaina……”. My emotional volcano exploded. Flowing in a molten form was a mixture of my frustration and anguish. I added on with grievance: “moro Bimale ko kura ma lagera…….Virginia aaija bhanna thalyo ra maile ni sochdai nasochi tettikai aaihalen….summer bhari tanna kam garunla ra fall dekhi school jaunla bhanthyo….officially school transfer nagare ni kehi farak pardaina bhanthyo….summer ma sabaile school bunk garchhan bhanthyo…....bhare ta moro sanga phutya kaudi ni rahenachha……ek mahina ko deposit ra ek mahinako rent garera $1500 danga maile nai tirnu paryo……ani phone ra batti rakhna jhandai arko $200 deposit rakhnu paryo……” There was not an end to my complaints. I was exasperated. Nonetheless, I could not hold Bimal responsible for all my troubles nor could I blame him for the fact I was not in Chicago anymore. But, had Bimal shared his part of the rent and the utility bill, it would have been less cumbersome on me.
We did not realize we had walked about half an hour. We were already in Georgetown. Distinctively different than any other town I had been in the United States is the Georgetown. It has been a point of tourist attraction and a heart of a business locale from the days of the old. Historic it is. Moreover, it gave me somewhat a déjà vu. Reminiscences of Thamel and the area were filled in my nostalgic mind. There is a resemblance, I thought, although the streets are lot narrower in Thamel. I was missing home.
We turned left on Wisconsin Avenue and came down to an intersection where it meets with M Street on the 3200 block. “Aba yeta jaam……” Shyamhari led me on the way to M Street. “Ma ali parai bata dekhai dinchhu tyo thaun….tapain gayera kura garnus…student ho bhannus…...rakhchha tesle……patta satta kehi herdaina….teslai manchhe chahiyeko chha…”. He made sure I understood him. I nodded in an appreciation. I was thankful to him. I approached to the store he had pointed out. I tried to push open the door, but it didn’t open. Neither did it had any CLOSED sign nor the PUSH/PULL symbol. Hence, I pulled the door and it opened in a jolt. A wooden tablet that had been tied on a leather shoestring hung upon the door handle, tapped on the glass door. It must be to warn the shopkeeper when somebody walks in, as a doorbell. A strong whiff of rawhide filled my nose. A middle-aged man, probably in his mid 30s, who was behind a counter, turned his eyes on me. “Can I help you, Sir?” His voice was not courteous. It was just a customary regulation. “I was hoping you were hiring, Sir” I humbly responded. “I just moved down from Chicago, I am a student and am looking for a place to work.” I summarized. “Can you sell? Can you lift heavy cartons?” He inquired suspiciously. For, I was a little skinny man in my early 20s. He probably would have thought I am a malnourished flimsy weasel, compared to the Americans. And, my big-rimmed eyeglass wider than my emaciated face certainly had given a ghastly appearance. “Yes Sir, I can, and will do anything.” I proclaimed. I wanted to impress the man I guess, so that he would hire me. “Do you have a telephone?…… If so, leave me a number and I will get back to you later…and let you know..” He uttered on to say:” by the way!……what is your name?” “It’s Soleil. Sir”…... “And, I am Kelvin”. We replied to each other and shook hands. “I will definitely call you tonight..” he concluded. I thanked him and stepped out. Shyamhari was waiting for me about a yard away. “Ani ke bhayo?……ke bhanyo?……kahile dekhi bolayo ta?…” He was eager to know.
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| daani |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 07:56 PM
Very nice work soleil, indeed! Am eagerly waiting for the rest of the story. Well written, substantial and very interesting. Please keep them coming.
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| sangey |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 09:01 PM
soleil,
Good one. Timile pakako khana jatiko mitho huncha, tyeti nai timro kahani haru pani mitho hune rahecha bhanera aaja thaha payen. La, dhanya cha bao timilai.
Sangey.
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| oys_chill |
Posted
on 07-Sep-02 09:16 PM
Soleil bro,
goosebumps goosebumps........raun haroo nai being thado thado reading yor stories....
i wonder if this should be called "DAYS OF OUR LIVES" ......i know it would conflict with some soap opera ..still very sandarvik...
bro u really need to complete the story........plzzzzzzzzzzzz .........FOR THE FRUSTRATED YOUTH LIKE...u know who who who !!!
half inspired,
OYs
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| ebony_firefly |
Posted
on 08-Sep-02 10:46 AM
nicely put! for sometime it felt like seeing a mirror..
