Friday, April 11, 2014

People's Representative??Really??

"The air I breathe is doped with Carbon of your Mercedes, the air you breathe is purified by air freshener of your AC adding the spice of your flavor. Your shoes boast pitch roads, my slippers cries mud. Your black suit speaks the vulgar language which my cheap t-shirt will never understand. Under your pillow is the bundle of money, under my pillow is photograph of my brother who was killed in your people's movement."

I live in this world where one has to burn candles in night due to shortage of power in the nation. You live in the world where the wires never know what it is to run out of electronic beams.
It is steamy 46 degree in my house. There is a gentle breeze of 22 degree in your guest room singing the song of your triumph of your election results.

In my world, people ride in a congested micro getting stuck in traffic jam at every blink of the eyes. In your world, you ride in your cozy Mercedes guarded by at least five other vans clearing other innocent vehicles with the loud sirens boasting your arrival.

In my world, if people don't work for five days, they don't have enough to eat. In your world, you don't make constitution for five years; you get salary, you get government privileges, you travel in black suits as if you are the atlas of the world.

And How do you even dare to call yourself my representative?

The air I breathe is doped with Carbon of your Mercedes, the air you breathe is purified by air freshener of your AC adding the spice of your flavor. The water I drink is from the filter stored in an old plastic bottle of coke, the water you drink is the nascent water coming out of sealed bottle of mineral water. Your shoes boast pitch roads, my slippers cries mud. Your black suit speaks the vulgar language which my cheap t-shirt will never understand. Under your pillow is the bundle of money, under my pillow is photograph of my brother who was killed in your people's movement.


The old man beside my house, he still has a black stain on his nails. He still hopes that his son will not have to work in the Arab anymore, that his daughter would not sell her body to the strangers anymore, that his grandchildren can go to school, yes the same in which your son goes too. He still remembers the speech you told during the elections. But do you?

Thursday, April 3, 2014

My Wish With Infinity

"I hope you have found a way to stop biting your nails. I hope your dog has finally learned his toilet habits. I hope you've removed the stains of the spilled grape juice from your white t-shirt. I hope you have learnt to play poker and you're not giving too much away from your eyes. I hope you are heading to horizons, I hope the kite in your hand is flying higher than ever and soaring in the sky, I hope your heart is singing a thousand songs and neither of them are the sad ones."

This is for you. These are the naked words out of my pen, naked but not they're not ashamed. I would try and dress them. I would try and make them pretty, make them sound witty. But I am sick of seeing the well cut flowers in the vase.

It has now been years we haven't talked, there is an emptiness inside these bars of rib cages, some wounds don't even heal in ages, my veins are pouring in these pages, I am running out of blood. I know that the leaves fall in autumn does not mean they don't come back in spring, the leaves come again, the new ones. I know there are other fishes in the sea, but lover, I am too tired to go fishing, I don't want a fish.

I am not at my best these days. I am searching for a warrant to live again. These days my body is disintegrating into parts. These days I need to order my lungs to breathe, these days I need to order my heart to beat, these days I need to order my legs to walk. I constantly whisper my bones to stay strong, this morning I pleaded my eyes to open. It feels like they have lost faith in me, they don't do what I ask them to. I asked brain to stop thinking too much, but it just ignored me. Last night, I asked that lone crying comet about its split with the star, but it just screamed, "leave me alone" and vanished in the thin air. I wish you were here.

I don't know under which sky you live in. So world, if you see her, tell her that I hope whoever runs in her impulses has finally found a way in her veins, I hope you have learned to smile even in pain, I hope you're heart is beating more happily than ever and there are no strains. I hope his arms are warm enough so that you don't have to lit a fire in December, I hope you have found a way to stop biting your nails. I hope your dog has finally learned his toilet habits. I hope your brother has learned to put a straight tika on your forehead in bhaitika, you said it looked like leaning tower of Pisa, but I swear you'd looked like a goddess in those photographs. I hope you've removed the stains of the spilled grape juice from your white t-shirt. I hope you have learnt to play poker and you're not giving too much away from your eyes, I hope you've changed the tone of your alarm, you said it annoying you so much that you almost wanted to throw it from your window.


Wherever you are, I hope you are heading to horizons, I hope the kite in your hand is flying higher than ever and soaring in the sky, I hope your soul is dancing in the moonlight. I hope your heart is singing a thousand songs and neither of them are the sad ones. I hope wherever you are, you are having the time of your life, I hope you're happy than ever, I hope you are smiling, I hope your lips have learnt to laugh more often than ever. I hope you are happy. I really do. I hope you're happy.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

The Silence After The Storm

"This layer of vacuum between my skin and yours, it does not send cold down my spine, it is my blanket. It gives me warmth. It gives me pleasure. Perhaps that exact pleasure for which a guy loves a whore."

