The field Trip to Jiri

Jiri…personal

“Its beautiful. Plain beautiful ho? She said startling me. Catching my shoulders from behind almost making me fall down.

I was standing atop a low stonewall looking up at the clouds slowly moving westwards. The unhurried movement, the dark ones separating from the whiter ones. Green, green fields below, dark trees covering the hills and the darkening sky above.

Beautiful. Plain beautiful. That was exactly what I wanted to say. She took the words out of my mouth.

Time: 5:40 pm

Venue: Jiri Technical School.

Tell me what will come to your mind when you remember this field trip to Jiri? I ask.

Walking with you from one place to another…she takes her time… the love talk night, the way she sleeps, throwing noodles at you…

I will remember the way you asked me “Beautiful ho?” forever I tell her.

Really? And know what. …..(She takes my name) you’ve got a queer name. But every time the name comes to my mind. I don’t remember your face..no specs or anything only a feeling only a person who I like being with.

I laugh. “ I don’t believe in people liking me. I am an obligation sort. Would you still be seated beside me given the choice to be with anyone on the bus?’

“Any doubt? You still don’t know me.” She continues.

Racing trees, houses, rivers, smiley children, some all alone as cowherds playing with the stick, some with friends all waving a bye bye at me… taking turns to seat beside the window. His yelling “Ye hawa bol na, Ye mato bol na, Ye rukh bol na..Bol na bhaneko (Hey air speak out, speak oh earth, trees Please speak out) from the back seat, Dil Se re booming on the bus speakers, wind on the face, his stories about how the hills were formed the so-called Mahabharat tales, his bluffs once again about having visited Baitadi, a song dedicated to me “ Mujhe Tumse Mohobbat Hai Deewanagi ki hadse”. The shocked expression on my face on hearing it!! A genuine heart attack guys! Then his apologies on having sung that song of all the others 800 movies made in Bollywood every year! I was under “ influence” he says. But its true…he continues. I have absolutely no idea what to make of it. Drunken men, why do they always find me to babble all nuisance?

Seems like I am the best listener a drunkard can ever find. I might as well be crowned the Buddy of Drunkards. In the last trip it was one guy, this time two. The number is ever increasing….

On the terrace of hotel in Charikot he takes my hand begging me to stay back a little longer. Please stay he says.

He talks. I listen.

You know, this girl he says pointing a finger at her. “She is like a point yet a universe to me. “

I know she is the universe to him. I don’t say that though. Just keep listening.

He converses in English.

You always talk in English when you’re drunk I tell him.

Yah..I don’t know how to speak in English. Please teach me to speak in English, write in English.

Cut that crap I tell him. Don’t tell me that “ I don’t know any English” sentence ever again.

He continues. You know it’s contextual. While in Kathmandu if one gets drunk people talk in English. But in …..if you do that you will get one tight slap in the face. There people talk in Hindi when drunk because they think it makes you stand out. And when you are drunk you always want to show that you are better than the rest. You are different.

I wish I were always drunk, able to speak out my mind, always.

Why resort to alcohol? Can’t you try doing that without any? I ask.

Come on …You should get drunk too. Do it once.

I remember walking with him in the streets of Baneshwore. Telling him “ Know what …these days I feel so let down that I wish I were a drunkard. I wish I could drown my worries with the wine bottles. But then I remember the taste of alcohol, the smell and conclude Juices are a lot better. The sweet taste. Might sound childish but juices are so tasty.

He had laughed out loud. Real loud on the mentioning of Juices.

I had asked him about how much of water was mixed in a certain amount of alcohol. He had explained. Perhaps he remembers none of it when drunk, none of it when he’s not either. Not that I expect him to. Whatever. Drunken men. How much can you trust them???

Drunken men. Have been a part and parcel of my field trips now. What more can I say?

This alcohol fad. What’s the fun in drinking and dancing like a crank? Getting high they say, marijuana, G…I ask my frens “ How can you get it so easily?”

“Sojo Manche” (simpleton) they reply. They are the smartest bunch of people I know. They talk big, have mind-blowing ideas about the best approach to development tis-that…. but they there’s always a Time to Get High and Drunk. And no I don’t think of it as something good or bad. I am not their mom to worry about their livers and lungs either. Still if something harms your body the only instrument to do whatever else you want to do, the only thing you have got to call your own why do it?? No use saying that either. It’s like banging my head against the wall. You can’t wake up people who are pretending to be asleep can you?

Back to the trip. They were busy playing cards in the room. Two guys and two gals. I don’t know how to play Solitaire in my computer, the hell with Kitty. I go to sleep. They are gone, I’m awake. It’s a nice room. Fluffy pillows, a T.V in one corner, a mirror even an attached bathroom in most rooms. The three of them go to sleep after the guys leave the room. The Barcelona Vs Arsenal game has just begun. I get off the bed and watch the game all-alone. Sol Campbell scores a goal for Arsenal. I am disheartened. The game gets more exiciting. Goal! I yell unbothered about my sleeping buddies as Barcelona players make a shot on goal. Too sleepy after the first half. I go to sleep before Barcelona scores any goal. The good news next morning is Barcelona Won. Two to One.

The bus leaves Charikot bazaar for Jiri. I don’t know how Jiri looks like, nothing comes to my mind other than the name when they talk of it. The bus is nearing Jiri everyone on the bus genuinely surprised by the view from the windows, trees trees everywhere, never thought it would be this good is what everyone is saying. Our bus enters the Jiri Technical School Premises. We get off the bus mouths open in surprise. Green rules, the place is colored green, the dark green hills, the light green grass, the darkening sky, the stone path, the small white and black stone houses….It is like nothing I have ever seen before. The program will be held tomorrow we’re informed. We two leave the group instantly to explore the place. The vegetable gardens, the pond and the barbed wire acting as a fence. We manage to slip through the barbed wire and reach the river. Crystal clear pristine water..splash, sploosh..that’s what we do when we see rivers, jump into it. The walk on the rocks, the chilly afternoon, the cold water and the view of the wide wide lands carpeted green…

Jiri . Are we in heaven? I ask as we return back from Kune, a village in Jiri.

No. We’re not. S answers. Where are the Apsaras?

“If such place existed in Kathmandu.It would be crammed with lovers he continues.

“ Now why does every beautiful place need to be linked with lovers? I question.

Because that’s where we can kiss girlfriends…and that’s only the beginning if you know what I mean he says.

“You don’t always need girlfriends I tell. I am caught off guard. Everyone’s laughing.

They’re like “ you want a kiss”.

“ I didn’t mean that” I say. Yet feel like a perfect fool. I look down at my feet. There’s a fine, slithery leech stuck to me. I try to pull it out. It’s too busy smooching me! Just won’t let go. He pulls it out. We run in the pastures, sit on the huge log…walk past the river, the cows…Jiri is just mindblowing. Be there. Just be there once guys. It is the best place ever. In the lap of the hills, so close to nature, so peaceful, you’ll love it. And go there with all that you need to go there with..girlfriends, boyfriends… or alone… nature’s too much company for loners isn’t it?

