A Girl Shaped by Stories (Story of Transformation 18)

"Why were you absent for a week?"

"I had gone to monastery."

"But you missed some important classes during these days. Can you cover them?"

"Yes, I will try my best."

''Was there any special program there at monastery?"

"I want to be an aani (Buddhist nun) in future, so I was there to learn some rituals."

Sichu, drawing characters of her stories

Sichu Maharjan proudly revealed her dream in one of my classes. I had recently completed reading "Fulko Aankhama", an autobiography of Aani Chhoying Dolma then. Dolma had a strong desire of being aani just to remain a free and happy life not being dominated by any males and to be free from the torture given by her father. Many children of Chapagaun shared the same story. When Sichu shared her dream, I got frightened thinking if she was going through the same trouble. I instantaneously inquired if everything was going good in her family. She replied with a wide grin in her face.

"Yes, miss everyone is fine and it's all good in my family. Though my mother isn't happy with my decision."

"Why?" I grew more anxious.

"Since my mother likes me putting up makeup but after I become aani, I wouldn't be able to do so." She replied.

"Don't you want to be beautiful?" I asked further. 

"My soul is beautiful." She replied.

Sichu sharing story along with her friends

Then, Sichu started sharing what she was taught in her week long classes and how she should be following all the strict norms now on wards. I interrupted her and asked again, "Would you please share with me, why do you actually want to be a nun?"

"It's just because I can share my stories. I love writing stories and I will get an opportunity to share it when I become an aani."

But people of other profession also can share their stories," I laid another question.

"Miss, not everyone's story gets the respect than those shared by the preachers. Whenever people listen story from aani, they bow after listening to them and will try to follow the suggestions given by them,I haven't seen people doing the same thing when other people share the same story."

Her answer made me ponder deep.

I had been teaching her for ten months and I was going to be with her only for next two months then on wards and I was thinking if I had helped her enough.

On my farewell, she came up with a special gift wrapped in with glittering papers. When I unwrapped it, tears rolled down. I don't know how to express it. 

She had so beautifully made a story book and written all the stories that I had taught her along with some written by herself. She had mentioned how she loved my storytelling sessions that she started loving to write and share stories. It's because of those stories she has the aim of being an 'aani' .

Terry Pratchet rightly says, "People think that stories are shaped by people. In fact, it's the other way around..." I had never thought someone would love stories so much that they would like to devote their life just to share them. 

शीतयुुद्ध

उसको मेरो शीतयुुद्ध चल्या छ 

नजानिदो प्रितयुद्ध चल्या छ

आशा छ मनको मोह पोख्छ उसले,

मेरो चाही भित्रभित्रै मुुटुु जल्या छ ।

शुुन्दर त छैन ऊ, 

ज्ञान गुनका कुुरा नि गर्दैन ।

चुुरोट खाने उसको बानी 

मलाई पटक्कै मन पर्दैन । 

खै, 

त्यही पनि

अरुसंग ऊ बोल्दा मेरो मन किन पोल्छ नी ?

छट्पटिएको मेरो मनले भन्छ 

"मसंग नि केही शब्द बोलिदिए हुन्थ्यो नी ?"

अति कपटी छ मेरो मन

तर्कना वितर्कना हजारौ गर्छ ।

उसले इसारा मात्र गरे

युुद्ध विराम गरि आत्मसमर्पण गर्नेसम्म सोच्छ ।

तर विडम्बना,

नचाहादा नचाहादै युुद्ध लड्नुु पर्या छ 

अनि उसको मौनताको छर्राले 

छाती भने भित्रभित्रै छिया छिया पर्या छ ।

I was in LOVE Once Again

I was revisiting my papers. I guess, I had reread it more than hundred times. My research paper was due the next morning. I have been researching on life and hope. Oh! How pathetic, trying to uncover the paradox.

My mother entered the room with a cup of coffee. That was the tenth time she was serving me from morning till now. She glanced all around my room but didn’t yell. Sheets of papers were scattered here and there. My mother has stopped yelling at me long back; maybe since the day I started earning.

“Have you finished yet?” she asked in a very mild voice. Her mildness didn’t touch me. I didn’t bother to respond.

Mom left the room and I was there all on my own once again. I stood up and sat against my window. Through my ancient and small mullioned window, I can see the gigantic and dazzling city.

Peeping through the casement has become my daily schedule and I have gradually started to fall in love with this crowd.

I feel fortunate those days when I can watch the beauty of morning slowly being faded by the stretching and yawning sunlight. I enjoy the reality that it’s not only me who is lost in this brightness.

Today was one of those lucky days. I love to find that I am the one among those who wane during the rays and finally get defeated at night.

I was on a roller coaster ride of my thoughts when my coffee mug started shaking. My research on hope started soaring leaving me anxious. Was I the only one shuddering? I turned to glance once again through my windowpane and found that tall Dharahara, the symbol of old yet modern city crumbling down.

My mom was yelling my name outside my locked door.

Bowling…. Howling…. Wailing…. Yelling….

In the middle of it all, the loudspeaker planted outside the church next door roared its final cry “Where is The Hope When Death Knocks on the Door?”

