The chapter with WRC should have been virtually over by now, though theoretically. It seems like the clinging of the herbs and shrubs on the auras of Pokhara – for a prudency that seeks the thought. More than 54 months passed (it might reach as much as 56 or even higher) but the sense with the chiller morning in WRC has remained even like chillier part of everyday fried C Mo:Mo – the favorite fast food that became during the study.

Was it a study? The mind is as always dull. The part has got to mature but still there are traces which are to be filled up with fats of mutton. Awaiting, awaiting and awaiting, for how long? until you get it or is it again the politics that Tribhuvan University never can get on the track of truly educative environment. There is no discrimination between a student and an appear-like-a-student thing. The purpose has changed quite different.

The kinship with the Institute of Engineering is though inseparable, the bond that persist for me to pasteurize each and every electrons to their saturation, never understood Semiconducting. Sometimes the vastness with Power Electronics and Analysis could nearly burn me or even tried double click “to be hung until death” situation. This is an institution, yes the native institution that is defined for delivering education to purely purposeful students on the assigned matters. The definition in Nepal transforms quite different. It is politicized. Nobody fights for rights. It is again Nepalese. The sense at least.

Friends have already started Facebooking on missing and loving all those stuffs, some would even miss Pokhara, others the guys and more others the course and a bunch, the traditional 3-hours-write-what-you-have-put-in-short-term-memory. I am standing in no difference. Is it the end, it still appears like I am taking the worth mentioning lecturers, except I no more have to wake up in the dawn and ride a 8-KM journey for to hear “no class today, bandh by student’s union.”

Problems arise everywhere, everyday. Even an individual is the complete exemplification, a complete ecosystem going on inside and still visible outside in a way or the other. Of course, WRC have gigs of problems, yes strictly management problems. This does not mean we are at the end of the documentation to fill up more MBA graduates. Surely not, until the MBA graduate is politically or with spoon-fed fate. I must admit, WRC was the worst management college I have attended in my entire life. And again I would not expect the other side of comments and let me not do your password changing thing.

The Chapter never seems to end. From the beginning to near end, it got it’s fantasy. The sun setting on the cliffs of hills above the Fewa Lake would inspire but for to make the entirely different attire. Let me end the chapter. Let it not become appendage. I don’t want to cut it, though. The appendage which remains uncut yet productive.

Results are possible much out of my reach. I don’t get good grade for sure, though I describe myself cheaply that I am good student. At the end of the semester, even the teacher don’t bother to find who is the student. No matter describing it at all. There is no difference in 24 or 25- what ever the so spoofed Assistant Lecturer had to assign to.

Loved the days at WRC, will love them always. How insanely we are bound to get up, to narrow our reaches for the stars, to deteriorate ourselves to the ultimate end. The passion will live by the end of the narrow palpable artery of my aching heart for one day there will be the sun smiling for the change. The change that Nepal deserves. The change that I like to see. The change that in fact everybody likes in spite of their busy lives and inability to think about.

Ending a chapter is never a solution. I like no ends. Ends are definitely merged logarithmically into the start of another offset geometry of life. The chapter of life, the life of student, the life with WRC, is never an unwanted appendage, I would never cut it whatever the lack it is blessed with.

I love a life with love – optimism is all that I can account for – for God might be listening to. Who knows?

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