All right. If you are reading this, then you must be tempted to discover what the reason really is. Hang on tight as the show’s getting started and the reasons begin to unravel in front of your own eyes. Ok, ok. It appears that I am being too melodramatic, but that is just the obvious example to our emotions skyrocketing when we bring up the topic of our Alma mater. I thought about it deep enough and this is what struck me the most: We had spent a large chunk of our childhood away from home and in that moment, were blessed to call it home again. Now, we don’t forget our homes, do we?
I spent nearly a decade decoding the role Budhanilkantha played in nourishing my traits and turning me into a BNKSian. It was my family away from home. The warm reception I received from my Guide Brother, 264 Rajat, when it was raining like heaven was crying to welcome the new batch desperately, made it more captivating and alluring to be a part of the most respected institution in the nation. The first thing that proved my stupidity was when I asked for Rajat dai’s surname, because that was what I was accustomed to since I was born.
“Bhai, we don’t use surnames to call others,” Rajat dai’s reply left me dumbfounded.
Later, I checked my batch mates‘ names on the notice board and found not even a single one’s surname. I never knew most of my friend’s surnames until we were registering for the SLC. That was what stayed on our conscience for the rest of our lives to never ask for surnames for they never justified our works and were just a fragment of imagination we delved deep into. Even now, I find it tempting to ask for a stranger’s name only and stop him when he utters his surname’s initial.
“Look, I don’t need it!” The stranger is in dilemma to the question I imposed. That is the BNKS effect and a reason to miss its teaching.
The other most compelling reason to miss our Alma mater is the respect policy that we have developed among BNKSians. For example, there is no way I wouldn’t add ‘dai’ and ‘bhai’ after every senior’s name and junior’s name respectively. That is what I would like to call the BNKS CODE. It strictly states that you ought to call your senior with ‘dai’ placed after their names and no other hanky-panky stuff. Did anybody ever teach me that besides BNKS? I don’t think so. In addition, the respect that others deserve compel us to maintain the discipline and make us an active listener because we wouldn’t want to get yelled at ruthlessly.
However I put my reasons forth, it becomes more clearer and clearer that the memories we had with every classrooms, black gates, fellow peers, teachers, administrative staff, the datings in milan chowk, the eve teaching, reckless stuffs such as fighting to reserve last bench and first bench, the middle pitch, the cricket ball that spun unscientifically to claim your first ever wicket, the random paper games that you played in your leisure, the illegal importing of foods once you were back from holidays, the brown carpet that you at least once walked to collect your first ever academic achievement, the merits and demerits, the first apology letter for staying in the sun for so long, breaking the tube lights/window panes, giving a damn to study time just so that you could wait for a chance to copy your best footballer’s goal scoring celebration, the romantic gestures that you shared with the girls three tables to your right/left, the first crushes that you never confided to, the rejections that you instantly were awarded with, the make-it-as-it-appears-in-detergent-commercials cleanliness during house checkups, the gaffes that you share literally with anyone coming in contact with you, the mocking that you enjoy when the teacher’s favourite team played against your favourite team and lost, the pain that you bear when you played hide and seek in the dorm, and every other memories that didn’t make my list tend to echo a story so gripping and captivating that it is hard to put down our alumni books if we ever read one.
|Pictures Fade, Memories Don’t: On the last day of our normal classes of BNKS, the 3000D took their time to make the
most out of Silver Jubilee Park!
Everything that you observe on your return to the school becomes a story to talk about for a whole day! Each and every school artifice, the trees that sit alongside the pitched roads, the monkey ladder, the painting that sits outside Principal’s Office, every one of it has its own story to convey to your inner mischievous childhood. Whenever we meet any teachers, we tend to share the moment when they yelled at us, that made us who we are. It is just as we make of it.
The corridors speak of the time when you had fights with your friend, the ventilators of the time five years back when you broke the glass with a cricket ball, the tree outside the English department remind you of the dominance that the boys of your batch had only for it to be toppled down by the girls of the next year’s batch, the graffiti you see in the toilets speak of the time when you made a fun out of it, the cultural programmes refresh you of your naughty self when you went rampant dancing as a girl in the school’s girl’s all time hit song ‘Paani Mitho’. The dates also evoke some memories deep from your inner self. For example, I remember Feb 14, 2007 as one when it snowed in Kathmandu Valley after 60 years, whereas Feb 14, 2013 is legendarily remembered for the prank that 3000 D shared when more than 30 love letters were shared between boys and girls without the other party knowing anything.
A tribute made by 3067 Sarthak to the memories that 3000 D shared in BNKS
The list just goes on and on as I dig out the reasons to persuade you to missing BNKS so much. I can tell you only this; the memories that we connect with every material in the school has its own story connected with us, and as we all were in a growing phase they became an integral part of our lives no matter the circumstances we were led into. The moments were cherished and every now and then, just because the time is so fleeting, we regret not being gifted to revisit the best time of our lives whenever we could. Instead, we just sit in front of our laptops and type our own versions of why we miss it so^infinity much. But one thing is certain, every one of your piece will end up with this note:
ONCE A BNKSIAN, ALWAYS A BNKSIAN!