I don’t know what actually was going through in my mind when I started peeping out of my window one rainy day. Children running around and pushing each other as they raced towards their homes; vehicles drenched in rain, driving to their destinations; people under umbrellas and hurrying home, making frustrated faces when bumped against other pedestrians; women shouting at bikers for recklessly driving even on the puddles. It was quite a scene.
The Capital always has something exciting to offer whenever I peep out of my window, irrespective of the weather. Everything appears very dramatic. To be honest, I feel lucky that I can watch interesting dramas free of cost whenever I feel like watching it. And every day is a new show.
THE UNUSUAL VISITOR
But then, despite the amazing show of life, sometimes my mind wanders off far, far away. Instead of focusing on what’s visible, it starts thinking of what isn’t really seen. Instead of enjoying the variety of sounds audible to me, my ears want to listen to the sound of silence.
Behind the stacks of houses tall and small, I hear old temples crying out for their renovation and reconstruction. And from there, my thoughts drift towards our corrupt leaders who live in bungalows almost as luxurious as The Buckingham Palace. I see beggars running hopefully after tourists with small bowls in their hands, and I wish I could listen to their stories of pains and sorrows. I see physically disabled people sitting on the roadside, begging for alms. Further ahead, there are six children busy running after people for a mere Rupee or two. What will happen to their future, I wonder.
As the thoughts of the sorrows of the common men cross my mind, the veins and nerves in my body start contracting, blood almost boiling, and my fingers come together to form a tight fist. Then I air-punch the so-called leaders of my country who are ruling over us without any vision. I feel a surge of pity and self-loathing, too, as I realize I haven’t been able to do anything for their welfare despite having all organs and parts of my body intact and well functioning.
But then, besides the pity that I feel and the air-punch I hit every now and then, I haven’t done anything significant whatsoever. They say, pain and sorrows are best felt when you experience it yourself, but hey, I at least devoted a minute to think about it.
When I look out of my window, I feel determined to do something to change the state of affairs. I tell myself that it’s a common responsibility of all of us Nepalis. But only when someone takes an initiative, then others will follow suit. Maybe I should do more than simply look out of my window…
Amrit is a Class XII student at New Summit College in Old Baneshwar, Kathmandu.