Now that you've gone, there is emptiness. But I am content with emptiness. There is so much of an emptiness followed by emptiness, followed by emptiness that there no space left for you or your memories or for anyone any longer.

I am in love with this vacuum. I want to be soaked and I want to be rinsed in it. I want to bathe in this vacuum, I want to breathe this vacuum. No, it does not frighten me, it does not bring cold down my spine. This layer of vacuum between my skin and yours is my blanket. It gives me warmth. It gives me pleasure. Perhaps that exact pleasure for which a guy loves a whore.

And those memories you say? Well I have ignored them so much that they refused to stay with me. I have ignored them so much that they have begun to doubt were they even real or a mere hallucination in a drunken Friday night. They pleaded my attention, they begged me. But I played it like a stone, I played it like you and they died because I refused to water them, I refused to feed them. Even their carcass was scattered by the wind. I don't even know where the wind took them. And I don't even wish to know.

I know that you think you define me. That you think you protected me with your arms around me. No, as it turns out you suffocated me, you took the space with your arms around my shoulders and made it difficult to send air down my throat.

 While driving a car, the man who had once walked down the same street thinks, that the sun is not almighty anymore, that the sun is following him, that the sun cannot live without him anymore, that the sun will die without him and he drives in awe. But once he applies the brakes, he understands the sun does not move. He comes to the awakening that the sun never moved, the sun never moves, the sun does not shake.

No, sweetheart you got it wrong again. I don't hate you. You are neither my heart nor my appendix. You are neither the fuel nor the friction. You are neither the air nor the poison. You are nothing.


These days, I am entirely self sufficient. These days, I can sew my own stitches you know, pull my own bandages. These days I have learnt to enjoy the ride alone. Just me and my shadow!!

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

The Beginning Of SHE

Very few things mattered to her because most of them were not meant to matter. Like something heavy from an infinite height, they'd come down heavily, they'd come marching violently, engulfing everything on their way finally making the way into her, but they would splash like a tiny drop of water against her cold harsh skin, not hurting her, but reminding her that she was alive. Because she, well, she knew who she was and she knew that she was not meant to be engulfed.

She was nineteen. Black hair, brown eyes, wide forehead, fleshy cheeks, red lips. When she was four she wanted to look like Barbie, well that's at least what she thought she wanted to look like because all of her friends also wanted to look just the same. When she was thirteen she knew why everyone wanted to look like Barbie, that was because girls who look like Barbie get all the attention from the people who judge others on the way they look. Then, she never wanted to look like Barbie ever again.

One day she was had to launch alone at the school trip because all her friends were with the other guys. She had then thought what it would be to be pretty, how it would be if she was also beautiful, because everyone were after the flash of the skin. That thought never came back to her again. She never let that thought be formed in her brain again.

She was drinking coffee and looking at the view outside sitting in her garden. A mild wind had blown in the afternoon breaking some branches, sweeping some leaves. "Off all the disasters that strike us only the ones the ones that take everything away, that break everything on its path are the honest ones. The tornado is an honest disaster, the storm that only blows the roof is not. The flood is an honest disaster the rain that only increases the depth of the water and sweeps the small plants is not. The false disasters, they feed you false hopes with doped illusions. But the real one, they reveal yourself to you. They may tear your hope but they free you from the nonsense illusions." she thought. She took another sip of coffee.

It was a bit cold, she took the coffee, then went straight to her room. Her eyes happened to glance at herself in the mirror. 

"A promise?" she asked.."A dream?..A test? A journey?", then she smiled and she smiled at her own smile because she realized there is much more, there is much more to come. And her sail was all set.

And just at the side of the mirror was her journal. It had many empty pages. They were waiting to be filled. "You will be filled with glory", she smiled and finished her coffee. 

