Stories By 'NILISHA TULADHAR'
I looked out the window after hearing a loud shriek next door. Three men who had just moved to our neighbourhood were holding a boy of about seven years of age. The boy was crying and looked frail. “Check his pockets,” one of the men said.
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My friend was getting married in a few months. It was an arranged marriage, something I had not heard about for a couple of years. I could feel the excitement in her voice when she told me about the preparations that were going on in her house. “I was confused in the beginning.
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She gradually opened up and shared her feelings. “I stopped going to work. After all, the family is more important, isn’t it?” she said with an inquisitive look. I remained silent. She continued.
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I went to attend a photo exhibition project at a local school. As I stepped inside the school premises, I could see children running on the grounds recklessly. I turned to see a teenage boy standing all alone in front of the photographs on display.I walked up to the first photograph and stood before it. The caption contained long sentences, both in Nepali and English, describing the people in the photograph. The Nepali text was placed above the English text.
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I had gone to join the marriage procession of a close relative. They had bought a new house far from the city area. The rituals extended late into the evening. The whole place was silent and dark, with only a few houses. My cousins were talking about their school teachers.
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I came home from class at 8 in the evening. A crowd of people had gathered in our neighborhood. I could smell something off in the air. The half pitched and half stone-paved ground was wet as if it had just rained heavily.
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