The summer rains had just ended and it was probably August. It was not so hot in Kathmandu, but sometimes I would sweat when the sun was shining brightly. As Kathmandu was inhabited for the first year, the weather was not so clear, but when the sky was clear after the rains, Kathmandu looked like a lotus blossoming in a beautiful lake between the green hills and the hills. Similarly, one evening I went to the house of poet Mohan Khoirala to meet him. As the sun had just set, it was as if the lotus had been dipped in the juice of a golden rod. Hundreds of such golden evenings may have come to Kathmandu since then, but in my mind, only that beautiful evening remains unforgettable.
About 25-30 years ago, maybe - I came to Kathmandu from Dhankuta. It was the first year I came to study. Since I was interested in literature and the home environment was the same, I was eager to get information about famous poets, writers and artists. As soon as he found out that someone had gone to Kathmandu, he asked, "Did you meet Tara Devi?" Where is Shiva Shankar's house? "
Did you see Kiran Kharel? Etc. It was my habit to ask questions. If I could go to Kathmandu, I would feel like meeting all the famous people I had read and heard. Once, when started college, he went to Kathmandu for a few days' visit from the college. As soon as he was asked to go to Radio Nepal, he was asked, "Where is Kiran Kharel?" After meeting Kiran Kharel, I was satisfied as if I had come to a pilgrimage. I liked his songs very much and I also liked his proclamation. If TV was as popular as it is now, it would not be curious to see everyone on the screen, but at that time, the vision of those big names was rare for those living outside Kathmandu.
Two or three months after I went to Kathmandu, I met a friend of mine who had studied in Dhankuta and was very close to me, but moved to Kathmandu 6-7 years ago at Ratna Park. I found out that her house was in Dilli Bazaar and she asked me to stay at her house till the beginning of my college. When I left Dhankuta for the first time and I was very upset that there were no relatives in Kathmandu, it was very important to meet someone from Dhankuta. He was a familiar person, a close friend of mine. His house is in a place called Ghattekulo. After walking for about ten minutes through the peepal tree of Dilli Bazaar, you can reach my friend's house. Her brothers had a photo studio in Ratna Park. Wow! If my father had moved to Kathmandu seven or eight years ago, I thought we would have a similar house. The difference between the income of my father, a college teacher, and that of my father, a friend who owns a photography business, probably did not occur to me at the time.
I must have read that the house of poet Mohan Koirala is in Dilli Bazaar, because I don't think I found out by talking to anyone. I used to work in the library of Dhankuta College and maybe that was when the collection of poems called 'Mohan Koirala's Poems' became very popular. I also bought the book and kept it at home. Even after reading the poems from beginning to end many times, I could not understand any of the leaps in it. Later, one or two of them seemed to understand. There was no limit to my curiosity as to what kind of person would write such a Gaho poem. He started reading as much as he could understand, but no matter how much he read, he did not have a clear memory of any poem even after three decades. At that time, I thought that Mohan Koirala was a person with divine power above ordinary people. It still seems so, but the illusion that he might look different from other people was more then than it is now.
We went to my friend's house in Dilli Bazaar and talked about many topics. We were on leave from 8th class and at that time it was only possible to meet again after a holiday for the same reason. If it weren't for phone and e-mail, it wouldn't be. "Really, I read somewhere that the house of a very famous poet is also here in Dilli Bazaar, you know," he said. Began to question. I also gave as much information as I heard and as much as I could, after seeing the photo, I gave him a glimpse of his height and after thinking for a long time, they started discussing among themselves whether it was right or not. When my friend's sister said, "That's what happened, the old man who sells flowers in the yellow house upstairs," everyone fell silent for a while. And my friend asked me again, "Have you ever talked about the same flower-selling grandfather?"
The twinkle in my friend's face faded. "How many times have we gone there to buy flowers? I'll take you there." My friend's response had both positive and negative effects on me. Positive in the sense that the great people I consider to be unique are, after all, ordinary people like others, not only that, he also had to struggle like everyone else to cope with the high prices of Kathmandu. And the downside is that the people closest to him are not the poet Mohan Koirala, but the ordinary "flower-selling baje". All this was a game of my mindset of not being able to consider the great poet of my imagination as an ordinary person like myself. And from the perspective of our country, the profession of poet, writer and artist cannot sustain life. Perhaps the poet Mohan Koirala could not be an exception to that fact and started raising chickens and selling flowers. My friend's family was also one of the customers of the same flower. Although I am not sure if this is true, it is not a lie that my friend took me to the house of a nobleman known as the grandfather who sells flowers. It is not a lie that these dignitaries are our well-known poet Mohan Koirala.
It was evening, it was not dark, and there was no bright light. The sun was shining all day, and the light was still there. My friend and I reached the verandah of a strong house in Dilli Bazaar, opened the door and started wearing a cream colored shirt. A man of 40-45 years old who looked like my father came out. I've been hearing his name on the radio over and over again, reading the same names in magazines, and forcing him to meditate on his creations from the book in my drawer at home. I was worried about what to say to him, how to talk to him. Speaking of poetry, he clearly understood that there were not more than one or two poems. If we don't say something, we have to say something. "I came to see how you are," said Kaviju himself, confused as to what to do, what to do.
"Where did you come from and what did you do here? What's your name here?" After asking in a humble voice, I also got the courage to say something. I never thought that a person who thinks so big is so soft. Again, I never thought that a poet of such a complicated poem would be so easy. I love reading poems written here, there is nothing special about coming here to visit once you know that your house is near here ", I live in Dhankuta, my father also writes poetry and teaches poetry" Persian roots "in college. We continued to talk about it, but I did not have the courage to recite it in front of him. After half an hour of sweet tea made by Kaviji's wife, we returned to my friend's house. At a friend's house with a feeling of satisfaction and victory as if he had returned home. He returned with her. A friend had met a fruit seller but I was a star of the country. I had returned after seeing a vision of a great being.
As time went on, I lived in exile for a long time, the flood of long prose poetry came in the literary sky of our country. Poet Mohan Koirala became the Vice-Chancellor of Pragya Pratishthan, the winner of the Madan Award and the Common Award. Probably had risen above many from the selling grandfather. That smiling and comfortable face of poet Mohan Koirala in my mind, and that Dilli Bazaar interview is permanently engraved. That simple personality with a simple disguise and polite speech, that unique "flower-selling baje" is an unprecedented talent in my mind. I can only imagine the state of Nepali poetry and its future without that talent, but the possibility of never meeting that simple and comfortable person again in my mind. An earthquake of anxiety has been brought.