Where are you…. going? Bhawana finished the question after a series of sneezes.
I say I don’t believe in superstition, and fight with myself to think the same way. However, I don’t like when someone asks me where am I going when I am ready to walk out with hope for something positive. When the question is coupled… well not just coupled but compounded with multiple sneezes, my dislike for her disruptive question soared. I know she knows the answer, or at least has a solid or even accurate guess. I can read the answer I am expected to spell out reflecting right in her tired eyes, which seem to struggle to spark with disgust. I know the answer –if I say- will flare up another round of argument. We tend to feel the same (win/loss) when we argue on the matter in question. The topic of the argument switches between its face territory and our ego so often and so swiftly that we scramble regularly –during argument- to figure out what ‘re we arguing about.

I already had decided not to answer her “where are you going” question. Therefore, I just picked up the car keys and headed out. I could hear her screaming, “I am sick too. How about me?” as I stepped out. Yeah, she has flu. But, Sweta? …. I wish she had the same. Just flu. I wish.

I know Sweta since when she joined our school at class 4. I must be honest in saying that she was not one of the beautiful girls even in the class. Forget about the school. At 4th grade, what I mean by beauty is purely aesthetic and nothing beyond. Although definition of beauty pretty much remain the same but the definition of girls developed to be a dynamic one as we ventured out to higher grades.

When we (a bunch of guys I used to hang out with then) reached the 8th grade, girls meant a welcomed confusion to us. Most of the time, we were dazed around them. Sweta rarely provoked any attention from any of us. She had all what we used to talk about all the time yet we stayed away from her. I should not flicker for truth. So, here it is. Whatever beauty she may have was overshadowed by one of her legs. She used to limp a bit on the right side. If we got nothing much exciting going on, we used to pick on her limping leg and pronounce an unwarranted name “Langadi” for her. I sink as I write the “L” word here, but the truth does not change to compliment my wish.

It was raining that afternoon. I was on my bicycle racing toward Sweta’s neighborhood. Of course, not for her but for Sristi. Sristi was the one who used to pump all of our hearts in all sorts of variations in or outside of the class. Since the reward was priceless, the competition was tough. I was open to Anita, Sumi, and many others as well but Sristi was Sristi. I was just hoping to get there before evening could descend challenging the already fading visibility. I hoped to see her but hoped she would see me too. Even hoped our eyes meeting mid air on their way to hit us. The sky was getting darker with rapidly moving dark clouds. Roaring thunders were annoying me breaking up my chain of thoughts Sristi commanded. People were retreated to their homes. It was a secluded neighborhood dominated with big and fancy houses with compound walls. I had to pass Sweta’s house to reach Sristi’s. I neither wished to see Sweta, nor I wanted her to see me paddling through. So, I sped as I approached her house. Just then a yellow-top perhaps 1973 toyota Corolla taxi continued running in opposite direction splashing the mud water all over me. Humiliation? even that in front of a girl’s (I didn’t care for her but still…) house! I got furious, and yelled - looking at the distancing cab - all the curses I could come up with at the driver, who I doubt heard anything I screamed out. But then….just then…damn!.....

Ach ho Pheri Deep dai le suspense rakhdira ..... raddiz na gara na ho bro ... kaam ma nindra lagera eso deep dai ko story padheko suspense re last ma ta la la chito chito arko handim ......

But then…just then…damn! Since I was yelling at the cab driver looking back…I did not see where I was going with racing bicycle. Before I could see the threat I hit a brick compound wall, and bounced off to bang my head on a lamp post. When I fell down, I must have done so in quite an odd position to break my ankle. Few moments passed by before I could realize what just happened. Then, I tried to get up but could not. Rain was pouring. Street was deserted. I was lying down in pain. My badly damaged cycle was resting on me. As I was repeatedly trying to get up, I heard a familiar voice asking “are you ok?” The tone of her voice was so caring that I almost broke down in tears. Of course, it was Sweta who was standing there by me. I did not say a word. I was miserable and badly hurt. Continuously falling rain drops were quick in diluting my blood but the mud-water still looked pink. She lent her hand to assist me stand up. I humped a couple of steps and leaned against the wall. I looked at her, and there she was looking at me completely drenched. She would blink to facilitate the rainwater carelessly running down messing up her neatly tied black hair. Her father came out to see where did his daughter go in the rain. Then, many other people gather around me staring as if I asked them a tough question answer of which they don’t know.

