Pratik Mainali

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

Waking Up

Published On: April 15, 2018 11:38 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

My heart it thumps then slowly swells My nose it ticks, as Tears they well

The fall

Published On: March 19, 2018 09:13 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Through the window, Suhev watched as the dark red clouds floated overhead cutting past the pink and purple sky, and allowed himself a gentle nod. He drew a heavy breath rubbed his hands as the hot breath steamed his freezing fingers. Then sank his head on the soft pillow and stretched his hands. Above him hung the heavy ceiling.


Published On: March 15, 2018 08:50 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

There was a time in my early years, very early years, when I was frightened to death of poverty. That was when I was a little schoolboy who was frightened of anything and everything that was a little out of place.


Published On: March 12, 2018 10:38 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

My heart was thundering with excitement at the prospect of escaping the inanimate and dull Kathmandu to a fresh, vibrant Jhapa My brother had bought a ticket for me which I tucked it into my jacket pocket and took it to bed with me, holding it as if it were the golden ticket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Jhapa Diaries

Published On: March 1, 2018 09:37 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

The heavens roar thunderously above, the trees bend here and there with a colossal crashing sound, the water of the damp earth gushes into the rooms as they overflow from a gutter, the rainwater poke at the roof, the wind rocks the house, the windows rattle as the finger-like branches snap at it fiercely, villagers shout frantically as they run to their houses, animals cry as the water barges into their shelter, the clouds scuttle unbearably low in the pink and purple sky. The weather is tumultuous and everything feels heavy.

The haunted house (Part 1)

Published On: February 27, 2018 09:15 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

The reader, you are certainly alive and well, I, the writer, however, am at least a decade gone into the deep unalterable slumber to convince the reader that I am indeed dead. I wish to show you a trick. A deep booming manly voice with a horrific hoarseness will be narrating right behind your eardrums and reverberate all over your skull the following narrative, while rattling and clinking of the bones will occasionally add terror in your head. The night was dark, stormy and violent.

The Teacher

Published On: February 25, 2018 11:54 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

He was so very frightening He stared at me, his fist tightening


Published On: February 20, 2018 09:41 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Two precious years lost in that dreadful college. In tumultuous times I was, thus I went in, keen to learn something, to challenge my views, broaden my intellectual horizons, to a “prestigious college” but it turned out to be a scam school organized by villagers to pocket some money for their new business, and in my quest for knowledge the village school turned out to be as useful as a fork in a sugar bowl.

A walk in the night

Published On: January 29, 2018 11:50 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

I’m walking alone in the night. Alone on the empty street. A strange light is hovering above me. My shadow is dancing around me- along with the shadows of the trees. The wind is whistling past the leaves and an insect is shrieking. There is a strange hissing sound but that’s probably coming from my nose. Other than that there is silence. Chilling Silence.

The Ghost

Published On: January 27, 2018 12:31 PM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

The drizzle of rain was poking at the tin roof in a steady rhythm. The clock was striking and ticking. Abruptly I awoke as my chin hit my chest and the book fell from my hands to my thighs.  The window swung open- cool, chilly breeze burst in- and I felt a refreshing shudder pass through me.  Jitters of rain entered sprinkled into the floor near the window. The rainwater was dripping down the tin roof into the plastic jar I’d kept to collect. I could feel the house pulsing.

The plastic bag

Published On: January 24, 2018 11:36 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

The wind stirred and the blue polythene bag rolled and riffed with it. Being tossed around by wind and mud, the wrinkled plastic bag floated with the wind brushing its hands slowly against the floor and then it suddenly soared into the sky.

Monotonous life of a book reviewer

Published On: January 21, 2018 09:51 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

George Orwell, best known for his dystopian novel ‘1984’, writes this essay revealing how monotonous and difficult the life of a book reviewer is.

The Tremors in Bajura

Published On: January 14, 2018 07:38 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Millions of threads of light beamed through the corners of the hills making a blanket of soft brightness above it. Slowly the blanket was slipping down as the sun sank further down the hills.

Oh Clarice!

Published On: January 11, 2018 09:59 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

The air was filled with the sweet scent of nature and the forest was so very peaceful. The richness of the air flew to our nostrils and filled our hearts and lungs with awe and wonder of the nature that surrounded us. The fresh breeze whistled swiftly to our direction and whipped at our faces- mocking us.

Murder in the woods

Published On: January 1, 2018 08:11 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Rohan pulled the trigger. The bullet burst out from the gun at the speed of 200m/h. Tore through the shoulder of Kamal, and was entrenched to the wall of the cave.  The gunshot reverberated across the forest. They birds flew to the sky.

The room

Published On: December 17, 2017 10:32 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Mahavir sat on the chair with his head sunken deep into his hands and elbows drooped on his knees. His head was heavy and so were his eyes. His head rose from his hands, he exhaled and pushing the chair back - stood up - and stretched. The walls of the room were white - as white as ivory: without stain of any kind on it. Pure white and sterile.


Published On: December 2, 2017 08:07 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Kriti sat abruptly on her bed, frightened. She gripped the thin bed sheets tightly with her trembling hands. Her bed sheet was drenched in sweat. The window just above her was flinging in and out. The hot summer night wind was gushing into the room. The squeaking sound of the window was very unnerving. Hovering above her were strange shadows dancing on the ceiling. She jumped on her bed and quickly fastened the window.


Published On: November 6, 2017 11:52 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

When I was a boy I had no voice Inarticulate and shy had no poise In the head one day came a distant noise I found myself that day - a unique voice


Published On: November 2, 2017 10:09 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

Shahil looked at the board with his face red. His back was aching with searing pain due to the beating he had just received. His hands moved restlessly and his eyes were filled with fury.

In defence of so called SPOILED BRATS

Published On: October 28, 2017 09:20 AM NPT By: Pratik Mainali

How often do we hear about children being irresponsible and spoiled? The answers are probably between very often and always.