We sit on the edge of the road facing the trees and river below our legs crossed. So where else have you been in Nepal I ask.

“Dhankuta, Terathum, Solukhumbu, Illam, Jhapa, Pokhara, Chitwan, Biratnagar, Dharan,…the list is long…she names almost all districts in the Eastern Development Region. I haven’t been to the west she says. And you? She asks.

I don’t want to answer the question…I take my time and slowly begin “ Kathamandu, Bhaktapur, Lalitpur…She roars with laugher. I know the rest she pipes in. “Janakpur, Makwanpur, Nawalparasi, Chitwan.”

An all country trip is a must before we begin our careers we conclude. I tell her how I don’t want to identify myself as a typical Kathmanduite yet seems to fall in that category time and again. I am glad she doesn’t say, “ Go home and log on to cabbage” as did N in Charikot!! I was only observing the cabbage plant and the rumor is spread, she’s never seen a cabbage! Sure, I have seen a cabbage; who hasn’t? It’s my favorite vegetable!!

We talk of context specific development, discuss why statistics reveal only 29% of the total land area of Nepal to be covered with forests when trees are all we see once outside the capital, 10% shrub land, the regional disparity, the Korean University, our Masters..…a hell lot of things..

It’s our first night in Jiri. We plan to meet after dinner to discuss the action plan and the survey tomorrow. There are no lights. It rains cats and dogs. The plan’s cancelled. We five huddle in one bed. There are three beds in the room, two posters one reads: “ In every thought and action seek excellence”, the other has Buckingham Palace written on it. The quilts are so heavy that you can’t pull it as you toss and turn in your bed single-handedly. One floor has one toilet, no place to take a shower. And it’s not a development worker’s symptom to seek luxury as well. A candle is lighted, love songs in the background, and love talks. I don’t remember how it started but it did and I wonder time and again why everyone around me is talking of relationships these days.

“ It must have been love but its over now

It must have been good but I lost it somehow…Roxette sings in the dark room…

She says, “ Five years is not a joke. And know what he tells me “Its not about us. Its about you and me. I am shocked. Not us?” I find the whole process of knowing people so painful, the same process time and again. You think you know people and in the end this is what happens, no emotion exists…you end up realizing you never knew the person in the first place…”…..

There’s a knock on the door. The hot cup of tea arrives.

George Michael sings “ Careless Whisper”….I try to concentrate on the lyrics….

“ If you can’t love then ignore the person. Why be friendly and raise expectations?”

You think I don’t ignore….

I don’t know anything of love. All I want is people who respond to your feelings. Let it be a firm handshake, a simple thank you, but let the person be expressive. Just feel the way you do…. The conversation continues.

Know what he said, “ The worst thing ever is having to constantly remind people how much you care for them, love them.”

How can the person ever know if you never tell them?

Why do we always end up talking of love and relationships? One asks.

The same crap time and again, that’s what I feel another says. Yet I think I have an answer to that question. Perhaps it is not crap but reality. We are social beings after all, the web of social relations that’s society!

And I tell you I am honestly sick and tired of listening to other’s love stories these days. One in two people I meet have their love story to share with me. Some tell me their stories over the phone, others on emails, yet others over a cup of coffee…the list goes on and on. Boy! I am overburdened with all the details people keep telling me. I mean “Kati sunnu, kan pakisakyo”! Yah, it feels good to know someone has found the one in his or her lives. And when people confide in me, it relives me of my tensions as well. Honestly it does. But there’s a limit to everything. The love space in my mind is overloaded.

And its tough, really tough to hang out with frens all of whom have bfs or bfs waitin for their turns you know the huge fan following….Sometimes I wonder if I am the only one this way, and is it too much to ask for ..a person who doesn’t give a damn to love ( loss of Valuable energy) that psuedo sensitive melodramatic crap ..or whatever..just alike me…Live the moment man. Aru sab bal ho , sort of attitude…..I don’t know any…. for now those people keep tormenting me with the world’s most irritating dialogues like: Ah..you’ll find someone..

It makes me wanna yell…I don’t give a damn to finding someone…I’m better off with smooching leeches!!! Man the lovers are driving me insane!! HELP! Phew that sure helped. Getting it off my mind…

Love talks, leeches, lunatics, lovers, lonely walks ….the painful dark hills, the Aainselo shrubs, the rhododendrons on the road, shaking hands with the air…His ‘ Hello Ma Hawa hun” (Hello I’m the air), her worries of the sunburns, her speech classes, their momo craze…. The trip to Jiri.

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N sad Mr Twaaks that didn’t come across any Lalloo this time. But we did meet the Maoist Area Commander of Jiri. A fine young man. Will have a separate entry for him. Hmm maybe should have a separate category for Jiri…just need to complete a few assignments first. N Prabesh we didn’t ride on elephants for the same reason, the price is 300 or 350 bucks now. Correct me if I’m wrong Jaz, either ways you Suck! Haha no correct that for “I know I suck but you…(fill in the blanks). And Hysh tooooo busy with office…Security Council. Chill dude. The assignments God! Katti padhnu!

Hitting the road …..yahoo

It was a mélange of laughter and tears.

A pint of drunken men and lalooo conductors.

A Mind-blowing Mind opening Ceremony!!

It was an adventure.

It was the Field trip to Makwanpur and Nawalparasi in the third Semester.

She suffered from a recent heartbreak. The wounds were fresh. The “Chor” had another girlfriend within a week of the break up. Under the quilt, though covered I could see tears roll down her cheeks as she chose to stay back at the hotel. Solitary walk, I was in mood for it. No heartbreaks in my case, no one to remember or forgo but lonely damn lonely that’s what I felt. So I left the room pretending not to hear her (another she) voice echoing after me. Walk, a lonely walk on a cool evening after 7, in Narayanghat. Unknown roads, mild breeze, hands in my trouser pockets, the Adidas jacket I walked past the lighted streets, the dark dusty roads..entered the temple premises. Talked to the stone statue lonely like me. Was back on the lighted street once again. A familiar voice called out my name from the other side of the road. He left the group and crossed the road. “Come join us” he said.

“No am fine on my own.” I declined the request.

Humans fan the flames of loneliness. He did the same…I fought back tears. Let me mock “The me” then. Bichari Zade belabhakhat sarai lonely feel garche! Ke garnu zindagi testai ho. Get used to it babes ma chu ni!! Hahaha

Moods are like the weather, Zade’s especially. A moment of tears, another instant of roaring laughter, After a forty-five minute or so walk on my own was back to the place I’d started from.Dhungs darlin and Sameeta met me in front of the hotel.

“ Where had you been?” Dhungs asked arranging her shawl.

“Walking man. Felt damn lonely”.

All right now?

Better.