blac_
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 09-Sep-02 06:46 AM
sustained from....."He was eager to know".........Folks! you have to pardon me here. I thought I would fnish it, but some important tasks came up. Please read on, to be continued.........sorry:)
“Khoi….bhare beluka phone garchhu bhaneko chha……” I sighed in disbelief. I had gotten similar responses from all the previous jobs I had applied, and never got called back. This wasn’t promising either. From prior experiences I had come to assimilate that it was a discerning answer for them rather than to say no bluntly. “Bhare samma hernus na ta……bolayo bhane thikai chha…hoina bhane bholi feri arko thaun tira jaunla….. mero kam ma pani kura garchhu tapain ko barema…aajai……” Shyamhari was commiserating, he patted over my shoulder. ”Lau ta Soleil ji, 3 pani bajna aantechha…..malai kam ma dhilo hunchha feri….yetai bata lagchhu….ani beluka tesle phone garne bittikai malai ni phone garnus hai…..nabirsi kana… ”. “Hunchha…”. I thanked him for being there for me. “Gayen hai..”. He hurried back for downtown DC. I dawdled around. For me, I had nothing specific to do; nor had I to be in a particular place. “Ghar ma gayera ke nai garnu chha ra?…… bharkhar diunso ko 3 ta bajyo……ek chhin yetai dulchhu....” I told to myself. I looked around with my cursory eyes. They stopped on a big brassy sign across the street, clearly visible from where I stood. ‘The Georgetown Park Mall’ it read. I crossed the street and entered the mall. Remarkably converged and capacious as well as elegantly decorated it is from the inside, than just a row of old three stories houses they appear from the outside. Every single house facing the M Street has either fine dining restaurants like Clyde’s, J Paul, or an apparel store of designer names like J Crew, Victoria Secret, Ralph Laurent etc. More fancy stores are inside.
I found myself in Tower Records, in the mall. Examining the cover of a newly released Pearl Jam’s second album Vs in my hands, I was tempted to buy it. It was priced at $17.99. There were more new releases by other artists and bands that I adored. How much I had wanted to buy them all. However, I contented myself listening them for a while on the headphones over the Sample Audio Counter. I was humming a song by Pearl Jam as I got out of the store. “Alone…..listless…a breakfast table and otherwise empty room….a young girl…..”. That is exactly how I was feeling. Alone and listless in this seemingly amicable yet alienated world. Except, I am a boy. I browsed around couple of other stores in the mall, picking up application forms for employment at some of them. I could not believe myself I had spent more than 3 hours in the mall, lingering. Thus, I headed home. It was already 8 O’clock in the evening when I opened the door of my apartment. I was exhausted. So, I prepared a cup of tea with ginger, slouched myself on the couch and turned the TV on. I was flipping through the channels with the remote control, the phone rang. “Aaja chahi pakkai bolayo kam bata….” I was elated as I picked up the receiver. “Hello! babu……”. It was my mother instead. “Ke chha tero haal khabar..…kahan chhas….ke gardai chhas…..Ek mahina bhanda badhi bhai sakyo….phone garya hoinas……bepatta bha chhas……”. My mother’s wailing voice infiltrated my ears and pierced through my heart. “Thikai chhu mami…..ali testai parera phone garna napako….”. “Kina?… ke bhayo?…….sancho chhaina ki kaso?…..tero swor kina testo? …” She sensed something like the phony psychic, that I must have sniffled. But, moms are like that. They do not need an extra sensory power (ESP) to reason their children are in trouble. “Hoina mami, sancho nai chha….sabai thikai chha…baru tapainlai kasto chha?….”. I tried to assure her and, change the course of conversation. “Ani kina ta yetro din phone nagarya?….. bhan ta….” She insisted. “Kam ko khoji ma bihanai niklanchhu…….din bhari dulyo…….ghar aaipugda thakai lagchha…..ani, ali paisa ni chhaina…….” I wanted to make some excuses, but I could not restrain myself from not telling her the truth. I never ever have lied anything to my mother. “Ani ahile samma kam pako chhainas ta?..” . “Aaja beluka euta le phone garera khabar garchhu bhaneko chha…hunchha hola….”. I tried to sound confident as I did not want to distress her. “Ani dai lai kasto chha?……Snoopy (my dog) lai thikai chha?…..sabai lai thikai chha?…..Mami, aba rakhnu….ma kam hune bittikai phone garchhu….pir namannu mero…sab thik chha..”. I sought to end the conversation unwillingly. The more I talk, I would put myself in a more vulnerable position, an increased risk of divulgence to my problems.
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| oys_chill |
Posted
on 09-Sep-02 07:36 AM
hyaa yo soleil bro ko story ni malai ahile padna parne? ten mins to class.....emotional pardyo......senti bhayen :(
maami ko yaad aaing.......gosh!! dherai bho ghar ma email nagareko..i am thinking of making a template......."sabbai sanchai cha, univ. is soo good and fun, there's no problem whatsover, i get along with everyone, job is even more superb, they give us ENUFF hours, kei chinta linu pardaina, I WILL WRITE MORE LATER :) " :(
hope to see moer soooooooooon!!!!!
yor dark side bhai ;)
OYs
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| junu |
Posted
on 09-Sep-02 05:46 PM
Could you please write more. I can't wait to read your full story.
