I remember all

I was born prematurely.  And, there was less chance that I would survive. Aama sometimes recalls that after the delivery I nearly fell from the bed in Prasuti Griha; she took hold of my legs and I was saved.

When I was three month old, I got pneumonia. My parents had no hope that I would not die. Again, Dr. Hemanga Dixit suggested giving antibiotic injections to me. Baba and aama time and again tells me that Dr. Dixit is my saviour.

Baba with excitement told me in the evening that he met the compounder who gave me injections.

Mr. Rai (Baba forgot his name) who hails from Bhojpur and resides in Bagbazar had his pharmacy somewhere near the Tindhara Paathshala in the Durbarsquare. I was to be given 12 doses of (probably) penicillin. Three times a day: morning, day and evening. After third day i.e. nine injections Mr. Rai suggested Baba to give me “oral medicine” instead of injections. I don’t know why?

Baba says that Rai was very good to them. He did not take home service charge.

Rai was buying tamaakhu in Ason and Baba met him there. They talked about me. The old man still remembers me then. It is probably because he never expected that severely ill I would live to fight the future.

Some years ago Baba told me that even Dr. Dixit remembers my case. No matter he doesn’t know me, if I meet him and get a chance to talk to him I will tell him that I am the one who he saved. (It was his duty to cure patients. But had he denied to look at me on the wee small hours, I would not get treatment on time. And, may be I would not be alive to write these lines.)

Though a mischievous kid, I was good at studies and they had no many complains with me… Childhood passed in no time.

I remember the days at Kamalpokhari. I remember the ground in the Academy where we used to go to play. I remember Masincha—one of the brothers of the Krishnapauroti—who used to come to our tap to take bath. I remember the day when Indira Gandhi was murdered. Actually, some Indians lived in our neighbourhood and they got a phone call regarding her assassination. Baba also got to know the news. I was with him that time.

With my “toteboli”, I asked him a lot of questions:
Indira Gandhi bhaneko ko ho? (Who is Indira Gandhi?)

Pradhanmantri bhaneko k ho? (What is primeminister?)
Marnu bhaneko k ho baba? (What is killing?)

Kina mareko? (Why killed?)

Kasari mareko? (How?)

Kasle mareko? (Who killed?)

Marne manchhe kasto hunchha? (How does the killer look like?)

I had seen guns– the ones with sangins—in front of the princess’ house in Kamaladi. So it was not difficult for me to figure out what was used to kill the Indian prime minister. And, I came to know that the sangins that I had seen the army used to carry were lethal. I was afraid of that stuff.

Some time later, Baba showed me a Sikh with turban and told me that the assassinator had similar appearance. Good god! Since then till I became able to understand the matters, I used to be frightened by unshaven people having turban.

I remember the death procession of BP.

I remember going to Dewansha’s nursery in Naxal with Kaka. I remember dai participating in some game where balloons were tied around one leg and the participants were trying to break that of others. I remember him losing the game and crying.

I remember how I learn alphabets with aama when she was trying to teach dai.

I remember how dai used to confuse with b and d, and how he wrote “ka”.

I remember my nursery days. I remember the day I was punished by one cruel teacher for no reason along with my brother there at SITA. I don’t remember the face of Basudev Munal Sir but I heard his name there. One Jeevan Sir too was there.

Jeevan haamro sanglo paani ho
Salala dajai kholaa jhain bagyo salaa…..

If I am not wrong, Basudev Sir used to sing this song of his in the school.

I haven’t forgotten how I used to take out pickle, sugar and powder milk from our kitchen as well as that from Maamu’s. Once Mamu found out me “stealing” achar and said: “Nyase! Taile kina achar choreko?”

With my toteboli, I said, “Choreko ho ta? Jhikera po khaako ta.”

And they (besides Mamu and aama there were others too, but I don’t remember who) started laughing. My pronunciation obviously was not like that of theirs. They heard “jhikeko” some other way that would give blue meaning. And, till date sometimes they tease me for that.

I remember the day we shifted to Chabel from Kamalpokhari.

I remember many things. And when I tell my family that I remember that all, it’s hard for them to believe me. But they have to.

I remember the days at the Ideal, the HVM, the NSS, the TC, THT and everywhere…

I remember Mohan Thapa and Prasanna at HVM. I haven’t forgotten Prasanna trying to give us omlette-like pieces… I remember boxing with Shanker Rana. I remeber Upendra Regmi, the maths teacher, there…

I remember Atit, Sudhir, Abedan, Santosh,Sanyukta and others…

I remember the day I first saw Navin. I remember how Navin, AN and I used to share an apple and talk before the practicals at NIST.

I remember the both poem competions and I remember that I stood first both years.

I remember Baral sir. I remember RBC…..

I remember all my friends… I won’t forget Deep, and Rajdeep forever.

I remember SA giving me the book yesterday. I remeber how I was when I had to wait her.

I remember AD giving me the present today.

I remember how Dewansha and Vidya reacted when I showed them the presents I got on my birthday…..

I remember

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