Sam joined in. They asked for cold drinks. I had a can of juice. We had Fruit and Nuts to complement it. Our hotel was right in front of the bus stop. There was a roundabout nearby. We sat on the sidewalk., stretching our legs, leaning our backs against the railing, relaxed looking at the sky above. It was a lovely night. We tried kicking the can as in ads. But put it in the dustbin finally.

Swinging moods!

Sam vanished into thin air. Dhungs and I strolled in the Bus park area hand in hand. TALKING.

“Hey Adidas” male voices echoed behind our backs.

Men. Baby men. Who have to read everything loud and clear?

We didn’t bother. Moved on.

“ Hello Adidas….didi haru” the voice came from right behind our backs.

We turned around to see a boy of our age.

“ Hernu na maile uniharulai na jiskaunu bhaneko mandai mandainan”. ( I told them not to tease you but they just won’t listen)

“La ta Dhayabad bhai’ (Thank you brother) we replied and kept walking.

“ Tapain haru yeta ko ta hoina hai?” He continued after us.

“Hoina” we replied. (No)

“Kathmandu Bata”. ( From Kathmandu)

He wanted to converse, we (D & I) looked at one another’s face amused. It felt as though we were both thinking about the same thing.

“ Maile wahan haru yahan ko hoina tesaile najiskau bhaneko sundai sundainan” ( I told them not to tease you as you weren’t from here) he continued.

“Thikai cha ni bhai.” I told him. (It’s all right brother). Yehi ho ni keti jiskaune umer. Aram sanga jiskaunu parcha. (This is your age to tease gals, come on do it happily)

Dhungs added Masala to my dialogue.

“Ho ta ni”.

Hera aba timi jasto young manche haru le najiskaye ke garne. Hamro ta palo gaisakyo timi jastai yuwa ko ho jindagani. Ramri keti lai ta jiskaunchan ni sabaile. Budi haru lai jiskayera ke garnu. Aram sanga jiskau! Hera hami ta budi bhaisakyon timi moj gara.

(What else can a young lad like you do other than tease gals? We are the older generation. It is your turn now. After all everyone teases beautiful gals what use doing the same with older women. Relax and keep teasing gals. We have already grown old for such things) we lectured the boy.

“Aannn kahan budi hunu…” he nagged. (Come on, you’re not old)

“ We are man.” We told him in between laughs.

“ Hera timi jasto handsome keta haru Narayanghat ma hunchan bhanne thaha pako bhaye hami aru din pani basthyon hola” Dhungs added. (If we’d known earlier of handsome Narayanghat boys like you we might have stayed back longer!) I stifled my laughter.

“ Handsome..he blushed and brightened up at the same time. Hahahaha.

“Ani didi haru ko naam ke ho ni” (Your names?) he asked.

“ Naam ma ke chara bhai. Naam bhaneko ta sunincha ani birsincha.” (What’s in name boy, they are meant to be forgotten) We guffawed. Thank God! We didn’t reiterate Shakespeare bro to the lad. (Wouldn’t a rose smell as sweet.) Hahaha.

“ Hera hamro kura bhayo, ramailo bhayo. Tehi ho jindagi. Yo kshan bacha. Aru bal ho.”

(We talked, had fun. That’s life. Live this instant.) We philosophized the meeting.

Mauka ma chauka.

Moro pura hero paltina aako thiyo, zero bhayo. We told one another and roared with laughter as soon as he left.

‘Maile najiskau bhaneko!!” A High five in between laughs.

The fun had just begun!!

Sam joined us. We three got on a rickshaw to explore the nightlife of Narayanghat! Hahaha. No sooner we boarded our favorite vehicle we started singing songs at the top of our voices. Loud…and when I say loud it is real loud. We requested the rickshaw dai to take us along the highway, just anywhere. People looked at us on the streets as though we had gone insane. “Oh ho Bahini haru..they said” we stuck to singing in our donkey voices. Hahaha. No I think we sing fairly well in comparison to “Latto Hiphop”. Oh the list is long, If someone ever told me to comment on the music scenario of Nepal I myself would turn into somekind of Non-stop hits program..Bolya bolyai..Whatever.

We passed by a marriage procession. Yelled “ Happy Wedded Life’ to the couple in the car. And man. know what song we dedicated to the Rickshaw Bro:

“Yeh ladka hai Allah kesa hai deewana

Kitna Muskil hai Dekho isko Samjhana

Ki Dhire Dhire Dil Bekarar Hota hai

Hote Hote Hote Pyar Hota hai”

Hahaha

Sam was telling him ‘Hernos Dai, hami yo ride tapain ko jindagi ma kahile nabhulne banauchaun.” (This will be the most memorable rickshaw ride ever!)

Will you forget it? She continued

Never he said.

I don’t think anyone who saw us on the streets of Narayghat singing loud on a lovely night on November 18,2005 will ever forget us. Three Singers on Their Rickshaw tour.

We asked the Rickshaw dai “What’s your favorite song?”

He said. “ Jati hun main.” From Bazigar.

We sang it loud

“Jati hun main, jaldi hai kya

Dhadke jiya,

Wohh.. kyon bhala?

Khud se jo darne lagi ho, Tum pyar karne lagi ho”…

We stopped. And he was like “ Pheri gaonos na”.

It was one helluva Ride.

We got off and got on another Rickshaw and did the same.

Then it was dinnertime. After dinner my classmates were all gathered in a place playing a game. It was like “What I think of you sort”. I stayed at a distance. On the terrace railing observing the sleepy city. Then he came. The drunk and nuts guy.

“Kina Yahah Basirakeko’ (Why are you sittin here?) He asked.

“ Ma pani yahan Baschu” (I will sit here too) he continued.

I told him let’s sit on chairs rather. And then it began. I sat facing this great character and he started talking. Initially I had no idea about him being drunk, as I had never come across any till that date in my life. He was supposed to be talking to me but he was pouring his heart out to every one on the terrace.

“I am hearing everything” Sam told me.

He was talking to me about somebody else. You know the things you hear from “Somebody else’s boyfren” stuff. As he progressed I was like what is this boy doing. Telling me everything about his family, their names, how much he loves them all, how much he loves her….in the end I was like No guy ever told me so much of his life at one shot! The session lasted for an hour or more, I have no idea.

And ya, a clarification people are coming upto me in college and asking who is the He in The Escaped entry, the she? Some others saying..U and Ksh..a Couple!!! Spare me a major Heart Attack guys! I don’t want to die just yet.

I think you merely skim through my writings. Read it, Read it carefully, read in between the lines and don’t come to me with those silly questions!!! A love affair????? ARKO JUNIMA!! Grow up kids guys and gals make great buddies.

N Kamlesh seems to have a serious fan following these days..Jaz loving and feeling the magic of his words, Kali saying “So sad he didn’t write about me”. ..Hahaha.

“ Ke ho Kamlesh dear, ladkiyon ke dil me aag lagarahe ho??”

But you are a chor, I don’t love liars as you do. Dhangadi, Sudeep sir, you made a total fool of me out of me. Just wait and watch my next move!!