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

हाँस प्रिय हाँस

म ईतिहास सम्झदै रबर चपौदै छु। तिमी उता हाँस्दै छौ।
म यता ति तस्बिरमा तिम्रो अक्रिती खोज्दै भौतरिदै छु। तिमी उता हाँस्दै छौ।
एक्लै अफु र आफ्नो छायाका सात कबडी खेल्दै छु। तिमी उता हाँस्दै छौ।
म यहाँ लुक्दै डरौदै बर्तमानसँग आफ्नो झुसे खिया लगेको तर्बार सँग युद्द मा एक्लई निस्केको छु। तिमी उता हाँस्दै छौ।

हाँस प्रिय हाँस अज पेट मिचिमिची हाँस,
हाँस प्रिय हाँस अज यो तिम्रो जीतमा हाँस,
हाँस अज मेरो एक्लोपनमा जुधिरहेको जिन्दगीलाई सम्झदै ति यादका खिल्ली उडौदै हाँस,
आजै हाँस प्रिय किनकी भोली म हस्नेछु, किनकी प्रिय संसार गोलो छ!! 

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

The Victor Walks Alone

"...People may not wave at you in the morning on your way, your photo may not get much likes in facebook, phone may not ring even in your birthday. You need to be okay with this. The victor walks alone..."

I don't hate them but feel pity for them, trying so hard to fit in. Like a lion trying to fit in the pack of wolves, like an eagle making its way among sparrows.

I don't know whether they see it black or they see it red, but they see only one color. You can spot them. They are everywhere chained by their thoughts. They are not happy but have a delusion of possession, getting stuck, hiding in the packs. Six billion naked stories and all of them crying. Crying is nonsense, it solves nothing.

They would sell their souls to be in same wavelength. The direction of wind does not matter to them. They are satisfied to go the either way. They would sell their flesh just to see a glimpse of them staring at them. That's all matters to them, not the reason of glimpse but only the glimpse. Claps and applause that's what they want; and they happily strip for it, naked in front of their drunken herds.

But a winner stands alone. But man's relation with his dream is the most important one and his relations with people beside him should be a second priority. But they are too coward to imply it. A man is a creature of thought, a man is a creature of mind. And the creator wants to witness something great from this creature of thought.

"We" is a dangerous word. It demands fish and camel to survive together. It asks fool and wise to stand on a same platform. It keeps parasite and a creator in a same ring. It holds robber and the robbed in the same group.

So, yes you could either sit there wondering why your phone did not ring or why you weren't invited at some stupid bowling game and try to be more like them by killing who you are piece by piece. Or you can get up, dust yourself off and carry on!!


The thing is you won't always wake up with a good morning text or go to bed in the lullaby of good night text, people may not wave at you in the morning on your way, your photo may not get much likes in facebook, phone may not ring even in your birthday. You need to be okay with this. The victor walks alone. 

Friday, October 11, 2013

The World Fucked Me

Oh! How passionately I hate that bastard lab boy of Chemistry lab who used to speak as if he is the bloody CEO, "Clean the sink". Bitch, you are the lab boy, "You clean the sink".

I kind of had a feeling that the world would someday somehow fuck me. The whole propaganda started some 19 yrs ago. Let me tell you THE story!!

I was damn comfortable in my mother's womb, but no I had to come out. Truly speaking, I didn't want to come out. Yeah, they say you need to step out of comfort zone and all those rubbish. But there is a bloody reason it is called comfort zone. Why the hell would I want to go to uncomfortable zone? You prefer sofa to carpet to be comfortable, we sleep on bed and not on floor to be comfortable, everything we do is to be comfortable. But no, I was pushed out of the comfort zone; out to the bloody world.

You know I kind of had a feeling that it would be rough journey. I cried, I begged to go back in the womb, little cozy place. No, it didn't happen. They say the reason child cries is because some duct of botalli is blocked, sth blah blah. But that wasn't. I am pretty sure it wasn't, at least not in my case. I cried because i knew the fun days were over; days when you can sleep all day and night, it was gone. Boom!! Just like that.

Then the weird days started. People started to visit me. My parents stared to show them my skills, the major being ability to do, "Namaste" and "Salam". And then it advanced, I had to tell those weirdoes A-B-C-D and count 1-2-3-4 up to 10. And when I did, they would be surprised as if I was the one to discover them. The school days followed next and putting pants was compulsory. Then reading to do and HOMEWORK to be completed. Because 8 hrs of torture for a student is never enough (I know this is cliched). Then always comes the master villain: THE EXAM. Oh! I've already written an article about exam, go here. Sometimes I had to give up, "bhalu sahap ki kahani" to do homework.