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| dukulathak |
Posted
on 09-Sep-02 07:23 PM
Soleil Dai,
Katha ta nikakki ramro ra marmik chha. Yo amrica ma aayera bhogeka dukha sukha samiteyera leknu bhayeko jasto chha. Yasta sathya ghatana le haami jasto naulo pusta lai prerana dine khalko raicha. Kyarnee, amrica swarga hoina rahechha bhanee aavas hudai chha. Je hos, katha chadai nai pura garnu hola bhanne aasha chha.
arko prageek lahure bhai,
dukulathak
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 06:30 AM
Birbal ko khichadi pakako jastai bho....mero katha lekhan pani....kyaarnu ho....Amrika le fursad nai dindaina...aaja ta siddhyaunchhu bhanyo.....kehi na kehi kaam aai parchha...Anyway folks! bear with me....please read on......thanks.
“Babu…..ani tero school ni…ke hundai chha?….”. My mom was persistent and reluctant to hang up the phone. “Ahile summer ma janna…….summer pachhi nai join garchhu…ali paisa ni hunchha…..aba rakhnu….ma bholi nai garchhu phone…..ahile kam ko phone aaunchha mero….” I explained. “Bholi nai kina garnu paryo aba?…..paisa chhaina bhane pachhi….arko hafta tira garnu baru……ani kam se kam dui hafta ma ek chhoti sancho bisancho khabar garnu…..mahinaun haraunchhas ra po……la! …. sake samma chaandai kaam milayera padhna thaal feri….aafno khayal rakhnu…dherai dhapedi nagarnu……jiu lai ni aaram chahinchha….”. She kept on talking with her maternal advice, benevolent and affectionate. Motherly love it is, unselfish. I could tell by the tonus in her voice that she is extremely anxious. I could imagine and clearly see her despair. “Ani khana ke khanchhas ta?…..je payo tehi naruchne tanlai…”. How had I wanted to hug her then, confide in her all my troubles, and cry out boisterously. Had she only had her feathered appendage, she would have flown right away and take me under her wings. I knew. “Hus! Mami….rakhen aba…”.
I hung up the phone even though I did not wish to, for I was expecting a call from Kelvin. I had become overemotional. My ginger flavored tea had cooled down to mere lukewarm. I began sipping it. A moment after, the phone rang again. “Yo chahi pakkai Kelvin le garyo aba!….ke bhanne ho mora le…hey Siddhivinayak! …yo karya siddhi garai deu bhagwaan…”. I shrieked as if ‘Ganesh Bhagwan’ would hear me. I answered the phone. “Can I talk to Bimal, please?” A young sounding man requested. “Bimal ta chhaina bro….ko boleko? U ta bhare rati 11 baje tira matrai aaipugchha….kehi message thiyo ki?…..ani bro!..mero euta important call kurera baseko….pachhi gara na hai…..”. I did not want to prolong the conversation with Rajiv, that was what he told me his name is. “La! bhare U aaye pachhi ma bhanidinchhu hai ta…bye bro.” I slammed the phone down. “Moro Bimale……bolauna lai bolayo malai yehan….euta kam khojidiya pani hoina….yeso bhansun garidiya pani hoina….arka ko kam bata phone kurera baseko bela uhi moro ko phone aaunu parne?….. I denunciated him in frustration. “Ke dosh feri moro ko…….phone ta Rajiv le garyo…U bicharo lai ke thaha?…...”. I acquitted. “Khoi….Kelvin pani uhi taal ko rahechha moro…ahile samma phone garya hoina….9 baji sakyo rati ko…yeti bela samma pani phone nagareko kahile garne ho?…..diusai hune nahune bhanidiya bhaye ta bhai haalthyo…arka lai kina aash dekhaune?….Yo Amrika ka maanchhe haru pani ke taal ka hun……kunni?….”. I grumbled. I was getting hungry again. I had not eaten anything after the lunch at Shyamhari’s place. I went to the kitchen and looked for things to cook. The refrigerator was virtually empty. There was nothing except a gallon of milk, more than half consumed already. A few eggs, and a couple of slices of bread. Emptied was the vegetable basket and the jar we kept lentils. I cracked open two eggs and started battering in a bowl with a plastic fork, adding a smidgen of salt. I heard the telephone ringing once more. I rushed to the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello! bro…..Kelvin le phone garyo ta?….ma ta tapain le phone garnu bhayena ra ke bho bhanera sodhum bhanera….” It was Shyamhari investigating this time. He too was concerned. “Chhaina ahile samma…..garla jasto pani lagena…”. I whispered, and exhaled a long breath. “Uso bhaye thikai chha…bholi bihanai aaunu hos na ta ma bheta…..9 baje tirai….ani yetai bhat saat khai wori arko thaun tira kam khojna jaunla….”. He proposed and I accepted. “La! rakhen hai ta?…”. I went back to the kitchen and placed a pan with some oil over the stove. I ignited the stove and set it at the medium heat. I tossed tow slices of bread in the toaster. After the oil was heated, I poured the battered egg. I must have overheated the pan. It was sizzling in a clamorous way, so was my mind. The toasts were done and they popped out of the toaster. I flipped the omelet and after cooked for few more minutes. After it was done, I placed it in between the toasts and made myself a sandwich. I sat down and began to eat, with a glass of water. As I took a nibble, the telephone rang for the fourth time. I answered the phone sluggishly. I had lost all the enthusiasms. “Soleil…… this is Kelvin….. I want to you to be in the store at 11am sharp…..tomorrow morning…….you hear me?……11 am sharp…..”. He repeated over several times. I could not apprehend whether it was habitual, or he wanted to make sure that I understood him. Either way, I was glad he called. At last!