Anyways for the Drunk Kissa. I have fun ragging the great man till date!! Hahaha. It was the craziest night ever. The very day we had been to the Botey Majhi’s place and Sundari Ban which seems to be the most resourceful Community Forest in Nepal. And I would love to cut and paste information about it from my report but hey that’s sheer plagiarism!

The next day we visited the Chepang village. And atop the hill after talking to the Chepang woman there, something in us changed, Changed…. we Changed Forever. Hysh sat facing the sloppy hill below, I tried to divert my attention to the magnificent view of the hills to my rights, and the woman left us to feed her ox. The UN dreams vanished into thin air. Grassroots need to work on the grassroots. It struck our minds.

“We oughtta come back here after graduation and live here for some months’ Navin said.

We agreed on it. Know the real Nepal. While we walked back someone offered me biscuits, I hated the thought of having it after wasting the woman’s energy when she had so little to survive on.

“Why? Couldn’t we have given her this packet of biscuit?” I thought.

Then again I had a conflict within myself about the “Need based” and “Rights Based” approach to development. Rights based is a long process, just how many people do we need to see dead before one in the community emerges as a leader to defend them all. Why is the disparity so huge? We walk on the aisle of Bhatbhateni dropping useless Lays, wafers (which we can well survive without) in our trolleys. Marble floors, ATM cards. The woman atop the hill says she is still waiting for the “Ishkush’ to grow bigger.

I feel guilty even as I write this. And guilt is the worst feeling for it gets you nowhere, makes no…. difference at ALL. Oh ZADED the Charlatan, Hypocrite and Pretender. Hey somebody shoot me plzzzzz…

I know not how to continue….but a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do..am to continue being a hypocrite. We walked down the hill and there was a lovely stream, river. Whatever. Everyone was playing on the pristine waters. After all we are but pretenders. We joined in. Initially the Hypocrite Psyche weighed heavily on my mind but as the splashes continued…I felt better enjoying the touch of water on my bare legs, standing on the slippery rocks and splashing Dhungs.. I think I suck. Its what I call Heights of Hypocrisy.

The next day we stayed at a wonderful place in Saurah. Went cycling to the Tharu Village, boating in the Narayani rivers. Kamlesh the hero, swam in his jeans and T-shirt. Later told that the men across the river warned him of being shot! This is what happens when you try impressing gals!! Hahaha

Back to Kathmandu on Nov 20. Home at 11:45 pm. Another adventure in the lonely roads and an encounter with the Black cat looking right into my eyes. I yelled my way home!

Presentation time. The last moment preparations. Our group was the most homogeneous one, equal number of guy and gals. I ended it blabbering all nuisances giving my theory about what would be a better option for Botes Majhis, analyzing their situation and the word struck me “MIND OPENING CEREMONY”. Someone from the audience side showed me a “You Rock” sign. I could see approving glances. Hahaha. They thought we did a wonderful job! We surely did rock as always.

It was the best semester ever. The third one. Debating on the political issues in the class, making our version of the constitution, listening to Somat Sir, getting enlightened in every “Community Development” class, Sudeep Sir’s Globalization article, Participation Debate, Grameen Bank. Those were the days man. Mindblowin ones.

And for this semester. It was too bland for me. Sushil asked me on the NY somedays back “Going for the field trip?”

Of course. I answered. “Pura 4 or 5 months ta kehi gariyena aba ta kehi garaoun”.

On a personal level I really expanded my horizons far and wide. The rallies, the bloggin, the monitoring, going hungry training myself to work as a grassroots Development wala, walking, walking and walking, Pulchowk to Lokanthali, Patandhoka to Tinkune, Baluwatar to Lokanthali, Chabil to Paradise…lot of walking and wondering Why? Why? Why?

But classes. Too bland for a Tangy gal like me. Hahaha. Enjoying life Avi?

I don’t think I will remember anything other than Mishra Sir’s Corruption theory from this sem. Hey we don’t pay some …..thousand plus…bucks per sem just to listen to those boring lectures. Where does money grow, on trees??

We need to be stimulated. Intellectual Stimulation is A must.

Hope the trip provides plenty of it. Though I don’t expect to learn much from Jirels in Jiri. Whatever. Let me hope for the best.

N I woke up at 1:57. have been writing ever since. I was already asleep when I got Hysh’s Sms: All ready? Just finished pakin, can’t wait! At 10:15:47.

Bombshell aka Dhungs babes’ message reads: Sometimes my MIND asks. Why? I LIKE U. Why? I WANT 2 see U. Why? I REMEMBE U Why? U MAKE ME LAUGH. Then my HEART answers It’s Simply bcoz I LUV CARTOONS. ( 21:38:31)

GREAT. Let me see if you can find a better company!! Not in a lifetime hons.

N its 3:45 at the moment.. And guess what?

I HAVE NOT PACKED! Though not a big deal. Still I needa hurry, reach college at 6:30. Oh and the great bath too.

Wish me another Mind Opening Ceremony guys. Now won’t be back by Sun or Monday don’t know that for sure. So Wish “Happy Journey” the telepathy way. Maybe I will receive the vibes on the bus and ya Send a heartfelt “Thank you”!!

BON VOYAGE!

TO THE ENTIRE NAT COL SECOND YEAR GANG!!

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N Mr Twaaks I did read the Manjushree Thapa article. I always do and I LOVE HER. YA WOMEN POWER. Thanx for those kind words. Loyal following. Thank you so much!! Hope the Blog God misses me when I’m gone! Hope there is one. N ya here is your answer for Kun patrika: Kantipur. Tyo ta mero bau ko ho ni!!

N for the veggie question. We love paneer, mushroom, beans, vegetables, milk ( even that is termed non-veg these days..animal product re so confused) Tell me how can you guys have animals for lunch! The blood, the bones, the flesh..UGH! sorry but can’t help saying UGH and YUCK! I acknowledge the differences in taste buds but can express myself I guess… la ta ta ta its 4 now the packing and shower..all yet to be done..

On the road outside Singhadurbar

Historical decisions will be made in the parliament today Asish informed me after class. All contradicting clauses will be nullified and the parliament can decide on everything. Good news I told him.

Women organizations had planned a demonstration in front of the Singhadurbar starting from 1:30 was what Hysh told me yesterday. And as I am in between jobs I agreed to be there. Reached the spot at around 2. Few women holding the banner of their organizations stood in front of the Singadurbar gates. Roji arrived with other members of WHR. She’s a very active lady Roji informed me referring to a woman who was calling other women to sit down on the road. Some followed her, some stayed back.

Why hinder the traffic? One said.

