Sometimes I get lost in my childhood memories alone. When I turn over the book of those pure, pure, innocent memories, the loneliness of a month is like a sore throat. How isolated are those memories? Oops! When I try to remember the life I have lived, they keep asking me to attend the life I missed. Now, in whose life should you send him to present the life he had lived by 'presenting' him? Dear! Unfamiliar life please get out from here.
I am also one of the witnesses of the story of those who have settled down by clearing bushes, streams and forests. I also have memories of flooding. A parallel flood story with a friend took me to the forest of memories, where I used to call the small bushes of the forest life. Where I used to be a mastamaula without even knowing the same path of the forest. To be a master, one has to be filled with both ignorance.
Our Guru, Acharya, Saint, Sadhu, who says that I live by doing Nishkam Karma. They say they are drunk. They too live in hypocrisy, such as caste, religion, culture, and nationality. Aren't you surprised to see such ignorance? When the fire of knowledge burns in the mind, people often take to the streets. To me, sometimes going out on the street alone is like saluting his hypocrisy with my middle finger. This often happens. Because the evil image of such a gentleman flows in my flood memory.
We were in Lamidanda, Kavre, 10-12 years before our family day in Khayarmara. How do we say While there were no birds or mice in my existence, there was no anonymity. I ask my mother, 'Mother! How was Khayarmara? '
The mother says, ‘What can I say, the place is also awful, the house was like a village and a village next door. The bears roared all night. The bears also ate the corn from the fields. It was a sad day .... '
In those sad days, I fell to the ground in search of happiness and I fell to the ground almost at the same time. We had a place where Samathar Madhes fell - Chidiadah, Rautahat. The bird is the animal. Animal dung The encroachment of human beings on that animal and the forest was gradually increasing. So it wasn't as scary as Khayarmara. We built a mining settlement here. There was a settlement, the same knee of three houses. As more and more people were added, the settlement got its name - squatter settlement. The story of how many people were tortured in that settlement by abandoning bulls and torturing people is still fresh to the old people here.
My childhood memories were spent wandering in the streets of this settlement. In my memory are carved old mud houses here (which are washed away by a small storm, uprooted by a small rain). In my memory, this is the inner road of the settlement, which is now missing. I have the cough of the old man who sweated profusely to make this country a settlement. I have a story of hand-wringing in the evening-morning meal. There is a poem about working day and night to earn wages.
The squatter settlement is not as ugly as the image created by the government. Such settlements have also contributed to make this country. Such settlements have their own philosophy of life, their own aesthetics. Instead of appearing in such settlements during disasters, the shameful face of the government!
Some of you must have seen the toll town where I grew up. How can such a settlement be annihilated only by writing 'Prosperous Nepal, Happy Nepali' on the pillars of the capital? Probably some of you are reading this while living in such a settlement. If so, it must be written on your chest - a poem of cruelty suffered by such a settlement. It must be written on your chest - the blues of not being human. Of course, the question is on your chest - why is there a lack of skin that can't be removed from the body?
Every time I reach such a settlement, a poem of chest comes to my mind - the forest of memories. The poem was recently awarded the Literary Award of the Year. In the poem I am saying-
Look at that guysIn that squatter settlementBy the abstract color of Rayal SinganLook at the child who is writing the heroism of the countryon his own face ....
This 'baby' was a fusion of my childhood and the son of a staff assigned to the municipality to clean the safety tank. On the floor of that Dom Bacho ward office, there was a squiggly squiggle like a map of the country. As for my childhood, you could find Bikram Samvat spending the night under a leaking roof around 2060 BS. The rain continued unabated. The child saw that the house had become a 'swimming pool'. The village has become a big 'swimming pool'. The water was dripping day by day. There were windows and doors all over the walls of the mud house. People living inside the house were waiting for the leader to come, the VDC to come, the CDO to come. The boy was moving his soaked book from one corner to the other.
The foxes roared all night. That desolate scream and rain had soaked the night. The rain was slowly falling with hail. The volume of the flood was increasing. The demonic roar of that uninvited guest kept ringing in our silence. The combined fear of rain, hail, hurricanes and floods had left people homeless. As the floodwaters intensified, the houses in one of the longest settlements dwindled. I was shocked to see the flood. But no help came from anywhere, no government mechanism! Dil-o-jyan was engaged as if he had vowed to flood. Better a poor horse than no horse at all. Tell me whether or not ... So that child also chased the buffalo with his parents and climbed to a safe place. Fear of flooding must have reached the address of the safe then. A good man from the same village took our scattered group and managed it in the school. It was the same school where the child used to go to school.
What is the condition of the flooded settlement? You must be partially aware. I don't know! Don't listen to the flame! When there is a settlement by the river and even half of that settlement is washed away by the flood, the fox roars all night long. People like foxes go to dig houses and farms. The most embarrassing thing is that in the name of relief, the government comes carrying five kilos of Chiura, a sack of rice and a bag of Tripal. The squatter settlement is not as ugly as the image created by the government. Such settlements have also contributed to make this country. Such settlements have their own philosophy of life, their own aesthetics. In times of calamity, they are seen in such settlements, the shameful face of the government!
Those who lost their homes in the floods did not get houses or land. Those who are homeless took millions to re-create a zero life through struggle. The survivors returned to the settlement. After a while, an old man started appearing in this settlement. When the old man got drunk, he would say the same thing over and over again. He was seen chopping firewood, dumping dung or fetching firewood in the forest. It was later discovered that the man was the son of the man who had set up the zoo. Whose signature is a thousand hands, on the soil here, his children are living in a small settlement in the same place, working for others. What a joke man! But it is real. These souls sometimes come to Masamu and say, 'No, young man, I had to make arrangements to get my allowance. I have reached 80 years of age. He says that he has not reached 70 years yet. If you do that much. 'Other times, old man, you have to eat bones in the morning and evening to support yourself. Don't live in your own house. No one to support. He too was made landless by the commentary on the development that entered Nepal. Who divided the forest into villages. How can he not have his own roof over his children now? He lamented, "I didn't like reading at the time. The listener did what he did. That is what caused the grief. Yes, I still have land in my name. But I don't know who lives on that land. '
The descendants of those who built the whole zoo are living in squatter settlements. Even after such a long period of time, this settlement has not been able to achieve much except being known as 'Sundarbasti' from the 'squatter toll'. I spent more than 25 years in this settlement. Even when calculated in this way, the age of this settlement is over 30 years. 30 years or one third of a century! But there is no household paper in anyone's name. That is, the house of this settlement has not yet given birth. Citizenship is out of the question, while people in the country are becoming stateless, some people talk about giving citizenship to Ram in the name of being a nationalist. Tista speaks of nationality up to the Sutlej. When he hears this, Chidiadah remembers that he was being ridiculed.
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