Memory Lane: The Thin Ice
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Johnny got all the attention that Sunday morning. Why wouldn’t it?  After all, it had narrowly escaped death the day before. When it collapsed and began to kick its legs, we panicked as if we were about to lose a member of our family. It was indeed a miracle that it recovered so quickly.
( For more on Johnny -http://www.sajha.com/archives/openthread.cfm?threadid=8457&dsn=sajhaarchive)

 “Johnny Johnny, yes Papa, LICKING POISON, no PAPA, ok Johnny?” My sister was giving rhythmic advice to Johnny. Maybe, it understood. It looked at her wagging its tail while she stroked its neck and ears.

 “Aba khana de na bichara lai, hijo dekhi kehi khako chaina! Poison soison bhanera bujcha ki kya ho?” I began to grow impatient at my sister’s melodrama.

“Taile bujchas bhane yesle bujdaina ta? “KUKKUR!” came her pungent reply.

 “Chup lag Makuri…tero dulha tyaha herr bhittama..” I had only begun my retaliation pointing to a spider, when Dad intervened from below.

“Oysssssssssss! Yeta herr ta!”  Dad shouted.  “Tyaha sirani muni, paisa chad-dya chu.  Aja bijuli ko bill natire 3% off paudainas. Ani telephone ko pani tirnu hai?” Hoping to cash some pocket money, I told him that I also needed a couple of smooth paged “Tridevi “ notebooks for my writing class and a new Chinese Pen. My dad loved to preach on how he had spent mere 32 rupees till he gave his SLC, but he was ready to spend his entire salary on education if need be, no questions asked. “Tyo banki paisa le kinn…ani jathabhabi phone garera nabasnu..tyatro bill acha..katti kura garnu parne ho timi haroo lai!”

 His voice faded away as he left for office in the usual morning mayhem. We were just relieved that despite our increasing telephone bill, Dad had not resorted back to his most uncanny law of having to sign up to use the phone. We couldn’t lie because he had a friend in Telephone Corporation that would provide a copy at the end of each month including details of all the calls we had made. Anyways, that was that.

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After an early lunch, I took my BMX bicycle out and was about to leave the house, when my elder sister startled me from the bardali “Oiee Oyss, kata jana la?”

“..bijuli ko bill tirna, telephone ko bill tirna….katti kaam cha mero..!”

 “Dherai hero paltinchas! Daddy le kati paisa dinu bhako cha, bhan ta?” My sister grew curious.

“Bill tirne paisa! tara mero Tridevi ra Chinese pen ni kinnu cha” I replied.

 “Ma sanga duita extra Tridevi cha, tyai chala. Tyo shrestha stationary ma ekdam mohongo lincha” She chapped her lips in disapproval. “Ani sooon! Everest Momo bata char plate momo le hai, deuso ko khaja lai? ” She ruined my entire personal plans. “La la! Herchu! Line lamo huncha. Ma gayen….”

 I decided to take the “Maligaon ko Oralo”’s  short cut. The plan was to pay the electricity bill first at Sano Gaucharan, then head to the faster moving line at the telephone corporation office in Naxal and then to Everest Momo, and back. I also wanted to stop by bhagwati bahal’s mithai store for a couple of “dudhbaris” that I often craved for.

The traffic was heavy as usual when I reached “Badri ko Pasal” at the main street leading off Maligaon. So, I got off the bike and dragged my bicycle up the hill through the bare sidewalk that existed heading towards Sano Gaucharan to avoid the honking of impatient drivers in the street. To my dismay, I could clearly make out the serpentine line that extended beyond my horizon causing a partial traffic jam. This would take forever. Since I didn’t have a lock for my bicycle, I parked it by the wall of the Nepal Electricity Board office where I could see it from the queue, and headed towards the back of the line onto the road to Mahendra Bhawan School.

Since it was relatively early, there were few girls still making their way to the school. To compliment that, there was a group of guys resting by the eastern wall of Sano Gaucharan flirting with time and girls alike:

“Oh Maiya! School jana dhilo bhayena?” “Ki aja school nagai kana Bhandar Khal teera jane?....” The girls would have none of the boisterous laughter and the teasings. Frustrated one of the boys quipped “Yo BIDUWA haroo kina yesto ghamandi huh….???

A fat bald headed man stood behind me pushing me ahead with his bulging belly as if his push would send the line faster. “Dhilo bhai sakyo, aja ta Chadke ma parincha parincha!” The line moved at the pace of the snail as the office goers began to grow more and more frustrated. “Euta matrai officer raicha! Ani kasari chito huncha ta..?” The answer was forth coming.

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Coming from afar from the Maligaon side, I could see Sneha making her way. She was smart at this ploy. As usual, she was dressed up in her vibrant best: red skirt, shiny blue shirt and a dazzling pink shawl complimenting her red lipstick, vermilion “beendi” and hyper-extended gajaal.  As a decoy, she had as usual brought along one of the neighbor’s little kids that whined all the time. She didn’t bother to stay in queue at all. She stood by the gate at the front and sighed at the line, making few conversations to people standing in queue at an inaudible level. Not to my surprise, the guys at the front not only allowed her to pass right by but even volunteered to look after the kid, amidst some disgruntled mumblings from the crowd. She was out within minutes. She gave me a wry smile from far, swerved her head to send her highlighted hair to the back while we waited impatiently. The man behind me mumbled further in anger “…Ramri bhaye ta line ma ni basna naparne..! laaz saaz nabha manche haroo!”

Finally after an hour or so, the people in front of me dwindled to half a dozen. I turned back occasionally to see that my cycle was still in place. I reached for my pocket and took one of the cards out. It turned out to be the telephone card, thus I reached for my pocket again. EMPTY! My heart began to race immediately. I reached both my pockets, felt my body, walked back in the line only to realize to my horror that I had not only lost the electricity bill and the card but also the crisp  thousand rupee bill that I had tucked inside it, or at least I thought I did. I went back to my bike and followed the direction where I had walked once again carefully. I instantly realized that I had dropped the card somewhere along the way, probably when I got off the bicycle near Maligaon. With my pulse rising to its utmost, I quickly got on the bike…. “ Wrong card lyayechu..!” was my limp reply to people’s quizzical looks that were following my activity.

 contd....