“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

Rainer Maria Rilke ‘Letters to a Young Poet’ (1934)

Of rides you don’t know of

“I would like to tell my story,”
Said one of them so young and bold,
“I’d like to tell you my story
before I turn into gold.”
-Leonard Cohen

Losing Myself

By Kamlesh Pandey

The man behind me was drunk. The man in front of me was dumb. The woman across me was dirty, anybody could see that, and sick. She had tied a dirty scarf around her head, just above the forehead. I had seen her throwing up when the bus had stopped for the lunch and since then I had been looking at her. I sort of developed some sympathy for her. She was traveling alone and I wondered where her people would be. I too was traveling alone and I knew where my people were. I don’t miss my people much, but that woman somehow made me miss the folks at home. I nearly phoned them but there was no network at that place and time of the day. While I was trying to make a phone call I happened to look at the time in the phone. It was 14:14. That reminded me of the date way back to 2007. I had received a message from one of my friends reminding me what a special day that was. That was 07-07-07. When I remember things I sort of become happy, because most of the time I think I don’t have a good memory. I am sort of happy even now. I can very clearly remember that sick woman, that drunken fella and that poor dumb guy. Whenever I see things that I fear of, I become melancholic. The drunken fellow made me feel guilty, reminding me of my own drunken babbling, and almost made me think over my plan of the day: a beer in the evening, after settling down in a hotel. The dumb guy stir something in me. For a moment I thought I too had gone dumb and just to make sure I hadn’t I asked the man sitting next to me if he was in the army. We hadn’t spoken to each-other before that. He said ‘yes and no!’ ‘Ok, so you are retired?’ I kind of prolonged the talk. He laughed and turned his whole body towards me and said ‘I am not in the army, if you mean to ask if I am in the Nepal Army; but, yes, I am in the army, if you know that there is a greater force and it’s called P.L.A. But how did you know I am in the army?’ ‘I too would be if I were as strong as you are!’ that was my now-shut-up-I-am-not-dumb sentence in plain disguise. He was trying to say something but I took out the book and started reading. And later in the evening I appreciated his sense of understanding to not to disturb someone who is pretending to read! I closed the book soon enough and looked at the sick woman on the sly. She had closed her eyes and she was sitting uncomfortably, or may be she was in comfort with one of her legs on the seat and one of her hands on the head.

The bus bumped against the stone (perhaps) and I almost fell off the seat. My water bottle wasn’t lucky enough, though; it fell down and rolled down underneath the seat of the dumb guy. As I had expected, he gave it back to me. I said ‘thank you!” and he nodded “not at all!” I overheard the drunken fellow complaining “if you don’t know how to drive ask for the help from me! Bloody murderer! Is not he?” I told myself, ‘No, he isn’t!”

Rush Hour

The man wore a colorful shirt. It wasn’t the flashy, flowery ‘I am holidaying in Hawaii’ sort but it was colorful. It was colorful but not distracting. He sat right opposite to the driver’s seat in the Nepal Yatayat talking to the driver. And I sat right behind him. The driver was a young chap. He must be one of the new generation of NY drivers who were ex-conductors of the bus. The man got off at Tangal. And right before getting off the bus and after rising from his seat said,” Ma alikati hindera janchu. “(I will walk a little distance). The driver signaled the conductor (who looked of the same age) not to charge the man for his fare. The conductor said “Pardaina” (No need of the fare) when the man tried to reach for his purse in his back pocket. And no sooner the man started his ’short distance walk’, the driver stretched his body to face the conductor and said “Barha hajar talab khancha yo. Tel chorna paucha ni. Akhtiyar ko driver po hota.” (He earns 12 thousand for salary. He gets to steal oil (petrol) on the top of it. He is a driver at the CIAA (Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority).

Finally a Podcast

आज यो पोडकास्टका मार्फत धेरै अगाडीदेखिको आफ्नो एउटा इच्छा पुरा गर्दैछु। दुई हप्ता अगाडी लोडसेङ्गिगको बेला मैले पारिजातको ‘शिरीषको फूल’ पढिसिध्याएँ। ढिलैभएपनि त्यो शुभकार्य गरेकोमा म निकै खुसी छु। यो पोडकास्टमा मैले नेपाली साहित्यको त्यही अद्वितीय कृतिका केहि हरफहरू पढेकी छु। वाचन गरिएका हरफ छान्नु पछाडि कुनै विशेष कारण छैन। म समाचार वाचिका वा अन्य रेडियो कार्यक्रम प्रस्तोता पनि होइन त्यसैले यो पोडकास्टमा त्यो गुणस्तर नखोज्नुहोला। यसमा पनि काँटछाँट गर्नुपर्ने केहि ठाउँहरू छन् , ती चाहिँ Audacity मा पोख्त भएपछि हुँदैगर्नेछन्। पाश्व सङ्गित मलाई असाध्यै मनपनें ‘Sur Le Fil’ ( Soundtrack from Amélie by Yann Tiersen हो । आशा छ तपाईहरूलाई पनि सुन्दा रमाइलो लाग्ने छ।

Happy Tihar!

It took me an entire day to prepare this ( select pictures and add the effects etc though it a very simple video). All the pictures in the video were taken on the day of Laxmi Puja( Oct 17, 2009). The instrumental in the background is by Yann Tiersen titled ‘A Quai from the French movie Amélie.I don’t understand French… I wanted to use Nepali music but I decided against it as it would be the first choice of any Nepali ( or may be not). This blend of French music and KTM landscape and Tihar sounded good to my ears. I hope you enjoy it too. And though Tihar is almost over, I hope this effort of mine is still relevant. Wish you all a very very Happy Tihar once again!

In a pink room…

No, I do not plan on introducing a ‘Room Series’ in my blog. Sad? I do not have any explanation for this room blog series but I will surely blog about this light pink room I am at the moment. I am in Narayanghat. I want to name this guest house I will be spending my night in but let me refrain from doing so. There’s no proper explanation for that either. I should be writing on the farmers’ rights provisions in ITPGRFA. (Well the full form is too long and I don’t expect anyone to be interested in it either but I am tempted to complete this room blog first.)The curtains are nice. They aren’t great but I like them. It’s a red, light red and yellow checked curtain covering the entrance to the verandah while the cloth covering the window is red, light red and white. Does curtain (obviously) mean the cloth that covers windows? Or does the same word do for clothes that do the same for doors? I think curtains have no relation with the part of the room they cover… Whatever. It’s dark now. Let me turn on the lights first.

dark n green

It is a green room. And it is a dark. But it is not a darkroom. It is not dark enough to print photos but it is dark. So, it is a green dark room where you can’t print photographs.