Her father took me to the hospital. I had plaster on to repair my ankle for six unfortunate weeks. I did not go to school during that time.

When I went back to school I was a bit changed boy. I still did not fall for Sweta but I was sensitive toward her. Should I like her? I used to ask myself a lot, though. One day, I asked her “how did you recognize me that rainy evening?” I knew she came out for me. She replied, “I did not know who it was. I just saw someone riding a bicycle hit the wall and bounce off pretty bad. That’s why I ran out to see if the person was ok…and it was you...” she smiled a bit then asked”…where were you heading?..” I knew she knew the answer. However, that conversation gave me the answer I was looking for. That evening she did not come out for me. So, no special obligation exists toward her for me to honor. It was a relief, I must say. Nevertheless, I never teased her with L word -never again. I also started to keep my friends from bothering her. They started to call me “langadiko poi”, which used to infuriate me. I guess, I realized how insensitive it is to call someone a “Langada/i” when I myself was one albeit temporarily.

I liked Sweta, and kept on doing so, but did not love her. I did not like her to the extent that I wanted to have her. We were friends. I occasionally used to visit her house. Her father was a great man. I owed a lot to him for taking me to the hospital that fateful evening.

What happened to Sristi? Who knows? Well, I do. She married a doctor, who took off with a hooker a few years later. All the time when we were crazy about her she did not care for any of us. So, I secured tragedy in love with her.

Time moved on.
----

Sweta’s parents were having hard time in finding a man for her. This was causing stress to everyone in the family but the toll was heavy on Sweta. She would be mad with small things and was getting increasingly annoying. One day I heard that she got engaged. I was happy and thought of going to her to congratulate her. A month passed by then one Saturday, I reached her house to wish her all the best. Wrong timing! Her father said the guy called off the wedding. She retreated to her solitude.

A crazy thought came to my mind one rainy evening just like the one many years ago. The thought was of marrying Sweta. Out of nowhere! I was scared with the thought and tried to run away from it. Patronizing in the name of love is a dangerous move. Did I know that?

Life is what it is. I got engaged with her. I was all over the place including heaven and hell preparing for the engagement defending something I never thought I would do. After the engagement one day as we were walking back to her house, I saw a married couple walking together. I unintentionally watched the smooth move of the lady as she was walking beside her man then I looked at Sweta’s limping leg. Her eyes met mine. I smiled, so she did. I drop her off at her house, had dinner there and returned. On my way back I playfully thought, “sathiharule jiskauthe tara sanchinai langadiko poi hune bhaye ma”.

From that day Sweta changed on me. She took the change to the extreme and called the engagement off but neither did she tell me why nor was she angry. But I think I know why, though. I was devastated in the beginning. My folks felt relieved, I guess. They kept on blaming me for the wrong decision I made earlier. I never blamed Sweta for what she did to me. Except for a few months right after she called off the engagement, we always honored the communication between us.

I got married but she remained single. She is a teacher at a well reputed school, these days. My wife came to know, later, about the engagement between Sweta and I. She started to get intimidated even with Sweta’s thought. Sweta’s unmarried status, for whatever reason, was a threat to my wife. She did not like a bit when I spoke about or with Sweta. I knew she had nothing but best wishes for us (includes Bhawana, here).
Lately, Sweta was not keeping well. So, I was regularly visiting her. I was praying for her good health every day.

Doctors in Delhi sent Sweta back home after keeping her there for about a month in observation. When asked she said she is fine. But she looked as frail as a dead branch.

This morning she called on me to see if I could stop by. She said she has something she must tell me.

