It is not long before when I realised the truth that writing has an immense strength, a power to hold thousand hearts at a time like an apostle addressing a congregation, such a crave that no hungry belly gets relinquished even by foods, an apex of satisfaction that one gets only once in a life-time, an immortal sense of freedom though grinded hard in the everyday factory of life. A regression in quest of knowledge, a movement started within me the day I was not really prepared for what I afterwards figured out, preparations were never needed. It was instant and natural like the sparkling of a thunderbolt, so much feelings encircled me that I came to know how Laxmi Prasad Devkota could have written Kunjani in a whole-night, a thunderbolt of mind-set. I could have written even more but the only difference was, those feelings were very raw, not even suitable to have been poured in a scrap with dirty inks. They were teasers, exciters to encourage the sleeping ‘next-me’ inside me and my mind was asking for food, a food of thoughts, a food of matured conscience to fill the so far empty brain dying of a never-ending hunger.
Ten years have slipped by but the quest going through many ups and downs is still meandering around, the writing though looking bit matured comparatively in certain groups is still crude. I remember my first attempt, a literary-beginning when I used to read the English verses and translate them into Nepali and vice-versa. The instigation was whatever, but it helped an ample in learning rather than in writing. Many might have felt the complex of when they get started, I also underwent but it was late before I accepted the reality that shaping feelings in a paper was a very hard task.
There was a time when my Nepali was very poor though I am not still good with it and this proved to be the greatest boon for me to enter into the world of literature. If I’d been an average going in Nepali, I would have never dealt the massive books but luckily, my weakness at this moment of life turned out to be the greatest help for me. Our Nepali Sir often used to tell me practise reading and writing, there were many times I got humiliated, demoralized in class only because of my ill-knowledge in Nepali. The course for me was so tough to be dealt with and I used to feel very helpless. It was that time I really took Nepali studying seriously, as a challenge and started a thorough reading and writing of Nepali language and literature. Within a short span of six months, improvement in the ignorant me could be clearly seen, as faint traces of maturity had sprouted in the writing. And about a year after, I must have started writing nicely that in the last days of my school, I got a big inspiring compliment from the same Sir and it was that he wanted to keep my note-copy with him for reference to the junior students.
Incidently, ‘SATHI’ itself was the first magazine to publish my article, nearly eight years ago.
