#yourminestories

The unusual Saturday

How can someone find Saturday so unusual? It has got the same schedules all over again and again. Snoring till the sun hits your eye and closing the curtains so that you can sleep more until your mother or wife yells you about being lazy . Getting up with yawning mouth that could fit a rat, going to the washroom with brush in hand and phone in the pocket, spending about an hour or half in there. Getting back to your room and trying to do something but you are too damn lazy to think of anything to do. Of course Saturday is different from rest of the days, you needn’t think of the boss who shouts at your face daily, or the physics teacher who punishes for not understanding what the hell is carnot engine or about the teacher who gives you tons of home works and reports. Everyone agrees Saturday  is different but its not unusual as well.

Describing something more about the usualness of Saturday, you either go visit your old friends , ask a girl out , play sports you adore or plan a movie. You might as well keep yourself busy by thrashing your dirty clothes in the rough bathroom floor in order to ensure they are cleaner, bathe in case you are stinky or the best way this generation thinks it is to spend the Saturday, use networking sites all day long, make web of friends whom you don’t really know.

I, a guy with normal appearance, can definitely not find the day normal if a pretty lady’s photo in her mid teens just pops up as friend request in the boring Saturday morning from a networking site, popularly known as facebook. The irony is that ‘facebook’ never lets the student to ‘face book’. Talking about the photo, she wore the prettiest of the smiles, wide enough with lips almost stretching the ears. She wore a bluish skirt which she had voluntarily stretched both side of her legs horizontally. Thick  black hair reaching her shoulders and some strands near the cheek playing with the air. Even after these years it is the best picture of her I have even though I own hundreds of such in my storage and memory as fresh as ever.

I am not uncommon , I also belong to the ‘normal’ category of human beings. Well , normal doesn’t mean who is total lunatic or psychic or with any mental abnormalities, it simply means not the one with expensive bikes, smooth cars with chicks on the back seat, servants in the house who greets with the tequila in the morning and many more. As a normal person I also had the scheduled Saturday with no significant changes .  During those days I spent my Saturdays by getting myself clean, washing the dirty clothes and uniform and preparing the notes which I never wanted to do and gallivanting around the streets. This was the part of the usual Saturday for me along with thousands of students residing in Kathmandu for various life purposes like job or study.

I used to be a tall boy with clearly exposed clavicle and some ribs as well. The structures now are different , those bones are covered with thick layer of fat and I appear humongous. Even though I was a permanent habitant of Bhairahawa, but I spent two years of my late teens in Kathmandu valley, Lohakilthali bhaktapur to be precise about the location. I studied in one of the so called prestigious colleges of the nation, kathmandu model college,  KMC as a sobriquet.

In contrast, she was short, reaching my shoulders with heels on, little fat which I would never dare to say and above all she had that pretty smile where my each tiny heart components slipped. It is this beautiful smile and  innocence that has held me towards her like a magnet till date. She lived in a place called Kapan which I had never heard of before but I knew it was somewhere near Sukedhara to which I was familiar. She was a grade 10 student in the nearby school and due to the desperation of getting higher marks in SLC examination she lived more at her school than  home. It was that unusual aspect of the Saturday  that united two different people from different lands and was able to confine them into same page of a story.