Pratik Mainali

Pratik is a high school graduate from Trinity International College, Dilli Bazaar, Kathmandu.

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Published On: May 19, 2019 10:00 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali



I will confide in you, my dear readers, with hopes that you are lending a sympathetic ear. The urge to pour out my sorrow and bitterness to the eager public is getting unbearably strong by the moment. Unexpressed sorrow, I have found out, can irreparably, shatter a tender hearted youth if confined in the dark cottages of the soul. Without escalating the agony of my readers curiosity I shall marshal the facts omitting no detail and most importantly without a touch of shame.  

I am GhanashyamBista. It has been rightly observed and reported by the members of the general public, that I am a man dripping with kindness and sloshing with intelligence. I simply sail through the air with silent suaveness that ignites the gentler sex’s softer and explosive passions. When I walk past they give me that wide eyed wondrous gaze and gasp, god how they gasp. They fix their gaze at my square jaw and blue eyes. They are pulled towards me with an invisible magnet of charm. In my society they forget their shyness and endeavor to become their true selves. Their throbbing heart yearns to feel my strong calm presence. Liquid words of frankness drip like honey down their lips and soak me. I am the breath of god in their otherwise dull and gloomy life. I am the tree upon whose shade they soothe and sweeten themselves.  So now I ask you dear reader why would they swing the axe of outrageous fortunes and sap the roots of that very tree?

I’m one of those guys with magnetic personality. Grief stricken souls lean on my kindness and unburden their weight from their weary shoulders into my strong and reliable hands.   I am one of those silent men who can go swiftly through life without the gift of speech. I’m inclined to believe that in the speaking department I am cursed. God must have had mischief twinkling in his eyes and practical joke toying in his mind, when he created my tongue. It lies thickly on my mouth when I most need it. It disobeys me and stammers when its presence is of most essence.

The thing is, my personality makes throngs of people surround me and fish for sympathy. However, they never seem to have the patience to listen to my woes. Since I seem to have an immaculate personality, they assume I have no thoughts wrestling in my heart. That is untrue. I wear a mask of smile over the wrinkles of grief.  But my tongue makes it impossible to pour out my miserable reflections with mellifluous expression.  The general public fall under the false impression that I’m jolly good and cheerful while my heart aches with unburdened sorrow.

In short my dear reader I am blighted. At any moment my restrained sorrow can burst with volcanic upheaval.  My ears quiver at the thought of listening to the gentler sexes self-pitying talks, and constraining myself from pitying myself,my heart gets filled with dread. Even a benevolent youth like me sometimes cracks under the load of others pity. My nerves cannot take them anymore without damaging themselves irreparably. My hands cannot hold the weight of their sorrow anymore. I must first unload myself before helping others. Hence I dip my pen in the paper and scrawl my sorrow. I say dear reader, pity me, pity the blighted GhanshyamBista.“Poor old Ghanu a victim of concatenation of catastrophic circumstances”, cry this out loud. And let me feel, my sweet readers that Ghanshyam is not alone. Tend and soothe my delicate heart with smooth words of sympathy.


Confesion, story,

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