............to be continued.........
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| SOULFREE |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 07:43 AM
Ani Ani??..... kyaaa curious banayo sol. bro le...................
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| junu |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 09:05 AM
It is so mutu chhune katha. Padda paddai ma ta royechhu. Ani mero mummy le sadai phone ma malai samjhayeko remind bhayo.My mum always tells me healthy food khanu parchha. timi ramro sanga khannau. Sag ani rice pauchha ki paudaina? she doesnot know how terrible food I eat in the cafeteria . Oh , mata class ma jana pani dhilo garechhu. Please write more. I am so curious.
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| Diva_Starz |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 10:04 AM
Soleil:
I am moved and dazzled. It’s an exuberant account / prodigiously detailed.
les mémoires de chasser de travail …brilliantly evoking !!!
Not to mention, you’ve got an awesome photographic memory ( digital camera with CSD sensors….worked better even with my dim lit self ;) and your narration simply mesmerizing. Kudos to you!!!!
Where o’ where be…..
Anticipating more and even better!!!
A fan frm bright side:)
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| bideshi |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 10:18 AM
complete ur story soon.just eager to read!
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 01:36 PM
Correction: Please read....."....I tossed two slices of bread"...... and, ....."I flipped the omelet and cooked for few more minutes." Kam bata aayera bihanai nindra ko jhonk ma post gareko. Although, you must have figured it out as a typo.:)
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 01:36 PM
Correction: Please read....."....I tossed two slices of bread"...... and, ....."I flipped the omelet and cooked for few more minutes." Kam bata aayera bihanai nindra ko jhonk ma post gareko. Although, you must have figured it out as a typo.:)
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| oys |
Posted
on 10-Sep-02 08:20 PM
Soleil bro,
I have decided against reading more of your story....the more i read, i see "pratibimbha" like deep dai of myself...though very distinct, it resonates in the similar course....i think i will wait till i realize that its time to look back on days of my life ;) ..
haha ....to be honest, yor story has become simply irresistible........tara bro the problem is: I happen to read just before i go to class, and u know after reading some verses of yours, i become senti........9 am ma senti bhayera class jaada, all i remember is "MAAMI" ko gadang gudung inside my ear........nuthing goes inside my head....Organic is volatile..but when i am sitting down, my mind become volatile as well...and crazy enuff, U THEN ENVY US BY WRITING ALL THoSE DROOLING MEALs tyo pANI FULL DESCRIPTION KA SATH..when i am struggling to make one omlet, without burning the pan.........
arrow nai ropya jasto lagcha mutu ma, NOT CUPID KO......
Set me fREE!!
OYS
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 11-Sep-02 06:26 AM
.....in continuation.......
