ThE bLaCk diArY

                                                

It has thick black cover, the diary they gave me. The very first blank page next to the India’s (political) map reads “यस सृजना उच्च मा वि को २०६५ सालको कक्षा १२ को परिक्षामा दोस्रो स्थान हसिल गर्ने राघव गौतमलाई  यो पुरस्कार प्रदान गरिएको छ |” Honestly these words never encouraged me to load this blank pages with my thoughts and words. Neither the first glimpse of this diary could convince me this thing that people say “Prizes are Prizes after all”. May be I expected something a little fancy, a little flashy stuff and not this dark black covered diary. That wouldn’t be me being unfair to the school authority had i been a little anxious over expectation while waiting for what the prize will turn out to be. I mean I was diligent, I worked my ass off. But I wasn’t sure what I was really expecting for I didn’t know what else could be the options. I am still not certain what I would have chosen, had I been the authorized person to do so. May be some expensive chocolates too, but those sweets wouldn’t have made it this far and this black domed diary crossed few oceans along with its gainer.

It isn’t in its old shape anymore. It is no longer yoked to the cover. But when its fold, no one can exactly tell that the cover and the body are not glued together.

Like I told you, I never thought I would ever scratch an ink over it. And I never drifted away from my vow that ‘ I won’t jot a word down’ until it was one evening of 17^th march 2009. I finally surrendered to its might. Not only my promise has set a new dimension, my whole life was on a different trajectory. I only realized it soon as I got out of the cab opposite to this grand bus station ‘Green line ‘and actually saw some different people for the first time. That different people driving sophisticated buses would now drive me to the place I was destined to spend precious 4 years of life. By different people I mean absolutely different, they didn’t look much incomparable but they sounded aloof. The language I have never heard before would be now the language of my communication. For the first time in my life I realized, it is the language that connects people (not hutch or Nokia). It is the language that embraces people in a Nation. It is the language I didn’t know I loved so much that I can’t use no more in here. And that moment I sensed a slight melancholy that could no longer persist for I had been longing to speak in English ever since I decided I would glide down to Bangladesh.

Now If any of my teachers or friends back from school read this, this will only sound hilarious to them. ‘Not speaking in English’ was a crime back then at school that I and my friends always committed. Duress by school that we never cared nor feared.  And now that has changed into a desire. However to my dismay I could hardly find any people who could talk to me in English at that sophisticated bus stand, not because I had any marvelous accent but I had actually knocked the wrong door. Soon I figured out that my dream of speaking in English like they show in the movies was deserted. What was I even thinking before I decided to come here?? And I finally settled to make my first entry to this journal.

The very first entry read something like : the wonderful people I met, how a guy was combed to this tere-naam hair style, how monstrous the building seemed to me.  How much I was taken aback when I was first served grainy ‘dhaniya’ with a bill in one restaurant (sometimes I anticipate the same in Nepali restaurant these days). How much I missed pretty girls for it had been already past few hours i haven’t seen a single girl. Another sentence read, how content I was to help this old man I met on the bus the other day who told his sad story of being pickpocketed. This first entry read this childish and hilarious yet the most romantic sentence I could ever write. Something like “every time my heart pumps it reminds me of you”. I can’t stop this shy smile that appears on my face every time I read this line solely. It also articulated how much I missed my whole family, my father and my younger brother the most that evening. And finally I wrapped up that first day entry devoured with the reminiscence of my friends.

I am not sure, whether people share their things in their diary or not. However every time I consider of posting something on my blog. I hunt my diary down( for I never know where it is; no wonder it is in a bad shape now)and set about writing. Start writing! Just like that?? I mean what do I even write, what am I even writing and why do I even write in the first place. So if I really want to think something before I write any piece, I will have to come up with all these answers in the premier. Hence I have an only answer that is : “ yes! I embark writing just like that and leave it to you”. Like they say in the movies ‘Tension  लेनेका  नही  देनेका’.

What about the diary?? It is almost filled in and for past few years I have been writing. I started it like a regular diary, thought I would make entry of each day in Bangladesh since that first evening. However It was a long row to hoe; instead I started writing philosophies, my dreams, my failures, again regular entries, nation’s issues and sometimes nothing (like today). And this notebook, which I thought would turn out into something like balance sheet(to keep track of my expenses so that I won’t turn out luxurious someday, which I am lucky I didn’t) turned me into a pen-man and kept me arouse at this hour of the morning.

(It’s already 5:30 in the morning when I enclosed this last bracket)