Khadakbahadur Daju does not
own a motor-bike but the story of his forty-eight year's of his life is written on the alphabets of his cracked heels.
He has newly made a BPL ration- card. He was overjoyed to get the card like he was overjoyed when he sewed his first
He enjoys the melody of that "tir tiraay
dhara." The ever-flowing water of the "dhara" made him strong enough to lift "doko"-full
Sometimes, when a high fever strikes him he crushes handful of "titaay-patti" and snuffs it through his nostrils. He feels healthy as a teenager with the grass-
He shouts aloud that the chemist and the pharmacist cultivated drug- addicts all over.
When his village was electrified for the first time Khadakbahadur Daju was sad that , the television might seduce and loath the sober and innocent face of the village.
With her fist clinched tightly Khadakbahadur Daju's wife exhaled her final breathe while she gave birth to their only son. Sometimes Khadakbahadur Daju weeps self-lacerating, resting his head on the unfired "chulaa" sipping along his "tongbaa." On cold inhered evenings he drinks bottle of "guraas ko
raksi" and tenuously and tentatively he kicks the scavenger dog that shits on his bed.
During the village "mela" he plays the role of a "maruuni" and dances with female's garments and make-up. Somebody offers him money, somebody offers him "ghaar
His anger is hot as "dalley
khorsanee." His jokes are pattering as "timboor."
Maybe someday Mc Donalds will brand his "iskoos ko
Now the colonial town has silently entered the village. The electric guitar has stripped off the clothes of "jhyaauraay". Lethargic e-mails and SMS texts has stitched the lips of "chitthi
Crooked dreams shakes the delicate hut of Khadkabahadur Daju. He wakes in the midnight and searches for his "kyatish",
"tusaay aaishelu", "murai ko dalla" and "ambal-
dambal." Today Khadakbahadur Daju sits smitten on the edge of his "sikuwa" smoking round puff of his "katuwa."
He is waiting for his son who has gone away to town to earn.
He is returning after four years but Khadakbahadur Daju is afraid whether his son will return or, some post- modernist punk will return with a label of his surname.