“Phone ta garera bolayo Kelvin le…..bholi pheri ke bhanne ho kunni?…..rakhne ho ki narakhne ho?…kam ma rakhi halyo bhane pani kati ghanta dine ho?……paisa kati dine ho? ……aa! hos, kati chinta linu?…….kati pir garnu?……sochdai ma samasya samadhan ta hune hoina……” . I tried to ease my strained mind. I was lost in an oblivion, a jangling sound of keys at the door breached the silence. It was Bimal who had returned from work. “Ani katai gayou bahira aaja?……katai kehi milyo?…..”. He asked as he entered. “Gayen…din bhari nai dulen…...application forms haru pani lyako chhu…..ani bholi bihana 11 baje ek thaun ma bolako chha…..heraun …..ke hunchha?….”. I answered without turning to him. “Saanchi,…Rajiv le phone garya thiyo……phone gara re uslai….” I conveyed him the message. “Hos! Ahile…aba bholi nai garaunla…euta Amitabh Bachchan ko film liyera aako chhu…..khana khayera hernu parchha…...baru khana kehi pakako chha?….kya bhok lagi rahechha yaar……”. He added in a pitiful voice. “Kehi thiyena yaar…..maile ta omelet banayera khako….duita andaa (eggs) ajhai baanki chha…..tehi banauna…….”. I Suggested. He headed into the kitchen. Bimal is eccentrically into Hindi cinemas. He is a fanatic; a diehard fan of Amitabh Bachchan. And, when it comes to Hindi Filmy music, he is a copycat of Kishore Kumar. Bimal has mesmerized many, including me, with his mimicry of Kishore Kumar. His depth and clarity of an incantational voice has us beguiled, at numerous times. Adeptly impersonating and, superseding Kishore Kumar. He is skillful at yodeling too. “Ghoongaroo ki taraha…bajata hi raha hoon main…..kabhi iis pug mein….kabhi uus pug mein……bajata hi raha hoon main…”. He pierced the serenity that was there momentarily. He sang a couple of lines from the film ‘Sharmilee”, and went on to chant yet another pensive number. “Teri duniya se….ho ke majboor…..main chala bahut duur…..bahut duur chala…..”. Melancholy was I, I bellowed out. “Hyaa! bro….yesto senti geet haru nagauna yaar….kya bore lagi ra chha ke…..”. His songs did not enthuse me then, even though I love them otherwise. “Yeh!..la la..”. He was quiet for an interval, but he could not refrain himself from crooning another one. “Main hoon jhum jhum jhumaroo wala……”. It was blissful, but it could not put a grin on my doleful face. I was stupefied. “Yesta gayak kaar haru ko room-mate ta nabannu rahechha ba!…..na ta uniharu lai room-mate banaunu……nabanaunu nai bes……chaubisai ghanta raag alaapya jasto….wakka dikka lagaune…..lataa le bau bhanna na pako jasto….irritate nai garne……”. I opinionated to myself out of an annoyance, but I was not judgmental of his singing ability. Neither did I express my aggravation. “Aba filim herne hoina ta?…” He invited me to watch the movie, as he sat down with his egg sandwich. He then inserted the tape into the VCR and pushed the play button. The TV was ON already. We watched the movie, the entire three hours. It was ‘Aanand’. The movie was plotted around life, love, and friendship. Rajesh Khanna’s role was stunning. He had succeeded in portraying such a character; vivacious and radiant, even though suffering from an insurmountable disease. High spirited, and ever smiling at any circumstances. Less impressive was Amitabh. “Ramro rahechha hagi filim?……Rajesh Khanna ko character kya gajab ko….marne bela samma pani haansi rahyo…hansai rahyo….huna ta filim ho….tai pani manchhe haru lai testai ghatana haru ghatna sakchhan….bhai rakheko pani chha….haami ali kati problem paryo bhane tettikai pir linchhaun….aattinchhaun….” Bimal concluded. Indeed, it was an aspiring film. “Sutaun yaar aba…la!...goodnight!…..”. It was almost 1 O’clock in the morning. Tired and sleepy, we headed to our beds. Bimal’s humming was echoing from his room. “Jab dard nahi tha sine mein…tab khak maja tha jine mein….”.
to be continued......
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| Gazal |
Posted
on 11-Sep-02 10:15 AM
Soliel :)
You are simply the best!!!! Please don't keep me waiting hai! Kevin ko kaam baata furshad huney bittikai baanki story complete gara la ...... ;) I am dying to read the rest ......ASAP
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| bideshi |
Posted
on 11-Sep-02 10:23 AM
Hare!Just keep going.Why to becontinuEd?
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| oys_chill |
Posted
on 11-Sep-02 05:40 PM
soleil,
I know time is limiting..tara......aaba readers ko ni ta khyal garnu paryo..or are u planning to start one of those "hindi dharabahik" that comes once a week and runs for more than a decade.eheh
LEKHNU pARYO!! masu bhat boru pachi khadai garamla ;)
yors bro from the dark side ;)
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| suman r dhakal |
Posted
on 11-Sep-02 07:08 PM
Keep the postings coming Soleil. I have been reading and enjyoing your "days of my life" thread. You speak for lot of us. I guess one of the reasons why everyone likes it is beacuse we all can relate to it. We all have been there and experienced some aspects of your story. Again, keep up the good work.
