The boy that smells mustard oil
These days I have only 16 hrs of my own time, time to sleep, eat, movies, books, internets and other daily chores just in 16 hrs.‘24 hours weren’t sufficient how could 16 hours be ‘
When I say so my brother has a good explanation.
‘It is not that you don’t have time, you have full 24 hrs but you utilize your 16 hrs full in bed that it looks like you don’t have one’.
So I had to rush when it comes to getting ready for the work. Last Sunday was not the exception. After rolling 10 hours in beds I finally got up at quarter to nine and the rush started. Bathroom, lunch, getting dressed all in 15 min. When I was out in the street the clock hits 9.
The road in front of my place was swarming with the school kids of New Shrine Academy (the neighboring school, few houses away from my place). When I got away from them, it is the black greasily road in front of bike repair center. And few blocks away yet another school (I haven’t figure out the name yet). The herd of school kids in red denims and white shirts at this corner of the locality always excites me. While the whole system is going crazy to destroy your culture you can pant with relief at this corner because you could find few boys in Bhadgaule Topi. Though I don’t know the story behind it, I feel good whenever I see these school kids wearing black cap.
In this bewildering crowd I found the boy around 10 on the other side of the road. He was walking on his own, caring little about the hubbub. He had perfectly combed side parted hair. His head seemed like it was submerged in the pool of mustard oil. Was he few steps closer I would have smelt the sharp scent of mustard? Seeing his head drowned in mustard oil, I was drowned in past. The flashback took me back to the school days; Saturday, mom washing me and applying a mustard oil all over my body.
My reminiscence couldn’t last long. The green Dio that appeared from the corner was a beautiful distraction. The white, cheerful face, with the black sunglasses and the hair descending down the helmet; propelling in the wind was making the scene picturesque. The herd of school kids was disrupting my eyesight. I didn’t have to worry much to get the glimpse of her because she blew the horn to clear her way and no doubt it cleared my eyesight too.
When she went past between us(me and the submerged kid on the other side), someone whistle at her. I looked around for the road side Romeos but there were none apt for the position. No one on the street had crossed the puberty except me. Soon it came to my knowledge that it was the job of under puberty guy; my companion on the other side. I was amused by his guts. I smiled at him. He shrugged his head and spread out his chest and winked at me.
‘Hahaha’, I laughed to myself. ‘Why should I hesitate when 10yrs isn’t?’
I turned my head along with the shoulder. When she was about to get away from my eyesight I felt the little crack in my waist. ‘ I thought I was being a jerk. To my surprise it was not only me who realized it?
‘Sale boka’, the boy passed the naive comment.
It was a kick in the teeth. I couldn’t believe his words. So I stretched my eyelid and folded the skin in forehead to pomp my surprise. But he was totally emotionless. He was whistling in his own unique style and when he realized I was waiting for some kind of answer, he stop his gaze at me and raised his head as if he was saying ‘Mula k herechas?’
I had absolutely no idea what to do. I toppled my head and turned my face away from his. Might be I was protecting myself from more shame.
He was walking without fear or favor across the street. However, I was stumbling on the other side as if I was completely drunk. I wanted to flee from him so I pick up the pace. The bike rolled down in neutral gear from the steep slope on the left side and stopped in front of me. It seemed that getting away from him was not that easy. I had to wait for the bike to move out. The middle aged man was carrying two school kids in his bike; one on the fuel tank and other behind him. The kids’ dress resembled to the dress of my friend turned foe on the other side of the road. The man tried to start the engine by pressing the start button.
‘Ghrrrr Ghrrrr Ghrrr’, no luck at all.
‘Oie Parajuli’ my companion on the other side yelled.
Nobody in the frame of my eyes seemed to care. I was wondering who might be the next victim. A moment of unanswered call had flustered him so he yelled again ‘Oie Oie’.
This time it was not easy for Mr. Parajuli (Whoever it might be) to get away from the persona of mine. Mr. Parajuli unveiled himself; the boy in the bike turned back and gave a nice little smile.
‘Ghrrrr, Ghrrrr…. And bhuutttt bhuuuttt..’ she did this time and they drove away.
‘Bike chadera hero huncha sale parajuli’ another callused remark.
Though it was not directed to me I thought twice before gathering the courage to peep at him. He was yet again emotionless and enjoying his walk absolutely with no sign of antagonism. I couldn’t believe how swiftly he could seal the emotion he had expressed a moment ago. If I had walked another minute alongside him I would have made fool of myself. So I fled from the scene.
