Sense of despair

In the past I have travelled to Nepal via Sunauli many a times— a traditional name given to both sides of India-Nepal border crossing, 70 km north of Gorakpur and 3 km South of Bhairahawa, but that day it was different in the sense that I was alone; by foot and with a hand bag and a suitcase in a rainy, cloudy day just got down from the bus stop in 'Sunauli' and was looking for the rickshaws to go to the other side of the border, 'Belahiya'. The moment you get to the bus stop you can hear the sound of the rickshaws pullers, cars and auto rickshaws drivers calling out for you to come and get your seat and sometimes they will get into each other’s arms and quarrel over you to make sure you’re sitting right on their transportation.

Suddenly a gust of raindrops was beginning to pour and for the next five minutes, it was in a rest like a periodic cycle. I was enjoying both as it was feeling me the nostalgia of my childhood when we ran in the heavy raindrops, striking against our face and body with heavy school bags on the shoulder. As we wheeled along the 'Sunauli' road and saw the banners of coaching speaking of PRIME CLASSES, JRS Institute, APEX Institutes, Ashok Singh’s Academy and many more. It is amazing how just in years, number of coaching increased from one to seven, just beside the Sunauli road with appealing names. It is not so far when this road will match to the feel good scents of Gali of Sunauli in the number of hoarding boards and other institutes.

I just passed near the famous India-Nepal boarder gate known more as a famous transit point between India and Nepal. The Indian side is officially called ‘Sunauli’ and Nepal side is ‘Belahiya’. There used to be a great rush of people going to home land but that day it felt like something was missing and I just couldn’t get through the whole process because of the lack of understanding of what was happening as everything was unusual. There were two queues of the beggars at the two side of the gate of temple. Their eyes were restlessly watching with convincing dismay. Many people were familiar with their good acting and few were exception. At every second, I could see how tempo and rickshaws drivers were bowing his head, murmuring Jai Mata Di. I wonder if those are the man who beat his wives and humiliate their mothers.

As I reached ‘Belahiya’ bus terminal, it had become somewhat dark, earlier because of dark clouds. One can easily find a fair number of foreigners near the exchange Center and some of them enjoying the pious, calm and mystical feeling, sprouting from the bottle of cold drinks in their mouths. Some foreigners were clad in Nepali traditional dress Dhoti-Kurta with twisted long hairs and a large red tilak on their foreheads. People were gathered around the shops selling spicy chats, roasted mazes and special-tea. I saw some couples, expressing their love in the cool and peaceful ambiance of open space, after anyhow getting a private place. As to respect their privacy I only spotted them for a second and moved forward.

I watched; I enjoyed; I contemplated. Now it was time to return home. I reached beside the Pan shop and ordered a mitha pan. First I smelled it; let its coolness, sweetness to flow through nostrils to mind and then to my stomach which stimulated my craving of taking it to my dried mouth. In a second it was finished and finally with refreshing footsteps, I walked towards the bus about to leave for my home town.