Kathmandu, Nepal, September 18 -- I lived in New Delhi, India, for more than three years while completing my studies and learning dance, music and writing. I had two purposes in being there: to do research in journalism and literature and to work for newspapers and the media. Nepal and India have a similar culture, and these days I actually find myself missing Mahatma Gandhi. My memories of Mahatma Gandhi are a permanent theme in my life; they are immortal. For me, memory doesn't look for profit. My memory seems sweet. My heart wishes to sing a song, to compose a poem. I can't allow myself to lose the honesty of my memories. Since India and Nepal are very close to one another and have many similarities in thought and sentiment, I always welcome India's help and love toward my country. It has been a common desire for our countries' people to stay close and share our joys and happiness with one another. Indeed, the beginning of our friendship has been bright and inspiring. Both countries should be equally responsible, committed and aware to continue to nurture and strengthen our friendship for a long time. Through our friendship, we know each other's real identity. For us, words are not merely words; they reflect ourselves. It is the reliable means to reach to each other in need. We are helping each other. At least, we have found a trustworthy friend to share our dreams, our agonies and our joys. Let us hope that we can also help each other in other ways if the need arises. Another name for memory could be struggle. I accept willingly, thinking of it as compulsory fact. My memory loves me. Memory stands for sorrow and happiness. Without memory, life is dark. If it is not only a proverb, then my memory is unselfish. It also reminds me of a time when the world I saw was completely different. I was very much impressed with Mahatma Gandhi's dedication to what he loved a long time ago. He was one of those people who had courage and dedication. I believe that if we know what we are doing and where we are heading, our destination becomes closer. I remember one night in Karol Bagh, New Delhi. It was dark, and my friend Hem was sitting next to me. There was nothing to disturb us. We talked about a never-setting star in an open, carefree and natural environment. We chatted about the heart, the soul and a heartbeat that never ends. That moment should last forever. There should be no change. While returning from a school function, my friend followed me and made an excellent remark, "You might be my true friend!" My answer was, "It may be the same for me." We began to meet each other daily. We spent many days studying Mahatma Gandhi. A sharp wind suddenly comes through the window and blows through my hair. Outside, the flowers seem to dance in a distracted mood and the leaves of the trees have fallen to gently cover the street. I miss Gandhi now.