Preena Shrestha:

Tuesday, February 1, 2005.10:10 am. Fourth period, Mass Communications. As I try to focus on the ‘importance of press conferences’, my mind is drifting afar. A look at Kunal’s watch tells me it’s still five minutes to the bell. I sigh impatiently, doodle on the back of my notebook. Suddenly, there’s a commotion outside. A melee in the corridor, an uncommon sight at such an hour, since it is neither lunch break nor dismissal. Our teacher walks out assuring us he’ll be right back. The bell rings.

Speculations are running high. A girl from the 12th standard swears we just had an earthquake, another claims someone important just died. I roll my eyes at them, and

look to find someone with more accurate reports. A friend is back from the teacher’s lounge where everyone is gathered around the television set. “A royal address,” he says smugly. It’s still too vague, I’m beginning to get annoyed. In the meantime, everyone decides to ditch the last class and go home, I’ve yet to figure out if that’s the management’s call, or an unanimous student decision. Regardless, we find ourselves shown the door and ordered to get home as soon as possible.

10:34 am. We’re walking out of the college. Things are a little clearer now, someone

was conveniently equipped with an FM transistor, so we know what’s going on. A takeover. A friend expresses her qualms about what’s going to happen now. Riots? Curfews? We don’t know.

Cell phones aren’t working. A peek into the coke vendor’s confirms our fear, the land lines are down too. I’m rattled. Do I go home? What about my plans for the day? How do I call my parents, my friends? A million of those insignificantly important questions rush through my head. Bidding an apprehensive goodbye to my classmates, I hail a cab. I see their doubtful expressions in the rear-view mirror, and then I see my own. We’re all scared.

10:45 am. The road home seems unusually long, and different somehow. The air seems thicker, an indefinable current of tension surrounds us. 11:03 am. Home. I made a quick stop at the store to stock up on some food, namely noodles and biscuits. A silly precaution, but I don’t care. Surprising myself, I double-lock the door like my mother always tells me to, something I’d never considered necessary earlier. But I still don’t feel secure enough. I rush upstairs to turn on the TV. The royal address.

Of course, I didn’t grasp most of it. I failed in Nepali the last term. But I got the gist of it. That was one day. I pray it leads to better ones.