Pitidinchu ani. The lady called the hesitant group. So we all sat down on the blacktopped road in front of Singhadurbar. We didn’t hinder the traffic, as the crowd was small. Not more than 70 people were present there. Then the leading and following of slogans session began. I will list the ones I noted here:

Pachas-pachas: Hunaiparcha (We need 50-50)
Sampurna Aayogma Mahila: Hunaiparcha (Women representatives are a must in all the government bodies)
Barta Tolima Mahila: Hunaiparcha (Women should be a part of the committee holding Peace talks)
Sabhamukh Ko Seat ma Mahila Hunaiparcha: (A woman should be the Speaker of the Lower House)
When the lady chanted this slogan, the rest said “arkai bhaisakyo” (they already named someone else). Then she came up with a new slogan, which said: Sabhamukh ko Seat ma Mahila Sabhamukh Hunaiparthyo (The Speaker should have been a woman!) I loved it. And I agree with it a hundred percent. Subhash Chandra Nemwang, is the new speaker with a tag: the first from the ethnic communities. But when letters by the general public published on a daily basis in Kantipur and Kathmandu Post wanted to see Chitralekha Yadav as the speaker. That might not be a convincing reason. Still the “ so called” intellectuals too thought she would be the best choice. Yet in the end it was the mighty Men doing what they thought was the best as has always been. Creating History…His Story. The male chauvinists in Nepal are never going to take our voices seriously unless women of our generation do something out of the ordinary…something never done before… XPLOD and break free from the cocoon we have taken shelter in for far toooo long.

“Hame Ek Dhamaka ki Jarurat Hai, Uchi Log Uchi hi sunte he”
(The big people only hear of blasts. We need to an Explosion)

· Hami Bhancha ma matrai: Basdainaun (We won’t only be limited in the kitchen)

Hami Singha durbarma: Hunaiparcha (We need to be there inside Singhadurbar)

A woman sitting beside me remarked to her friend “ Badhta badhta nabol. Marchan.” (Don’t be outspoken.We’ll be done for) Later another slogan: “Mantriparishad Ma Adhiktam Mahila Hunaiparcha” (We need maximum no. Of women possible in the Cabinet) I overheard her saying “ Yesto kuro po garnuparcha. Yesto thaun ma basera Dadu punyu ko kura ke garnu. (How can we be talking of ladle in a place like this?)

Her friend told someone else: “ Wahan Dadu punyu chodnu hunna re” (She says she won’t be leaving the ladle business) and laughed.

“Kati na usle chadera khana pauchun bhanna thandi ho!” (As if she expects to get to eat by leaving it). Chahine Kura Po Garnuparcha (Talk sense)

Reality bites? I don’t know what to make of the conversation. Maybe she took politics is a big thing, serious talk revolving around ministers and cabinets only. But I’m sure she knew of the price hike effects in the kitchen. And they weren’t talking of giving up cooking altogether either, only expanding horizons. If women ever did give up cooking that would surely be a REVOLUTION! A DHAMAKA. Perhaps its importance would then be realized. I personally hold no grudge against women who LOVE to cook for their hubbies. Now I can’t be jealous of those Lucky Wives just because I have no chance of finding one, can I? hahaha ( this is the effect of debating with Pravs all morning about my Future!!! What can I say to a person who wants to spend her life with dogs! She said accepting defeat..Yahoo) hahahah

Jokes apart. All I wish for is more men like Puku ( hahahaha..hahahah) in our part of the world to help in the kitchen as well. If everyone had the sheer wish to be self-reliant and independent then things would surely be different, wouldn’t they?

Getting back to the slogans..others were

· Mahila Adhikar Manav Adhikar (Women Rights Human Rights)

· Sambidhan Hami Aafain Korchaun (we will write our own constitution)

Yojana Hami Aafain Banauchau (We will formulate the plans)

Purush le ladeko Sambidhan Chahidaina (We need no constitution forced on us by men)

· Aamako Nambata Nagarikta Paunai parcha

I yelled “ Paunaiparcha” in this. Hey, isn’t it so damn irritating to need a “Bau” to get the citizenship when it is the mother that gives birth. I had participated in the one day National Conference On the same subject on Feb 28,2006. The conference was great as there was no blaming men for everything crap once again. And Raghuji Pant’s speech just stood out. Rocked actually. Here is what he said as I have noted in my diary: “Ke Guarantee cha hami afno bau ko santan ho bhanne, Aama nango yatharta ho”. Yah there is the DNA test and all tara dialogue ta tagada mannai parcha. AAMA NANGO YATHARTA HO.

Then the most ridiculous thing happened a cameraman arrived out of the blue there was a complete change in the atmosphere. It looked as though the women had just been offered a Glass of Dabur Glucose. Josh bhadera dhumchakra! As the young man moved backwards his camera focused on the women following him I couldn’t help but laugh. B ji was there with her friend. She greeted me a Hi and smiled. Now that is something to consider as getting acknowledged by the NGO folks is a “Hoina Malai na Namaste gareko ho ra!” sort of event. She just stands out from Phony NGO bums I know…or am forced to say I know. A real smart-ass as well. There was an article about her achievements in the Himal Magazine some months back. Anyways my knowing her is related to the Abortion Presentation…Man so many things related to it..Tyo Abortion Presentation le ta mero jindagi ma upheaval nai lyayo!

Well she was there with her friend and here is an excerpt of their conversation:

“Media aayepachi bhadkinchan bhanthe, Mahila pani testai ta hun ni”. They laughed. She had a meeting to attend she told me and left. We left the place too, me and Roji.

A woman stopped to ask me “ Kun Patrika Bata?” (From which newspaper are you?)

Hahahaha. I laughed. Hoina…kunai bata pani…I told something.

And I am just sick and tired of people asking me that question wherever I go. There is absolutely nothing funny about it as well despite my metallic roar of laughter. It feels more like mockery to me. No ..exact words ma bhannu parda…mero aaalo ghau ma nun-khorsani molera., masala pani thapera haleko jasto lagcha. Manche nachine samma euta damn article ta publish hune chance dekhdina ..Patrika they ask??

If anyone does ask me the same next time. Here is what I will retort: Kantipur bata. Tyo ta mero bauko honi!! Rude? Bal ho. Who cares?

Kathmandu in all its beauty

TODAY ( May 14)

Vibration. She took out her sleek black Samsung cell phone, which I had been playing with all morning.

Ya.Where are you? Ok. C ya.

He’s a crazy man she told me. Know what he said? Can you join me for lunch?

Full of surprises. I told her.

Hey, can you suggest a nice place for lunch?

Maybe Bakery café Newroad, Thamel….I don’t know. Me? How am I supposed to know? Anyways change into skirt hai, I requested. Its gives the spring feel.

She agreed. We bid a happy farewell.

He got on the bus with me.

The conductor asked for our fares.

I took out mine. He took out a blue fifty-rupee note.

“Hami dui janako” (our fare) he said.

So, one of you has a card and one doesn’t? The conductor asked.

No, we both do. Hami Eutai College ko eutai class ma padhchaun (we both go to the same college and are in the same class) he said.

The conductor laughed. I laughed out louder. The girl sitting on the single seat to my left looked at me amused. The guy in a blue t-shirt did the same, but for a longer time. I wondered what he found more amusing the sound of my laughter or my wired teeth. Surely not my radio friendly face!!