Then, it all started to pile up. The most of all "x" made an entry in math, so did "Hatim" and "Sonparii". Let's talk about math though. It was like Dear lord..... And then minus minus equals plus in multiplication and division but not on addition and blah blah blah. Math and I broke up. But Social Studies was easy. Most of the time the answer would be, "Poverty, land topography, lack of public awareness, illiteracy, transportation difficulties and my favorite word, "Etc". In health and physical, disease and symptoms was a real headache, so whenever symptoms were asked, I always used to make fancy words by myself. Say the qn was "What are the symptoms of hepatitis?" THen I used to write, "Patachulating liver" "Acronomycetes paranhyplageia". And I used to get marks. Oh clever me!! ;)

And then the worst of all, girls began to make entry in life. Brain bid farewell. Heart rate increased; mark decreased; I was confused; parents were worried; life began to go upside down. Then SLC came. Oh the iron gate and rubbish. "Your practical marks will be deducted and all that." Qn sets by Dr Simkhada in head, feeling of loneliness in heart, some confusion, some chaos, all like some weird dream, SCL came and SLC went.

But the Bridge course was fun. Absolutely fun. Until I did not get to study in the college I choose. Then bridge course was mostly about regret.

College was weird. The section I studied, I think would make the psychologists interested. The teacher used to come and say, "Today I don't feel like teaching, do you want to read?" And those human shaped aliens would shout, "We want to study, we want to study". The college, the making of chicken momo when bird flu was in the air, the fried rice, water like tasteless chowmin, the making of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in head by making head go bald at two places with pure motive of destruction. Oh! How passionately I hate those DIs and that bastard lab boy of Chemistry lab( not the one with moustache, he was good. I am talking about that of lab 2 the monster) who used to speak as if he is the bloody CEO, "Clean the sink". Bitch, you are the lab boy, "You clean the sink".


The school, the college, the math, the girls, the organic chemistry, the molarity, the normality, those weird physics derivation, the sleepless nights, the retweets in twitter, comment-commnet on facebook, the brainless weirdoes in life, the idiots thinking themselves to be Einstein, the ignorance by some, the high level of attention by others, the ridiculous expectation of parents, the parties, the jealous relatives, load shedding, vomiting by person sitting adjacent to in microbus, the conductor not returning 2rs, the worthless tears, those reading of quotes to be strong at times, the looking on phone for the proof that you are not alone, the high volume of speaker, the frustration when your dog does not poop while taking it outdoor, the sending of sms by NTC to recharge your mobile in time, stalking on facebook, the identity crisis at times, the looking at old photos with "My heart will go on" playing on the background, the potato in mark sheet and the mobile screen appearing brighter than future. This is how the world fucked me.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Nepal on the Suicidal Rope

Yeah, yeah, Gautam Buddha was born in Nepal. Yes, we have the tallest mountain in the world. And what more??

The leaders are getting fat, the wallet of nation is getting thing, innocent people are going to jail, murderers are roaming with their heads held high, girls are getting raped more than ever, unemployment has reached the maximum height, we are wrapped in lawlessness, undeserving people are in the seats, people are getting kidnapped as if kidnapping is a game of hide and seek, innocents are butchered like goats.

Gas now costs fifteen hundred, the government gives five hundred per month to aged people as "bridda bhatta". What does five fucking hundred to any good when a single gas cylinder costs 1500? Now we're having summer, so we've forgotten what it is when the snow does not melt. In a world run by machines, we need to depend on weather for electricity!! We face up to eighteen fucking hours of load shedding at winter. That means three fourth of life in darkness. Ahhh I can go on and on.

Yeah, yeah, Gautam Buddha was born in Nepal. Yes, we have the tallest mountain in the world. Every essay entitled, "My Nation" starts with the lines I just mentioned because that's all we have, so we cling to it. Like our fathers did, our father before our fathers did, and even before that and so on. We have not done nothing over decades and centuries. Yes, we have good mobiles in hand (among which none of them are manufactured in our nation), yes we have many noodles factories. What more?

Oh you wanna give the old crap about, "Do not ask what the nation gives you, ask what you give to the nation" and all that? You should have seen the never ending line waiting to submit the form and to run hell out of this nation to Korea. And why shouldn't they go? Give me one good reason of why they should stay here? They work their asses of here; they hardly get to eat. They work at foreign land, they surely get to eat. I'm not talking about the pride we get in working in the same land, speaking same language living like brothers and all that crap. I'm talking about survival. I'm talking about fucking survival. I'm talking about being able to sleep full stomach. I am talking about not dying of hunger which I am very sad to say is not guarranted in my nation. You die even when you work. Where in the world does that happen!! Add that to your essay entitled, "My nation" alongside the regular Gautam Buddha and Sagarmatha stories.

