Stories By 'Prateebha Tuladhar'
I’m four. Maybe five. I’m visiting my grandparents in their working quarters in Nuwakot.Socialising with neighbour-colleagues after work, is a part of life at Trishuli Colony. I’m part of this for close to two months of my winter vacation. I’m mostly the entertainer in the household.
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I didn’t sleep very well last night. My feet felt like a furnace and there were pins and needles on my back. I tossed and turned until I fell asleep again. I had fever dreams— they were fragments of our Mahankal home. It left me wondering why we’ve never had a conversation about that house. After all, it is where you began to take shape inside Mamu. It’s a different story that we’d moved by the time you arrived, and no one ever thought of visiting the place again.
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I sat on the commode, dripping like a tap for what felt like an eternity. And I’m not making this up. I was dripping blood, a couple of drops per second.
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1. The air is thick where we stand. 2. The sky is heavy, like it were on the brink of tears.3. I suck the air in and it tastes like water.4. The rain has stopped. It’s time we left.
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Tags: rainfall
It was the day of Bhai Tika. He could not hope to rush things like he desired. What he did desire was to dash to Durbar Marg, where he would be interviewing for a job. But that was not happening. His sisters fussed over the procedure. Over the special meal. Over the garlands and the lights. And he got delayed.
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Tell me a story, didi,” I hear you say from the back seat.
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