The school bag dropped on my knees. As I reached to pick it up, so did the little fellow who slammed his head on my foot. I got a peek of what the hurt looked like-a desperate try to look invincible. Young blood it was indeed.
My parents are from outside the Valley. When they stepped into the Capital looking for better lives, they also crossed the point of no return. I was born and raised in this very place, Kathmandu, where dreams come true, or so they say.
Our already rough ride was worsened by the landslide at Dahikhola, the river that divides Dailekh and Kalikot. We had to stall our journey and take a refuge at Khirkijiula. This was definitely not in the plan, but all we cared for was a roof that would provide shelter from the harsh rain outside.