Prateebha Tuladhar

Tuladhar has worked as a journalist for over a decade, with affiliations to Kantipur TV and German Press Agency.


Latest from Prateebha Tuladhar

Rain.

By the time I finish telling my favourite umbrella story, we’ve managed to hail a taxi and gotten in. I knew it was going to be a story with a happy ending, you say.

Anonymous

Because the “other” is also always the “me”. The “other” is a reflection of who you are.

Temple goers

Over the last few months of being isolated at home, I’ve come to realise that if I have a religion, it is my solitude.

Girls who could not love

One day, she wrote Titir a long letter and slipped it under her door. It didn’t occur to her that the move would only cause her object of dedication to further stiffen against her.

We are conversation

You always came to me for conversations. You knew that was all I ever had, to offer. And that’s exactly why you came around this time as well. To converse. To find distraction.

Short shorts

With some people, you can never tell. That’s how it was with her the first time he saw her. He could not tell who she was, what she did or thought, or how old. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed her. He saw her standing outside the bookstore. She waited for a bit and then she walked off in haste and was gone. Not important enough to take notice.

Weary

Weary. Weary is the word that comes to mind when I think of Mam. She used to run errands for Mamu when we still lived in that little house on the hillside on the outskirts of Boudha. I’ve been trying to recall her name and I cannot, because I think I was never taught to know her by her name.

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