I bet my nation looks gorgeous outside the black window of the multicrore cars of these leaders. I bet the warmth in the castles of these rich peple in freezing snow is lovely which is obtained by burning the bundles they earn everyday under the table. But for us, the common people it is not gorgeous, it is not lovely. My nation is like a slaughter house where each one of the weak are being mercilessly slaughtered and all I can hear is the cry of the weak, the laughter of the strong. And why shouldn't I support those who are trying to run the hell out of here to live, to survive!!

We are one step away from collapse, all of us. Holding any flags won't do any good. Living in "Newa rajya" or "Limbuwan", "Khumbuwan" won't matter. Ek Madesh, ek pradesh my foot!! Nothing will matter once we collapse. We are failing at each and every steps. We can't provide supervised SLC exam hall, we can't catch murders, we can't stop our own brothers from doing drugs, we can't punish the guilty ones even if luckily we catch them, we can't even protect our own land. Oh forget about living with pride in the nation, you and I were born, I doubt if we will still be here. More importantly, I doubt if our nation will still be here.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

The Fiction Of Yesterday



"Yes, yes even to the prostitutes wearing miniskirt and tight stockings during the uncomfortable silence in the room of Thamel."

Your warm shoulders which I once called home is an empty space that is running out of air. The funny laugh in the non funny jokes, the sharing of the funniest tweets tomorrow on the first hour, the songs that made their way from your mobile to mine directly into the playlist.

These all now sound like a third class fiction playing in a dusty black and white tv in a stranger's world.

Now?

Now, I tell my stories to the drunkards sleeping on the side of the broken sewage pipelines in the narrow road beside the crowded house.

To the strangers in the micro with the hint of cheap momo in their breath and the shirt dipped in the sweat which somehow smells like sulphur.

Yes, yes even to the prostitutes wearing miniskirt and tight stockings during the uncomfortable silence in the room of Thamel.


Saturday, April 13, 2013

The 2070


Just like the tree standing still without any leaves simply with hope to have them back again at summer, just like fetus clinging in the mother's womb with the hope to see the sunlight someday, just like the caterpillar living with a hope that one day it can somehow be like her mother, here I collect some of the hopes remained deep down at the corners of my tired and fatigued body to dream again.

Yes, I talk about hope a lot. Because I know and I also want you to know that nothing ever happened in the world until someone somewhere was willing to hope. Until, someone somewhere decided to believe in himself again. Until someone, somewhere was brave enough to stand for what he believed even if he had to stand alone.

I don't want you to have a wrong impression that 2070 is a new canvas. It isn't. The sun will rise just the same. The clock will turn just the same. The air will blow just the same. The rivers will flow just the same. 2070 is however a chance to paint over again; this time more care; this time with more wit; this time with more knowledge; this time with more experience.

This year, I want you to go out into that wicked world and achieve what you were meant to achieve. You are not meant to be satisfied with mediocrity. So, don't be. I want you to take the chances. That text you wrote ages ago, this year I want you to hit the send button. That dreams you dreamt ages go, this year I want you to pursue them. That crazy idea you had in your head ages ago, this year I want you to extract it from head to the real world.

This year, I want you to stop worrying about the stupid things. Rightly as said somewhere those problems that take your sleep away are the ones that never come. You may walk with the fastest stride ever but you won't reach anywhere until you have faith in yourself. At times you need to learn to trust yourself blindly. No one understands you the way you understand yourself, not your family, not your friends, not your love. Only you do, and only you can.

This year I want you to  be you. No more masks, no more hiding. You are who you are. There is a lot of pride and dignity in standing out to what you believe. You like that crazy hat, wear it. You like to bleach your hair, bleach it. You like to play guitar, play it. You like Justin Beiber, listen him. Yes, do what you want to. Do what you feel like doing without giving a damn to what may they think. Let them know that this is not their life. This is your life, means your choices, means your decision, means your own world.

Step out of your comfort zone, take the risks, enjoy the ride. I can feel the new year welcoming me. I can feel the new problems on my way to test me. I can feel the new sun lighting my path ahead. I can feel the new dark days trying to bring me down. I can feel new sadness and new sorrows in the way. I can feel new achievement at the end of the bumpy road. I can feel it. I can feel it. Hope you can too. 2070 is going to be our year. I can feel it.

The flat truth is that the old year has died. No matter how the fuck it was, it ended. It is gone. It's a new year now. You know how to play it.

PS: I will take some time off. I may not, will not apparently write for some time. Yes, I will miss you too.

 
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