He got up to leave. Extended his hand. I took it gladly. A handshake.

Thanks I said.

You’re most welcome he replied.

Back from Dhangadi? I asked.

Yah, I will be going back once again.

Unbelievable. Two trips to Dhangadi in one week.

I’ll be back by Wednesday he said raising his hand to his head from the window next to the girl in green kurta.

Bluff…I said.

Crazy, crazy crazy. The craziest guy I know. The only guy I know!!

——————————————————————————–

O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell
O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
In flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
‘Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
John Keats

——————————————————————————–

YESTERDAY

Tell me. She said.

I had my mouthful. I took my time.

This is what I hate most about you. You’re always telling me incomplete stories. Half the truth..that’s the worst thing ever.

Her words reminded me of all the half-truths I know of people.

When did you leave home? She demanded.

Seven.

(She was still in bed)

Where to?

Swayambhu.

For what?

A blood donation programme.

Organizer?

A junior in college.

Ah..you are…What’s the problem with you? Why do you have to go to all “ aire, gaire, nattu, khaire’s programs…ghari kun dai ko , ghari bhaiko..Ramu kaka..This is what you need: A schedule. Something like spend Saturdays at home..

Ramu Kaka…I repeated after her and laughed! Who the hell is Ramu kaka?

What happened? (She loves to probe into my privacy)

I don’t mind. Private is Public!

Initially thought it would only be go there donate blood and be back sort of program. But once there, it was a totally different story. Our bro was the organizer himself! The speakers had been brought, the tent yet to be delivered, the doctors and the scouts on their way…total chaos. We carried the mike stands, chairs, poles, jugs, cartons of juices, bananas to the venue. Too late. Two groups of enthusiastic blood donor wannabes registered their names, loitered and left. The TUTH ( Tribhuwan University Teaching Hospital) people finally arrived. And once it began there was no stopping. People thronged our place to donate blood. I took down their name, age, blood group; contact number and address from start to finish. Three people passed out. We almost did ourselves on hearing one of them had to be treated with saline water! One hundred and eleven (111) people donated blood. I never got a chance.

Reason No 1. The hospital personnel were already worried on having collected more blood than necessary. The blood needs to be used within the next 35 days, or else it will be wasted one of them told me.

Reason No. 2 Low blood pressure. Twice rejected. I am sick of being disqualified. I have donated blood once nevertheless. It was one helluva experience, the first day in college. No friends to cherish or share the moment with. Only my enthusiam and me. Kedz, Pravs stood nearby… they decided against donating. The “Nakkali’ gang I thought..Haahah. Now I’m stuck with those Nakkalis for life!!

Finally a university student I thought. Let me kick start with a good deed. Sweat dropped from my temples as the needle struck my arm. I was thinner then, not as fat as I am now! Hahaha..It’s not my fault if I feel fat is it?? I turned cold feeling the sweat drop on my skin. “You’re brave, you can do it” I told myself, opening and closing my fists. It was finally over. The Red Cross someone suggested the 2nd year folks to give me extra juices and fruits, chances of passing out..Vijay dai brought me the bananas. I will never forget that day. Kya College I wondered later chirna pako chaina ragat chusne! (What college! They draw blood from you no sooner than stepping in its premises) A nasty headache followed, but feeling dizzy once in six months is not a big deal, is it?

Blood. Dark red blood. I love the color, its like nothing else. The color of life. The color of sacrifice. So I would like to take this opportunity to salute everyone that donated blood yesterday starting from dearest Sumeera. The 16 yr old gal who was obviously disqualified, the girl in a yellow t-shirt who passed out, the innumerous who has be sent back and just everyone there. You Guys Rock!!!

Then a well-deserved break. Everyone was offering me the fried “veg momos”. Suman had an interesting “Veg momo” woe to share. He was happily gobbling them up taking them to be “Thulo Khasi” ones until someone told him the truth. He was like “ Malai veg bhanepachi ta kasto kasto lageko kya, ghati batai chirna garo bhayo!” (Once they told me it was veg, I found it so difficult to swallow). Judging by that the Vegetarian Crowd though growing are still a marginalized bunch in KTM.

It started raining cats and dogs. I got off the college bus at Chabahil. Good, bad, what did I feel? Normal? A Saturday with a difference, that sums it up. Two Bhaktapur buses passed by. They were too packed to board. I decided to walk till Gaushala and then get on a bus. But I took the Gairidhara turn expecting to make it to Gaushala despite the fact that I have absolutely no idea of that part of the city.

TWO ROADS DIVERGED IN AN YELLOW WOOD

AND I TOOK THE LESS TRAVELLED ONE….

These lines came to my mind, as I stood unable to decide which road to take. Robert Frost’s lines but not the exact words I guess. There were two roads and I took chose the few houses, less people walking one…Adventure. Bagmati river to my left, Kirateshwor Mahadev temple atop the hill…people staring at the silent muddy river …a red car parked to my right. I walked past the people, the machines, the temples…and walked picturizing Gaushala..yet allowing the road to decide the destination for me. Guheshwori. There was a road ahead and a signboard reading “Toilet”. Dead end I thought. But I saw a few people walking past the signboard at a distance. I kept walking…

The river and the road my only company. It was a silent river, like an extension of my life . flow, flow, flow, keep moving. Magic of movement, stopping at nothing, seeing no reason to either, seeming like an endless journey, yet journeying to a destinations unseen, lands unexplored …dreams unrealized. Solitary love…solitary walk…In touch with myself…in touch with life…ALIVE.

The clouds hung low at a distance, somewhere in between the hills faraway to my left (am very bad at directions! Dhare told me of a book “ Why Men don’t listen and Women can’t Read Maps…maybe its true!).Boudhanath. Vast empty fields. The dark brown muddy path. The golf course to my right. Few bikes. A tractor crammed with white sacks with women above them. I was lost. I just knew it. I laughed out loud. LOST felt like an escape..escape from the hustle and bustle of city life, escape from reality….

EscaPed. He and She. Evening. A lovely, lonesome evening.

His words, my experience. I felt those words and I got the FEEL of an unspeakable FEELING in a long long time.

A black cow waded its way through the muddy water, a woman walk past me hurriedly carrying a heavy bag, a dark man stared at me as we crossed one another’s paths…I felt proud of my myself. Proud of being lost… LOST IN PARADISE…For it felt like Lost yet found. Found by a feeling I had been waiting for all along…those emotions are like beggaring descriptions…Words, they pollute emotions don’t they? It’s good that I have run out of them…

Blacktopped ones replaced the murky roads. I had a sudden urge to know where I was:

Where does this road lead? I asked a guy.

Where are you heading for? He asked back.

Lokanthali, I replied.

If you walk it will take about 2 hours or so.

Where am I then?

Gothatar. He said.

So it is the Kadaghari, Mulpani area I asked.

It’s that way.

