An Eventful Sunday Night Walk

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From what happened today I seriously doubt the popular quote- “morning shows the day.” Morning was perfecto to start with blacked-out Blackberry screen lighted up to show some overnight some miraculous messages. Day was nothing eventful. Ordinary stuffs, nothing ‘news’. The concluding hours of this metropolitan city, before I actually sat down to write it up all at home, turned the above quote upside down. Here are the excerpts:

Around 9.30 PM ( I am in hurry, Blackberry is blacked out, no track of time):

I finish editing the last word of the cover story. A piece of shit—worst written ever. But I am happy. I can walk home now. The boss-guy approaches me anxiously.
“Sir, I have to rush home, please see through the final pages also”. 
WTF! (My feelings instantly respond–in my head).
Sure. (My brain instantly responds—in audible words)
I print out the copy and table it on the Buda’s (editor) desk. 
Seems he has lost energy to get back home on time and make it worthwhile in this chilling weather. He treads through that draft meticulously. Word by word, comma by comma, period by period.
I realize that the whole thing written by those new sweet-candies and edited by those old-fucktards had missed out a lot from the original.
Finally, the old-troll finishes polishing it. I dash it away to the designer. And set out home.
Five Minutes before I saw a clock that showed 9:55 PM
Out of the office. I reach out for the cigarettes. Shocked and perplexed. I have only one left– a smokeless night. A bleak future.  Some meters down I find hope in the glow of shop’s tube-light. I ask for a packet. I fumble through my pockets. All of them. A dejection creeps in with the realization— I had dropped the fucking elephant from the pocket. I ask for 2 cigarettes. Fire one of them and pocket another one. Walk away, blowing out the smoke in the chilled night. Heavy puffs!
Around 10 PM:
Taxis are around. The drivers give me expectant looks. I keep walking. I am like a true communist when it comes to riding taxi. Or I am like a thrifty capitalist. Some meters down the path. A guy from the other side of the footpath waves at me. I pluck out my headphones. By then he reaches next to me.
“Dai, there is pressure cooker bomb placed ahead,” he says pointing to the thing some 10 meters ahead of me. I am literally nervous. His fingers point to the other side of the footpath, and he says, “Please go that way; the police are coming to take care of it.”
I just walked away. I guess he was saying something.
Sirens, lots of sirens came ringing out loud. The thing traffic was swelling when I passed the corner and headed towards New Baneshwor.
Around 10:05 PM:
I am enjoying the walk. Lots of things are popping in mind. I continue to shuffle songs on my mobile. Vehicles continue whooping by. Some months earlier I had myself written news of Kathmandu having night buses. I wondered if the news was real.
Miracle!
A green micro passes by. A whistle instantly puts it on breaks. I get into it, while all those hardworking people, like me, inside it stare at me. I make myself comfortable. Life if after all not so bad!
Hardly a minute in it. The old-junk gasoline crap makes a sudden stop. A rear tyre is busted and guess what—no replacement tyre. Greato!
I continue to walk
Around 10:15
Up the road I finally near New Baneshwor chowk. I turn back and look at the long way I had been through. I look ahead and find there is still a long way to go. Some steady plain road and than again the hill.
Walking through the plain newly made footpaths, a realization came in. I was not only in Baneshwor chowk ( the steady plain) physically. I was in this chowk symbolically also. Some steady and progressive years, before I walk down the graph and become meticulous like the Budo editor.
Around 10: 40
I reach home and take out the cell to make calls for opening gates.
HOLY FUCk! 
I don’t know the number to dial and Blackberry is still blacked out. I jump over the fence and bang on the door.
At last home.
While I am writing this, the network signal on the berry is blinking red- a signal for a new message. Well, a miraculous message? Or, some reminder from Google
God?
I keep writing. Ignorance is Bliss!
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