When my hands instantaneously clutched the window frame, I realized I was in love once again.

I Know it's LOVE

They would always buzz on my ears. They would irritate me. They would trigger my agony. Sometimes they were so sharp that they would try to pierce my ears and erode out. Those unassembled codes. 

Wherever you are THANK YOU Vishal Singh  for this picture

Most of the times they would engulf me with their murmur that would later be followed by waves of emotions.... Sometimes huge and most of the times tiny and insignificant ones. I tried to ignore them. I turned a deaf ear to them. But..., but, that wasn't the solution. So, I tried to accompany my friends as I realized they would haunt me only when I was alone. 

It worked. 

Yeah! it worked but they were so smart. Umm, smarter than me that they would always find my way one way or the other. I stopped falling asleep disturbed by those unexpressed sounds.

Those unuttered voices would always shout. Shout out so loud that I should do something. Something; to encode them. Encoding wasn't so easy. I thought of a plan first to recognize each sounds that would emerge and then to record them. So, I started locking them in my papers. 

friends....pain...torture...stress...happiness...ecstasy...lonliness...abandoned...assignments....    

So many random words were there.  Thousand of random words.  I couldn't extract any meaning out of those. That process too didn't work. I couldn't encode. But...., but, I didn't lost my hope. I tried to win them by hook or by crook. I gathered those thousands of words and added some punctuation, some proverbs, some pronouns, some verbs, some feelings, some imaginations and some experiences. I did it for years. Finally one day, I could read them. Read out LOUD and find the meaning. I had a story out of that buzz. Now a days I lock them in various forms; in pictures, in social medias, in my blog. I express them and I have fallen in love with them. 

Oh! Poor me. Should love always have to be tragic? Then, they used to follow me and I used to run. Now, I plead them to haunt but they wouldn't come. 

"Please, come to meet me at least once a day. I have fallen for you." I plead.

"Love...I don't love you. I love moving. Sometimes here and sometimes there."

These days I wait. Wait, till the midnight just for them. I am ready to get pierced. I am ready to be drowned. But they hesitate. I guess, they have found a new prey. Again, I am not going to lose hope and leave you. I will burn the midnight oil rather than leave you. Because I know it's love and as they say everything is possible in love and war. 

Reflection: Finding the self

730 days you work 24/7 for your children without thinking whether it's a day or a night, sunny or a windy day. Finally it's your day to say good bye to them. Then with a grimed face, they remind you their dreams that you have made them see; the dream of doing something new for their community and for themselves or let's say rebuilding their lives in a new way. Of course! you feel that there is nothing more important in your life then being with them some days more and helping them to reach their dreams and you decide to live with them 365 days more. And suddenly when your kids start to add brick on their dreams, and their whole house of dream collapses, you become so helpless that you have not any of your energy to even say that they can rebuild their dreams once again. But you are their teacher, you can't let them collapse.
The same happened with me. For two years I taught in Chapagaun, sub-urban village of Nepal and left no stones unturned to make them realize how important is education for them, how they can change their lives by coming to school and how education can help them raise their living standard; they finally had a belief on me and they asked me to stay with them for more years. Though my term as a Teach For Nepal Fellow ended on March 2015, I decided to stay at Chapagaun one more year for my children and help them reach their dream. My kids were happy with my decision and were eagerly shaping their dreams. But, suddenly the earthquake of April 25 shook Nepal and it not only struck the buildings and turned them into mere rubbles, along with the school buildings and the houses, the dreams of my children too fell down. Everything went back to square one. The condition was worse than before.

Now after a year it seems we are gradually forgetting the pain. It seems nothing will shake us. But during these period whatever we did as a team was really very helpful. The way TFN supported our school with the stationery and the mid-day meal or the way we all teachers became united to bring the smile back on our children's face, everything is so appreciable. Then, the unexpected blockade. Life was already worse, it made it worst. No buses on road but, we had  reach school any how. I can never forget the long walk to school.

I had to get ready so early with a small hope that I would be able to get the first bus to school. After waiting so long, packed bus would come, which even didn't have any place to stand, I managed to get on that bus and reached school. I can so proudly say that I didn't miss even a single day of my school because of the fuel crisis. Thanks to the stories shared by other fellows of our cohort who were placed in much rural place than me and had to walk so long everyday just to reach their school.  
These sequence of events let me explore my self and I find out that I am adaptive. I can adapt in any worse situation and even work on it.  

The days during the fellowship are tough but the coming days after fellowship aren't going to be easy too. The toughest part will be that I have to work for them, for their dreams being apart for them. But, I am ready to do anything for the sake of my children's dreams as their dreams are already mine. Choosing the fellowship was not an easy choice but I am thankful that I chose it. 

Being a Teach For Nepal Fellow, I have become more passionate about education. The dreams of my students, their small achievements are what I have started to link my life with. By now I have also realized to make a more remarkable impact, I need to work more and also bring more people on to it. The education system of Nepal will prosper only when more people are passionate about it. I am thankful that TFN made me more passionate for education. Finding own self is a tough job but what I feel is if we are able to find our passion, it makes it a bit easier, Happily, Teach For Nepal helped me find my self.