Suman Dhakal
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 12-Sep-02 06:31 AM
I did not know when I fell asleep. I was awaken in the morning by the drizzling sound of down-pouring water, mixed with Bimal’s melodically moaning. The bedside alarm clock showed 7.00 AM, illuminated in neon green. “Thanday thanday paani se nahana chahiye……gaana aaye ya na aaye gaana chahiye…..”. He was taking a shower, singing. “Kati geet aauna sakya ekaa bihaanai?….kasto mukh ho tyo?….thakdai nathakne…”. I questioned myself. I remained in the bed until he got out of the bathroom. After my turn of an errand in the lavatory, I placed the kettle on the stove with some water in it. Bimal never takes the initiative in the kitchen, though he can cook. Making tea is not hard either. I assume he takes me for granted. He depends upon me to cook for him, or even to do a simple chore in the kitchen. For, the Kellogs’ box was empty, no eggs and bread left, meant no breakfast for us. We had to suffice ourselves on a cup of tea. “8 pani bajna lagi sakechha…..dhilo hune bho…..Bhare beluka ta grocery garna jaun hai?…..” Bimal recommended as he took a sip from his cup. “Aba timilai time chhaunjel Kishore Kumar bandai ma phursad bhaye po ta?….” I made a sly remark. He put on a wry face (broad smile). He finished his tea and rushed out. My alarm clock beeped. I had it set on for 8 AM last night, but it was of no use. Not anymore. I turned the TV on to the news channel. There was hardly any news, except the blabbing of a child been abducted, a woman been raped, a black man been shot to death, a burglary been committed, an accident on the Capital Beltway, all in the vicinity. Nothing was new. “Kasto desh ho?…..yo bahek ta aru kehi samachar nai chhaina….ani kasto news media ho?……bahiri sansaar ko kehi khabar ta hunuparchha?……huna ta harmo Nepal ma matrai ke nai bhanchhan ra samachar ma?…Sri Paanch Maharajdhiraj Sarkaar le yeso baks bho….falaana mantri le uso bhannu bho…tilaana neta le testo aahwaan garnu bho……”. I regarded with disdain. By that time, it was 9 O’clock. “Hindnu parla aba!….pahilo din…dhilo ta garnu bhayena……ek paaila chaando nai gayera baschhu…..feri metro bata worlera hindnu ni chha ni….tannai……...”. I contemplated. I put on the clothes, and managed to catch the bus at 9:10 AM. Due to the early morning traffic of the rush hour, it took the bus almost 45 minutes to reach Pentagon. Once I was inside the subway station, I examined again the Metro System Map on a brightly lit stand behind the Station Manager’s counter. No station in Georgetown. I did not wish to go all the way to McPherson Square and walk about 2 miles in the scorching heat, the route Shyamhari had shown me. I acquired the information from the Station Manager that there is no metro station in Georgetown, nor there is a bus link from Pentagon. The only possibility is to get off at Rosslyn, or at Foggy Bottom, and then march on. Either way, it is a tramp but, shorter than from McPherson Square. By then, the blue line train arrived. All the cars were crammed with passengers, barely any space left to tread on. I squeezed myself in. More people boarded on the next stop - Arlington Cemetery. I was suffocating, so I decided to get off at Rosslyn on the following stop rather than going to Foggy Bottom. I had to scuffle my way out. “Pahila pasnai garho….pase pachhi niklanai garho……Hari Bansha (comic) le bhanya jastai……moro lai kasto kura aaune?…”. I simpered at the thought of him. I was perplexed by the length and the steep angle of the escalator in the Rosslyn metro station. I had not seen one like that in Chicago. It is like a ravine. It takes nearly 5 minutes to get to the surface. I strode in the direction of Georgetown. A little afar is the Francis Scott Key Bridge, named after the American lawyer and a poet, over the Potomac River that feeds to the Chesapeake Bay in the Atlantic Ocean. Down below is the Georgetown Harbor. Clearly visible are the Watergate Hotel, Kennedy Center and the Washington Monument on the northeast direction. To the northwest is the renowned Georgetown University. At the end of the bridge is Freedom Park, dedicated in the honor of Mr. Key, adjoining M street. I turned right on M Street and walked few more blocks. I had come to my destination. It was quarter past ten. Consequently, I awaited Kelvin to arrive. I was there early as I had anticipated
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| junu |
Posted
on 13-Sep-02 10:58 AM
Soleil, where is your rest of the story. Did Kelvin hire you? Could you please post full story.
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| AX |
Posted
on 13-Sep-02 12:08 PM
Soleil bro, khai katti din lagako story pura garna. Should I call to hear to rest of the story :-)
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| raman |
Posted
on 13-Sep-02 12:58 PM
it seems like you are more interseted in whatever his name is. is that so? then why don't you call him and ask instead of crying so loud all the time. helllooooo miss junu whatever call him or give him your cell number.
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 14-Sep-02 01:35 PM
Pardon me here folks! Kam ko byastata le ali dhilo bhayo..katha lekhan....hijo post garchhhu bhaneko...nikkai ber sajha site down thiyo.....ani teti dherai lekhya pani thiyeena... mero nivedan, saathi haru...please ek arka lai gali nagaraun la.... sabai jana lai utsukta bha chha..kasai lai kam kasai lai dherai... tehi kram ma kasaile dherai posting gare ta ke bho?.... Anyway......please read on, and enjoy the story....thanks!
