Death passes by as bomb explodes

KATHMANDU, Sept 9 : Working as a journalist often means visiting scenes of devastation and mayhem, interviewing the hurt and the wounded, the bystanders and the eyewitnesses. And then finally piecing together what happened for the pages of our newspaper.

After the initial adrenaline rush that comes with such assignments, the work gets routine and mundane over time. In nearly two years as a journalist in Kathmandu, I had covered my fair share of such stories in as dispassionate manner as possible. Little did I know that one day, I would be a subject of just such a story.

Last Monday, after finishing my morning classes at a software-training institute in Baneshwar, I got on my motorbike and headed towards Lazimpat for a reporting assignment. The assignment was an easy one - to cover a programme about the virtues of electric vehicles. Breezing along the road that connects New Baneshwar to the Old Baneshwar, I approached the pipal bot next to Ratna Rajya School in the middle of the route, passed it, and was still going along when a deafening explosion shook the morning air.

The blast was followed by a hail of shattered glass which hit me and other bystanders. It was at 9:20 am. Before I knew what was happening, my bike slid on the road from the shock wave of the blast. I found myself on the ground, underneath shards of glass. For a split second, I thought I had met my end.

As I opened my eyes, I could not put together what was happening around me. People were shouting all around me, and a thick white smoke was bellowing nearby. The street was covered with a fine layer of black glass. I heard cries but somehow I kept thinking I needed to get out of here.

Before anyone could come near me, I somehow managed to pick myself up. I got on the bike and without looking back, I made my way back to the institute. At the time, that was the only place where I could think of going. It was only when I reached the institute that it hit me. I had just kissed death.

Even when I reached my home after about an hour or so, I still didn’t realise how close it had been. I guess I was still in shock. My ears were still ringing from the noise and each time I closed my eyes and my mind kept wondering back to the morning.

My body began to ache. I had bruised my hand and had some minor cuts in my neck, hip and legs from the flying glass. After getting some medical attention, my mom told me to take some rest.

But, I just could not calm down. I was badly shaken and when I heard that there were five other explosions at various places that morning, I prayed hoping that no one would be hurt.

Later I found out that the bomb that missed me had been planted in the toilet of the Employment Promotion and Labour Department in Baneshwore. I also came to know that a 12-year-old boy had been killed in Baluwatar and dozens more injured in separate blasts in the Valley.

When I read the newspapers this morning, I kept thinking about Deepak Gurung, the boy who was killed.

He lost the most precious gift of life at such a tender age. And that was the moment I realised, I was lucky. He wasn’t. Life is fragile, that is for sure.

But it also made me angry. I think, I speak for all of those who are alive and for those who are dead when I question those who planted the bombs yesterday: Why ? Why your own people?