Sun, 15 Dec, 2019

I Do Have a Life

By Nisha Dhungana

Last year, a couple came and embedded their love in me. I stood there as they shared their love. I felt happy because I stood there as the symbol of their love. After a few months, they came again. They touched me and recalled their moments of togetherness. This time, I felt glad as I made their moments special. The love they possessed could easily be seen through the sparkle in their eyes.

An old man came, sat beside me, and cried with a picture in his hand. I could not comfort him, and could only see him spill the deepest agony within him. Trust me, I cried with him, even if he did not know, I shed my tears along him.

A person spoke, standing a little higher than the people listening to him. He raised his voice, with a firm argument and high energy. People raised their hands and made some noise in agreement. He was a leader and his leadership journey began in my presence, on my lap.

I saw a middle-aged woman coming towards me with a large bag in her hand. She came to me, sat in front of me, and wiped her face with her scarf. She opened her bag, took things out of it and started selling them. She began her journey to be a business woman and I was there as her supporter, supporting and comforting her in my own way.

A few months ago, three teenage boys reached up to me with a little hesitation and a little thrill within themselves. They took out something from their pocket, lit it and started puffing smoke from it. I wanted to warn them, but couldn’t. They initiated ruining their lives beside me, and I stood there watching them. Motionless, powerless.

One fine winter morning, when the rays of the sun had just struck the ground to make it warm, 5 old men came and sat around me. They laughed, talked in their loudest voice and sat there reminiscing and smoking their pain away. I could see the happiness they shared with each other. Even after all those years, the friendship they had was stronger than most of the youths.

Many wanderers come to me, wipe their sweat with whatever they have. They drink cold water from a tap next to me, sit beside me for a while and then continue with their journey.

Every night, a dog from a nearby village comes, and along with him comes a child with old, worn out clothes on his body, and a small baggage with him. He used to spread a small piece of cloth on the ground and rest his head on the baggage he brought. He used to hold the dog close to him and get lost in the world of dreams, full of imaginations. The satisfaction in his face is what made me feel relaxed while watching him sleep.

Some girls used to enjoy eating spicy food by making a “pop” sound from their tongue. I watched them get all red and desperate for water. They talked to each other about everything they went through and I, again just stood there, listening to their chitchats. Sometimes smiling and sometimes in deep thoughts.

Today, after all, those years of sharing happiness with people, and all those tears I shed along with them, I am being slowly cut to my throat and no one is here to help me. All those moments I spent with them did not even slightly encourage them to stop other people from murdering me. What if I was a human? Would they treat me the same way, or would they stop my murder? Don’t I have a life? Didn’t I provide them with all their special moments? Now I stand for the last time. All of them will find new places to share their moments which they used to share with me, but I will be forgotten. I am about to die and my existence will vanish, but no one is here with me in my final moments.