I stood in front of Kelvin’s store, cluelessly entranced. Waiting is a hard game to play on, especially when uncertainty is the outcome. Questions of whether or not he would hire me were hurling in my oblivious mind. “Aaja pani kam bhayena bhane feri arko kati thaun ma chakkar katnu parne ho?….feri yesto garmi chha…chit-chit pasina aaune….kasto happa?……ahile bihana ta yesto chha bhane diunso kati garmi hune ho?….gaadi bhaidiya bhaye ni yeso dui char thaun badhi ghumna painthyo……aafno gaadi chhaina….sabai thaun ma bus najane……metro ko wori pari ta sabai bhyai saken…..”. “Thuikka buddhi mero!……hijo Mall ma liyeko applications haru bharera lyaunu parne ni maile…..kasto galti garechhu……ahile Kelvin lai kurunjel baru apply ta garna payinthyo tyahan……moro Bimale ko filim le ni birsako ho…”. I gnashed my teeth on my own absentmindedness. Meanwhile, a middle-aged man approached me. He was in his early 40s, well dressed, and an erudite looking. He was carrying a tote and holding a book. “Son! Jesus Christ just told me to talk to you!…”. He asserted. “Bhaladmi…. bidwaan bhanthanya maile ta…..yesto moro evangelist po rahechha..” I chortled at my own inability to distinguish. No wonder, they say: ‘You can never judge a book by its cover’. I hankered after to retort, for I was fed up with their (evangelists) bothersome whining ever since I came to this country. Not that I am intolerant with other religions, nor have I any grudges against their beliefs. I am just an indifferent person when it comes to religion. Nevertheless, I rejoined analogously: “Father! Jesus Christ just told me not to talk to you!…”. Flabbergasted was he with my shrewd answer, he stalled for a few minutes speechlessly, and carried on his way.
By then, Kelvin was heading toward the store. He was wearing a green shirt and a navy blue linen pant. Clearly noticeable was his white underwear in the sheer transparency of his pants. Perfectly matching to the upper outfit were his brown suede shoes, and complimenting to the whole outlook were the aviator sunglasses by Ray Ban. He was completely looking tacky. I smirked at him mockingly. As he neared me, I greeted him. “uh huh!!!…there you are!…..so, you are there already….huh?….any customers so far?….none?… none…?”. He interrogated without returning my salutation. A number of pigeons fluttered as he unlocked and released the grille; that they were nesting above the canopy. He then opened the door, and turned the alarm off. “Go !….. get the broom. …..it is downstairs by the bathroom…….”. He ordered me as he turned the lights on. “And sweep outside, just sweet….. sweep…… sweep…… you hear me?”…. sweep it all the way…..sweep……sweep…….sweep…….” He directed me to sweep up in front of the store, and a few yards further away. A broom it was, with hardly any bristles on it. Soon, I was done sweeping, he handed me a spray bottle and instructed me to clean the window. “Go!….. get the City Paper from next door……it is free…..and use them to wipe the glass……make sure the window is spot-clean……do not leave any smudges…….you hear me?……clean it good…..”. I sprayed the window vigorously, and began swabbing in a circular motion. I had a difficulty getting the splotches out. Thanks to the pigeons, and the bottle contained only water – no cleaning agent. I was drenched in sweat when I finished it finally. The window was squeaky clean. I pushed my eyeglasses back from the ala of my nose over the dorsum, and walked in. He snatched the spray bottle out of my hand, and equipped me with a hand-duster made of shearling (sheepskin with wool on it). “Now!…..dust them shoes….one by one……and shake it outside by the tree….shake….shake……shake……by the tree…dust them…..and shake them…outside……not inside……dust them…..”. “Kasto khappare moro rahechha?….kehi kurai nagari jotaunchha ba!……yesto kam ho bhanera ta bhannu parchha pahila?….ani yeti ghanta dinchhu……paisa yeti dinchhu bhanne ta uccharan nai chhaina…je hos!..kaagaj patra chahi magla jasto chhaina…..je kaam arhaye pani mannai paryo……”. I alleviated my suffering mind. I had no other choice than to pursue his commands. I had come to apprehend that Kelvin is chronically habituated to reiterate.
I did not get a minute of resting, for he always had another task ready when I accomplished one. It was half past 3 0’clock in the afternoon. Having had only a cup of tea for breakfast, I was getting dizzier with my famished stomach. “Kelvin….when do I get a lunch break?…..I am starving…..” I inquired as I could not dissuade myself from the growing hunger. “Don’t worry!….just finish what you are doing….first……I got some food for you…….finish that first……then, you can eat……”. He growled. By the time I finished cleaning the shelves and arranging the shoes, it was 4 O’clock. He handed me some food on the cut lid of the carry out paper box; a couple of pieces of chicken over some steamed rice, and a slice of Nan-like bread. The food was already cold. “Yesto nishto bhaat kasari khanu?…tehan maathi chiso…nakhaun bhane din bhari ko shikar…..khaun bhane kanchha bau ko anuhar bhanya yehi hola……feri aafu sanga khalti ma ek paisa ni chhaina….metro ra bus kharchha bahek……yeso kehi kinera khaun bhane ni…..” I yelped out. Having not any other option, I gnawed the chewy bread and gristly chicken with desiccated rice; amply drinking water. I consumed everything, not even an ort left. “Soleil……..I want you in the store same time tomorrow morning….11am sharp……you are relieved for today…..”. Kelvin announced after I was done eating. “I will give you 4 hours a day for now……I will see what you can do…and how much you can sell…..then, I might consider you for full time…..OK…and don’t worry about the money…I will take care of you….alright?…” He added. I was hired for the part time work. I was unsure how much money would I be making. Would I be able to save enough to pay the tuition for the next semester? I had no idea. I had to be contented, for I was employed.
