Skip to main content

My City

NIRDISHTHA RAJ SAPKOTA
The busy, bustling city of Kathmandu. The houses, all of them lived in, all of them teeming with life and activity. I must say that I’ve grown to love the houses of Kathmandu and its people. I must say that Kathmandu has a certain charm to it and no, it has nothing to do with the nightlife. Being a teenager, people tend to jump into conclusions and I’m just trying to say that I love Kathmandu for everything it is except a few things, like pollution.
Imagine a developed Nepal, from Mechi to Mahakali, every nook and cranny developed with load shedding and water scarcity taking the back seat. No more people dying of diarrhea, no more discrimination and no more crises of daily necessities. Such a wonderful thought! Imagine eco friendly cities all over Nepal. Imagine Nepal selling electricity to countries and imagine our country not suffering from financial crunches and an unstable political scenario.
The developed Nepal will see decentralization and people will opt to go back home and not live in small cramped spaces in the capital. Kathmandu’s going to be empty which means not having to wait in a long line at the grocery store or at the bank. But imagine your neighbors’ house empty except one or two people living there who’re rarely home and are mostly travelling. How would it affect you?
Kathmandu city is home, this is where I was born and where I grew up. This damned city made me, well, me. With its political instability, strikes, garbage on the road, street children sniffing glue, struggle for supremacy, aggressiveness of people, the long waits to have any work done, has all seeped into my daily life and I can’t imagine living in a different place where nothing is familiar.
I do realize that it doesn’t really make sense for me to worry about this because it’s not like I’m going to run away at every chance from this city. I like it here. The heavy smoke clogged air, the huge piles of garbage, the ever-moving crowd at Ason, have all become a part of life and these things have deeply embedded themselves into my life and many others too.
The writer has published a novel ‘untitled life’ in 2011.

Labels:

Comments

  1. UnknownOctober 7, 2018 at 9:24 PM

    Excuse me but I don't remember giving you the permission to publish my work in your website. Can you please take it down?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Page not found!

Banging my head against the couch placed in the drawing room, I was murmuring unusual things. I thought those were murmurs, but it was just a feeling given by hodgepodge of random thoughts running in my mind. There was desperation to take a glance at something. My mind was completely dazed, not by the bangs but by the same thoughts. My shudder went too strong making it hard for me to stay firm. At the same time, I glanced back into my past and wondered how great it would have been like if I had got a chance to reorient it. The thought was like a powerful virus capable of reproduction a thousand times each second. Its effect was all over my body in seconds. My hands and feet were icy, and my lower jaw was fighting with the upper one. My gaze was uninterrupted like that of a perished guy, and something had stuck in my neck which I wasn’t able to gulp down. My thoughts were still within me, intact and unspoken of. I couldn’t know what to do. Every thought and idea was tangled like...
Post a Comment
Read more

Loquacious and its derivations

It’s derived from Latin  loquor,  to speak. Soliloquy: It mean a speech to oneself as its formed of  solus,  alone and  loquor.   It makes us clear about soliloquize, soliloquist and others. Circumlocution: It has the same root:  loquor.  circum  means around, so its meaning is talking around and not directly. Also be clear about next word circumlocutory.
Post a Comment
Read more

Life’s measurement

Age is not only measured in years. Personally, I’m three houses, approximately 6,000 songs, and 1,825 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches old. I can also measure my life in trips to the airport. Each time I fly, one more trip documents my life. When I was six airport trips old, my mother, sister, and I drove to Kennedy Airport to fly to England, where my father was waiting at our new home. As the grown-ups around me shed tears, I could barely contain my excitement about our “vacation,” unable to grasp what moving across the Atlantic Ocean really meant. Eight hours, three airplane meals, and zero hours of sleep later, I arrived at Heathrow Airport, now seven airport trips old. England holds my greatest memories. There I learned to read, which introduced me to the world of literature, a world I escape to whenever given the chance. I saw firsthand how people’s attitudes can make all the difference – my family was dropped headfirst into British society, but fell onto a pillow of hospitality...
Post a Comment
Read more