I had to go.

“Stay with her, you betrayer” I hear Bhawana who was standing by the window with disgust in her eyes. As I hop in the car, she sneezes again.

**********************

:)....Its the season of Literature again...I can see the Winter Hibernation cutting off..and the Great works coming out!!!!
Great work indeed!!!
Keep writing Deep dai!!!
Nirman~*

good story again

Well composed story Deep jyu.
I find myself wondering what it would be like to love someone unconditionally. Do we find pure love these days? Only Sweta knows!

Fill your days with smile.......

khai ke ke...

deepji, story is awesome. Is it your real life story or just a fiction?

Deep Jee,

Bhawana is a good name --- She understands your BHAWANA. She should not sneeze if you are open to her in everything or sneezes all the time, who knows!
---
OK

Seeru,
The story is a fiction. A complete fiction. Kam ma kam gardai lekheko so took a few unwanted turn and missed a few wanted ones. ke garne ek sur ma lekhan dina paiyena...thought bhadragol bho.

OK, Bhawana is a nicei name. I agree. About understanding Bhawana, I am not quite sure if I can agree with you.

shaq le bhanera jhan tu peldiye katha, bro ta napadhi tap hanyo ki ke ho?

Nirman,
ram ram. Bro le udaidya bhanya malai? meri bassai.

pipalbot,
kya sittal lagyo bhane tippani ta malai...ke bhanne..

ach deep daju hijo nai sakako katha padhnata ka aba friday teti free time nai hudaina.... kahi na bhako jatra hadigaon ma bhane jasta .... katai na bhako weekend huncha america ma pelna pelchi bro ..... tara j hos story jhakas cha ...... eso power ball lagyo bhane sab story euta ma misaera euta movie nikalnu parla ....... deep's short stories ..... sochum hai daju invest garne ho bhane ......

Deep, gajjab cha hai katha pheri.

Ani Okji, dherai pachi bhet bho ni. Ani khoi ta "Manju" ko banki bhaag?

0

दीप्ज्यू,
सादर अभिनन्दन्, हाजिर अबेला टक्र्याएको मा माफ पाउ, तर देर आए पनि आए दुरुस्त्, होईन त ?

Always in awe of your writing skills.

John

Jhakkas......absolutely JHAKKKKKKKASSS !!!

Deep dai,
Truly enjoyed reading it.

काँ उडाम्नु दाइ, गुरुहरुलाई हामीले उडायो भने त सरस्वतीले सरापीहाल्छन् नि!!!!..:)
लेख्दै गरम् है दाजु!!!! दिप दाईको कलमले हाम्रा आँखामा यसरी नै उज्यालो छरिरहोस्!!!!

Shaq bro, power ballko tikas ta kinne garya chha ni...haina ta? ki tikas nakini handini power ball? sapana ma ta maile ni dorha kha ho powerball lai tara bipana ma kach.chi bhera khattam!

Chiplebro, yatra samsmaran le nepali tira udako udakai chha...man sthir parnai garho gam gharko samjhana baljhera...

kumale le bhiyut dya re chha ...rittai ho ki dahi bha ho thammyauna khojda khojdai yeti bela bhai sake chha...

John Galt, Swasti gare prabho! yata radi tira basum...tyo gundri tira ta hamro aasan ho..
ma ta dhanne bhaye prabhoko tippani padhera....udayaman suryako darshan garna paunu deepkoi saubhagya matrai haina prerana pani ho...

Oysbro,
kata ho bro? Oys ko nam dekhna sath hadigauko samjhana aaihalyo...tyo pokhari ra jatra ko drishya aankha ma failenchha dukha dina lai

psycho ...swagat chha hai

Nirmanbro...ma ta afulai lekhan kshetrako euta sukumbasi manchhu...sajhaka hasti lekhak lekhika saraha bro le pani afno kshetra darta gari sakya chha...mero subhakamana ra abhinandan.

Thank you, all.

A nice story....what happens next???