The Commute:

Kathmandu, January 20, 2019:

Waking up early in the morning has always been a difficult thing for me. So is going to bed before 2AM. The warm comforting trappings of my blanket is not an easy thing to escape. I like to think that the icy touch of my bedroom floor is something that is akin to what a newborn baby feels like after it has left its mother’s womb. The winter months only make the task all the more difficult. The blanket is warmer, and the pillows are softer. My mother often complains that I am cranky when I wake up. In January, she says that I get crankier.

But despite how much my body wishes for me to lie in bed a tad bit longer, my mental dread for being late to school takes precedence, often later than sooner. Since I am well aware of how lazy my body can be, I try and take the necessary measures to motivate myself out of bed. An array of alarms on my phone -set at an interval of two minutes-, another alarm on a digital clock at the other end of the room, and a sticky note on my mother’s door reminding her to bang on my door at 6AM. Of course, none of my precautions work, and I wake up cursing profanity at myself for sleeping-in. You should try calling yourself a dumbass first thing in the morning, it really sets the tone for the rest of your day.

The next step is always a blur. Today is no different. A quick brush, an even quicker date with the icy toilet seat, and then I hurriedly put together a set of clothes. By the time I’m done, there is a hot cup of tea and some biscuits sitting on the dining table. Today, just like most other days, it’s Digestives. My mother believes that it’s healthier than most of the other brands out in the market. It probably is, but I absolutely detest it. Even so, I force it down my throat. Just like every other day the biscuits taste pasty. Mother is adamant about me not leaving the house on an empty stomach. Maybe it’s because of how often I’d end up with a sick stomach as a child.

Once I’m done eating, I have no time to spare. It takes me about an hour to get to the campus, I think, I’ve never really timed my commute. It’s already 6:50 by the time I am struggling to tie my shoelaces. My first lecture starts at 8AM. I think it is Ms. Pun’s class, she’s notorious for not letting students come in even a minute late. Just thinking about her stern gaze through the glass classroom door makes me feel like a pup that’s cornered by hounds. I really need to get going.

I run out of the house without saying my goodbyes. I desperately need to catch the 7 o’clock bus. So desperate that I take the street with the scary looking dog. The road is shorter, but the dog there barked at me the month before. I’ve been avoiding the street ever since. As I jog through, I’m desperately hoping that it doesn’t see me. I am lucky enough to pass by undetected.

After that street I take a few other shortcuts till the bus stop. One of these lesser paths happens to cut through a cremation ground. Unlike most days however, today the cremation ground isn’t empty. Instead I witness a burning pyre on the elevated stone platform next to the riverbank. The smoky stench of the burning body makes me wish I did not take this path today. I mind my own business, tighten my mask to avoid the smell, and quietly walk past the crowd of mourners with my head down. I have a bus to catch.

Just as I make way through the steps of the cremation ground, I see an ancient white mini-bus pulling away from the bus-stop. If I don’t catch it, I’ll have to wait another ten minutes for the next one to come by. I can’t let that happen.

I frantically wave my arms as I make chase shouting,

“Dai! Dai!”

The conductor sees me and shouts back,

“Jane ho bhai?”

“Ho Ho!” I yell.

I’m still trying to catch my breath as I scramble into the vehicle. The last corner seat is still empty. There is barely any room for my legs, but somehow, I managed to move in.

I plug in my earphones as the bus starts to move again. I can’t bear to listen to the music that’s being played on the radio. I don’t want to fall asleep, so I start watching the different faces inside the bus. There’s an old man with a cane, a mother holding a sleeping child, another parent taking their toddler to school, a group of uniformed students, and two women with dokos, filled with what I think is spinach. I think it’s really interesting how many assumptions you can make up about a stranger, despite knowing nothing about them in reality.

When we reach Teku I look towards the door to see if Somani gets on the bus. She takes the same bus as I do, and we often end up on the same bus to school. Right now, I could really use some reassurance that I’m not the only one who’s running late. She doesn’t get on the bus, instead the bus just continues on its route. Maybe she was smart enough to get out of the house a bit earlier for Ms. Pun’s 8AM lecture.

After fifty painstakingly long minutes of travel, filled with crying babies, cold air, and never-ending red lights, the conductor finally calls out,

“Hattiban cha?”

“Cha cha” I say as I push past passengers and hand the conductor fifteen rupees and my university ID card. Students in Nepal get a forty-five percent discount in public transit.

The conductor looks at me and then looks at the card for a second too long. My hair is much longer than when the photo on the card was taken. But besides that, I still am pale and skinny, just like in the photo.

As I get off the bus and run towards my campus, I check the old Casio on my wrist. It reads, “7:57.” I still have time. I scoot across the compound and enter my building. My class is on the third floor, so I run up the stairs, covering two steps in one stride. The fact that the staircase has an odd number of stairs annoys me, but I ignore the feeling and run towards the classroom.

As I approach my class, I sense an eerie silence in the corridors. I peek through the corner of the glass door, and I feel my heart sink to my stomach with what I see. The classroom is empty.

This can’t be right. I pull out my phone and check the screen,

“8:01AM, Jan 20, Sunday”

Sunday. I don’t have classes on Sunday. The whole world comes crashing down on me. I sit down and lie my head on a table. I am alone in the classroom and yet I have never felt more shame. Calling yourself a dumbass first thing in the morning really does set the tone for the rest of your day.

Before I leave for my commute back home, I step into the bathroom to take a leak. The sharp smell of urea in the toilet makes my nose wince. As I stand in front of the urinal, I make a mental note to never tell anyone about this morning.

I am bad at keeping secrets.

***