I wanted to ask him the name of the river below. I didn’t.

Thank you, I said. I felt it from the bottom of my heart.

Welcome. He said.

I smiled at myself walked on. There was a signboard that read “Orchid Pupil or Public (am confused) School’’. Gothatar 1, I read the address.

Traditional houses, a small path in between. A crowd of men came from the other direction. A bamboo tree, I jumped to reach its lowest branch. The path brought back memories of my maternal home. A sleepy village at Churia foothills. Ten years, ten years since I last visited the place.

A red metallic I-don’t-know-what they call it rotated atop a hill. An army man stood nearby. I felt wonderful, plain heavenly. I wanted to talk to someone, anyone just tell them that I was walking in the most beautiful place in Kathmandu. Why don’t I know of couples that come for dating here I wondered?? There were two little boys in identical outfits playing on the road. There was no one else in sight so I asked them where the road led. This one goes to Shahidgate the elder one said. I was confused. A solitary house stood at a distance. An old man and a woman were looking at my direction.

Ke bhayo? (What happened?) The man asked.

Yo bato kata jancha? (Where does this road go?) I asked back.

Tapailai kata januparne ho tyo bhannos na (Where are you heading for?) he said.

I smiled at myself.

If you don’t know where you are going then any road will take you there, this quote came to my mind. I wasn’t keen on heading home. I wanted to explore.

Lokanthali. I replied.

The Nepal Yatayat goes by this place. He told me.

Dhayabad (Thank you) I said.

I started walking once again. Just then a sleek, brown machine on wheels appeared. And it looked so beautiful, rolling down the hill. It is something I will never forget…the blend of the unnatural with the natural.

Bus aayo, chadera jau na. (The bus is here get on it) the man told me. The “Jauna” the transition from “Tapain” to “Timi” touched my heart. He said it sooooooo lovingly that I just couldn’t help but heed the suggestion though I would have rather preferred walking. It was almost seven. I got on the bus…headed home.

I know how it feels, she replied.

Happiness. In the end it is little things that matter the most in life. If anything makes you happy just go for it. “The Miniaturist” though a psycho book, has turned me a little bit Sufi… ..

I agree with my twin!

True. Its little things that matter the most. Like the song that is being aired..

“American Pie”…this will be the day that I die.. I LOVE THE SONG, his poems, her laughter, Kale wagging his tail…the view of sunset from my window, …

Life is but a miniaturist’s creation.

And If I could then I would surely chose to fall in love in that place called nowhere, the empty paths, the vast expanse of land…the flowing river, a place where solitary walks turn romantic, the road turns into your company, the wind transforms into the touch of the divine…You’re lost, yet found…Lost in Paradise for sure…

( ok zade budi has turned psycho for now…wish her Get well soon..Hahahaha..)

Escaped

It must have echoed, the sound of that final applaud, but may be I was too in a hurry to get out of that hot-ideas-melting room I am not sure whether it did echo or not. But there are some things in life that we can take for granted, I am sure it much have echoed. Once I was out of the room and down on the ground I should have felt everything new, but I didn’t. I should have seen everything as something new, but I didn’t. I should have started afresh, but I couldn’t. I didn’t. Though I wanted to…though I want to…

I ask ten different people for ten rupees. Finally, one gives. I take.

It’s not easy living on forty rupees a day. It’s difficult asking for more. Difficult not because they, people at home, won’t give me, difficult because, I think, I have know it too early that money don’t grow on tree. But do I really care for it ? And above all, how much is too much? Escape.

Escaped.

He and she.

Evening. A lovely, lonesome evening. Two entirely different creatures from the same species saunter under that monochrome but beautiful evening. One is carrying a bag: the other is carrying a bag and rolled papers. One is a boy and the other is a girl. One is Cancer, the other is an Aries. They walk down the same old road, they see the same old buildings, but it’s evening and they see new people…NEW. They, the boy and the girl, have always been new to themselves and, to some extent, to some others as well. But do they know that? Do those some others know that? It’s not easy being new, just like it’s not easy being old. They are captured. And they are different ‘they’ in different eyes.

The girl loves Big eyes. Buffalo eyes. And when she says so to the boy, the boy thinks about the buffalo eyes but he sees the whole buffalo. And now he wonders why not only the eyes, why the whole buffalo? But that’s how he perceives a thing…that’s how he exaggerates the imagination. That’s how he is…

And that’s how she is. Imaginative? Or impatient?

One.
The mixture of both.

The colorless evening is gaining some color…a pale purple. The girl hushed, the boy is absent in his presence. He has this habit of being there and away at the same time. But it’s not easy to remain quiet for long, especially when the road comes to a parting. Two brains. Two roads. Two destinations…but still a considerable length to cover together. So which way?

Why not a new-neither that nor this? They start exploring the explored.

The evening gives the impression of one of those now-it-rains evenings. The boy feels the air, almost sees it. He wants to ask the girl whether she has ever seen the air…but he doesn’t because he knows she has seen many more things. The girl is walking. Sometimes she’s into a seemingly endless talk. Sometimes she is as silent as a dead person.

The road takes them into a very narrow alley. The girl remembers Bhadra 16. For some minutes they walk down the memory lane. Common memories. It’s easy talking. The sky above looks brooding dark. And home, nothing but a place to change the clothes, is just a little far away. Home is where your heart is. The boy doesn’t know where his heart is. The boy doesn’t know where his home is. The boy doesn’t know so many things. Life’s been pretty slow on him. The existence is too hard on him. But, when alone, he thinks, he will raise above all the odds one day- the odds that he himself has created. Some knowingly, some unknowingly. But he knows how to stand tall. He’s been standing against the wind for so long…unmoved but now a little torn. And now he needs a fine stitching, for he’s already lost his nine.

And the boy shows the girl the school

And the girl forgets to show the boy the house of one of her relatives. She says ‘let’s have coffee.’ And the boy says ‘haven’t got the money.’ The girl says she has.

Under the bridge.

Past the bridge.

On the main road. Across the road. Inside the café. Coffee.

It’s a nice table with nice chairs. It’s a warm place with nice-looking people around. It’s a place where the girl had met…for the first time. She shows the boy the table they had sat, now vacant Just like the boy’s mind. The ripples rise in the mind when he stirs the sugar in the coffee. She’s done with her cold coffee…the boy watches her drag in the last sip through the straw: but he’s still got half a cup to drink. He takes his own time on her money. And she doesn’t mind.

She pays the money, sixty-five rupees. He wishes he had fifty-five more.

They don’t know when it has started raining. It’s drizzling. They walk. It’s not completely dark. It’s not the end. Life can begin at any time, just like death can greet at any time. There’s a red light glowing on the top of the pole, and the traffic is impressive. But they don’t have the time to stand still for a green light.

