A burning cigarette lay upon the ashtry littered with cigarette butts while he sat, lost in thought. He would look out from the window, gaze outside, take a sip from his fancy-looking coffee cup, and then inhale deep, long puffs from his cigarette.
This was what happened almost every day inside a rented room in Lainchaur. He would get up, lazily from his bed (only after the sunlight that crept in from his window fell directly on his face, making it impossible for him to get some more sleep), and then wash his face, boil a glass of water, add some sugar and coffee, and light a cigarette.
Once the hot coffee was ready, he would sit on the floor and flip through the pages of national dailies, pausing every once in a while to peer more closely, pay more attention. This would happen every time he saw a vacancy announcement.
More than six months had passed since he’d completed his Bachelors in Engineering degree from a decent college in the Capital. He had passed the exams with good grades, but was having a hard time finding a good job. He had already been to quite a few interviews, but the actual job still eluded him.
It was getting increasingly difficult for him to make ends meet, and he was desperately in need of work. It was almost shameful to him that he had to depend economically on his parents even after having completed his bachelor-level studies.
He remembered how he’s spent several days finalising his curriculum vitae and cover letter when he first began searching for work. His first few applications had been rather enthusiastic. He would prepare his documents diligently; no stone, as far as his papers were concerned, had been left unturned. He remembered waiting, almost impatiently, for his phone to ring. He would check his email every other hour, hoping to find an email waiting for him.
It had been months since, but he’d still not received that email. His impatience had, by this time, metamorphosed into frustration. His face wore a resigned, almost defeated expression. He had been called for a few interviews, only to be rejected later on. According to prospective employers, he simply did not have enough experience.
“How on earth am I supposed to have any experience, when I’m
having such a difficult time getting my maiden break?” he would argue. But there were worse instances, instances in which he wasn’t even considered for an interview.
And in one of those gloomy days, when he felt more downcast than usual, he wouldn’t even come out of his room. He would wake up late, well after the sun had come up. He might have slept longer, but the incessant honking of horns from vehicles the street nearby, the sound of the pressure-cooker bubbling away over the stove in his adjacent room, and the Bollywood song
blaring from the paan paasal downstairs would force him to get up. Without even washing his face, he would turn on the gas heater and boil some tea. After tea was ready, he would light a cigarette, and gaze outside through window; lost in thought, and lost within himself.
At these times, he would be mulling over his failed attempts at securing a job. He would think of his family back home, his aging parents, and their expectations out of him. His parents had gone through a great deal to make sure that he would get an education. The endeavours they’d made to get him enrolled in a college in Kathmandu, the capital city, nagged him persistently.
He felt like he’d cheated his parents in a way; all those years—the effort and the money—they had spent on him had not yield the desired result. He felt distraught; at times, he even questioned his own abilities. He wondered whether his failure to secure a job boiled down to fate or some lacking within his own self.
He was lost in such thoughts as he sat still, looking out of his window. The sun was sliding past one of Kathmandu’s many hills. It was getting dark, and the birds were making their way back towards their warm nests. As he looked at the street below, he spotted a young man, clad in a business suit, and carrying a nice-looking bag, hurrying through the street. The man was possibly in his late twenties; just like he was…
He imagined himself in a similar formal dress, carrying a hand bag, talking to one of his friends over his cellphone, while he waded through a mass of pedestrians. For a second, it almost felt like he did indeed have a job in the city. He felt light, and content. He was amazed at how one’s outlook towards things can make such a difference in the way one feels about things. The negativity in his thoughts almost vanished then. It was almost as if he’d reached cloud number nine, all of a sudden.
A persistent sound coming from his corridor brought him back to reality. He realised that he’d been lost in thought while someone had been knocking at his door. It was the
landlord who had come to ask for the rent (which he had not paid since the last three months). He had thought of clearing his rent upon finding a job, but his thoughts of doing so had gradually evaporated. His chances at finding a job seemed to get slimmer with each passing day.
All he could do was assure his landlord that he’d clear his dues in a few days’ time. When the landlord left, he went back to his thoughts once again. His thoughts were more serious this time. The enthusiasm that had once possessed him had turned into frustration quite some time ago. His optimism regarding a secure future had wilted like a flower left outside in the heat.
A week later, earl in the morning, he is climbing downstairs with his bags and belongings, a heavy heart, and watery eyes.
Before leaving his room, he had looked, one last time, at a space he’d spent all those years in. The dreams he had envisaged for himself back then had dissipated like early morning dew drops exposed in the afternoon sun.
He is making his way back to the village from where it all started. “Nothing is permanent; dreams once dreamt, promises once made; those treasures of life, all soon fade away.”
- Kumar Sharma
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