P/s: I am ending my story here. Writing in portions and posting in a serial continuation isn't practical. For that reason, I will be appearing soon with the second part of the story in a complete form. Anticipating your responses. Let me hear what you think. Thanks.
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| SOULFREE |
Posted
on 14-Sep-02 10:25 PM
damn.. i had written a long posting and it was gone.... thukkka
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| SOULFREE |
Posted
on 14-Sep-02 10:39 PM
Looks like I can't POST longer Posting. SOL_BRO.. just keep on posting... Please DO not stop. Its going good. Keep on Posting everyday... Its "dharabahik"... Just write little bit longer.....
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| oys_chill |
Posted
on 14-Sep-02 10:46 PM
its ali san sani purna khal ko dharabahik ni........he has that Dark Humor to it ..in those twists ;) wonder where he got that from :O ? ehehe..
nways soleil bro, weekend mai padna paye huntyo...........ani PLZZZZZZZZZZZ don't post early in the mornings....U KNOW THE ReASON better than me..........senti bhayera class jaada its hard to concentrate..esp. in organic!
soleil bro ,hope to read till the end....surely is one of the best articles here in sajha by far...mm i think does relate to most nepalis here in USA......i wonder, when i will be past these phases ...have i evn arrived on them yet? i am scared
oys
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| Diva_Starz |
Posted
on 15-Sep-02 10:52 AM
Soleil:
Real life, harsh realities……
Life abroad ….more of a bleak affair……
Your narration is in language that is always itself triumphant & incredibly touching with all those realistic and minute details.
Do I have to mention your finely tuned writing tempts one for moreeeeeee?:))))
A fan from bright side :)
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| ebony_firefly |
Posted
on 15-Sep-02 11:46 AM
soleil,
ohhhhh! man...i nearly bypassed this thread...i am glued to your article ..
keep goin
blac_
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| villageVoice |
Posted
on 15-Sep-02 01:25 PM
dear soliel,
great story. i like your attention to details. and great humor. keep it up. what next? a pretty nepali girl comes to your rescue? just kidding. :) i have come across some great story-tellers here on sajha. you are certainly one of them.
PS: I hope in the end you, or the protagonist let's say, managed to save enough to get back to school in the fall. but as a reader, i wouldn't really mind if the "suffering" continued.
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| bideshi |
Posted
on 17-Sep-02 01:12 PM
hey complete ur story!
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| bideshi |
Posted
on 20-Sep-02 02:01 PM
k gareko yasto?Aba jati byasta bhaye pani tyo auta article chahi complete garnu paryo soleil ji.
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| akriti |
Posted
on 22-Sep-02 10:21 AM
Just wondering, when is the next chapter coming up? :)
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| aloochat |
Posted
on 22-Sep-02 02:27 PM
it's nice to read views on different issues.....i found soleil's stories. r they all fiction's or anicdotes too??? keep it up ....maybe we can discuss on these issues some other day...
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| Saajan555 |
Posted
on 22-Sep-02 07:32 PM
Soleil bro,
I used to think I'm the only one in the US having so much trouble. After reading your posting, I'm quite releived. I have my own pida and darda. I will share that with ya all after u complete ur dharabahik Soleil Katha. I guess, you are reflecting most of the Nepali people's life in the US. That is indeed a remarkable job. Keep posting. Good luck for the rest of your life.
C Ya
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| Soleil |
Posted
on 23-Sep-02 06:43 AM
Dear Friends, thanks for reading and enjoying my story. And, thanks for the words of encouragement and support. I really appreciate it. I had thought that I would finish the story on my day offs on the weekend, but something unthinkable happened. My whole days were spent tending to a family member in the ER. Sorry for the delay. I will be back soon.
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| POOH |
Posted
on 30-Sep-02 08:25 AM
Hi there! Remember me????Yaar timro story ta ek choti pade pachi ta basnai nasakkine. Ali chito story complete gara na. Kasto suspense create gareko hau????
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| SITARA |
Posted
on 03-Oct-02 05:02 PM
Soliel Soliel,
Dare I speak? :)
Nice and intriguing! Found the "big sea bird" yet?
Been waiting for more than a month to get noticed by you, sire.. ;)
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