Rules are meant to be broken. And on such busy streets no one cares what development studies is all about. No one cares what they have just said and done in the college after the fine movies and the fine lunch. No one can afford silence these days, one has to speak…anything but speak, for we have enough time to kill around on well planned actions and things like that, which will probably never come into effort. Action speaks louder than words? How often have we actually seen it happening? It seems we all have grown wiser. The girl sees the change in the boy- he too spoke those insipid world of stale, broken wisdom when everyone was speaking. And he wonders why couldn’t he be a mere listener once again?

Was he into anything?

They cross the road, safely reach the pavement. Life has so many things to feel proud of. You don’t die even if you cross road under the red light! Is not it a reason enough to feel proud of? It’s a little darker now. But sill it’s not the end.

It’s the same old evening that comes at the end of every new day; it’s the same old pavement which leads you everyday to a place where you can change your clothes-some call it home. These are the same old trees which know your inner secrets, but you don’t give a damn to them because you know they can’t tell your secrets to anyone. But there comes a time everybody’s life when the same old things look new…suddenly the boy finds everything new…is that because of the instant energy that a cup of coffee is supposed to give? Or is that because of something else? He will think about it later. He thinks later.

It’s dark now. Night has slowly spread above like a blanket. The boy has a time to be by home. The girl has too, but they break the rules, they take risks…they walk past the several parting roads, they sit on a wall by the side of the road, they hand their tired legs down the wall. They start TALKING.

“ I often sit here, watch people, watch the sky, the moon…and I write.”

She writes. And she is good at it. He knows he will first introduce “…” by her name to his child and then only by her face. And one fine day he will tell her that its’ Rahel.

Adopted? Or own? She will ask.

He will say something.

The hoarding board. The crowd in the picture. He is a crowd in himself. She is mass in herself…

The horns…the vehicles…the people…the overloaded safa tempos, vans, buses…the rush…the hustle and the bustle of the never resting city. And above them the calm…observing crescent moon watching them TALK about everything on EARTH.

She plays with the phone. She talks on the phone. And there’s someone of her known waving his hand from the …… She walks a few steps to the left and calls the boy to show him that there’s really someone waving at them, at her. He sees a blurry figure behind the glass window, a man called…She is still talking to and waving at …the man disappears.

Now they cannot sit on that wall all through the night and TALK and TALK and TALK…they finally depart, to meet again.

It’s darker now. The boy is suddenly feeling so light and different. On the way to his HOME, he remembers most of the words spoke by that girl. He can feel the MAGIC of words.

And he feels better. And better.

The boy reaches home. To his wonder it suddenly, after a long time, looks like a home, it smells home. What happened to that a-place-to-change-your-clothes thing? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He is too filled with so many good thoughts, with such a real sense of relief. And he thanks the existence for being so kind to him so suddenly. And he again thanks that good friend of his who always takes him by surprise, who makes him feel that HE CAN DO IT. HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO IT. And he believes it and feels happy. He wants to get it ALL right now…he wants to write dozens of poems and stories RIGHT NOW so that he can show to her tomorrow, and he waits for that TOMORROW to come to tell the world that he’s got something that many haven’t got-a true friend.

His cousin is on the computer, others are not at home. Someone is getting married tomorrow. A very near relative of his family. So the rest of his people have gone to bride’s.

His cousin asks how his day was. He says it was GOOD. His cousin asks about the workshop. He says it was GOOD. And his cousin shows him the work on the computer. He says it’s GOOD.

And he rests on the sofa and remembers the whole story once again:

Regular classes in an irregular day.

Sailendra’s presentation and then hers on people’s participation. Bikash’s question and her answer. “I have two answers…” He wonders will he ever be able to answer back so spontaneously…he wonders will he able to present the paper the way she does…ever.

Classes are over.

A known hullabaloo after the classes.

A reason to remain in the college: there’s a workshop and he has paid for it.

By the time he is back to the college after the short disappearance, the room is filled. Movie is ready, people are seated. She gives him the name tag. KAMLESH written in blue. He wears it right.

The movie has just started, but he leaves with his friends.

Comes back after a while. The movie is over. The red-haired-little girl is gone. And now the room is different.

Words at war.

He speaks. The anger comes, he spits. The GAME is over.

It’s already evening. The sun has set. Anger has settled. It’s time to get back to the place where he can change his clothes. He has spent his forty Rupees on Wai Wai and cigarettes and now he is broke like a beggar. He asks ten different people for ten rupees. Most of them say they don’t have it. Finally, one gives.

‘Hidera?’ she asks.

They start walking. He finds the nametag of the …girl lying on the road. She too sees it; he picks it up and keeps it in his bag. He feels good. She is carrying a thick roll of papers.

Almost no talk till the half way…it’s like one word kilometer. He remembers a line from God of Small Things.

‘Do you know what happens when you hurt people? When you hurt people they start loving you less. You know those careless words…they hurt people.”

Careless words.

He feels sorry. Feels guilty. Remembers Hysh…Remembers Arun dai…remembers “that’s what is Anarchy, brother.”

Those careless words.

But soon they get into it…the never ending talk…and she takes him by surprise like always..they talk about the ….girl. This boy loves her so much. Wants to be with her all the time. Wants to see her happy. Wants to talk to her just like he does with this girl who he is walking with right now. He wants to have Rahel, his own. Not adopted. But will it ever happen?

Not in this life. This boy is a typical example of a man who complains about the noise when opportunity knocks. A Pessimist.

And life? He thinks it’s good to be with it. And people like her, the girl who he is walking with right now, are so generous to show us the way to be with it. ‘Don’t forget yourself. Be yourself’. Is not it all she, the girl he was walking with, was trying to say? She was. And now what does it mean to him? A lot. He can’t even write it. But he can feel it.

And now he is looking for another reason to say it again to her:

THANKS FOR EVERYTHING, in short.

They also talked about:

Palpasa café

FM

Paruj

Badri Sir’s assignment

Rang de Basanti

BSW

God of Small Things

The list is long

By Kamlesh

Lost the spark

I was sitting in the same place I always sat. But she looked ahead and through everything. A proud wounded, lost, and infinitely tired look. A look that wished to see nothing and no one.

- The Reader

( Bernhard Schlink)

She tells her about the kind of girlfriend he wants. Someone he can share all his passions with. He is sportive. He would want her want to play with him, any sport, cook together, go on long drives…do everything together like the best of buddies. She listens intently. She doesn’t know anything about the guy other than what she has told her of him and that he still carries the love notes they exchanged in his purse. She does too..the U rock ones. There was a time she wanted the same. Those were the days she dreamt. Not anymore. Life feels like a doomed affair…a failed plan. She waits for the Jiri trip hoping it will make her feel better. Just anything to feel better…

“Hatred” the word weighs heavily on her conscience. She smiles in spite of herself always, at all times. “This kind..the way you just smiled is sarcastic” he tells her. But the “hate” has done away with it. The half circle faces downwards and she sees no way she can turn it upside down. It is the “Hatred” phase.

“You’re pretentious,” he told her. She didn’t know what the word would feel like when spit on her. Shock, it felt like one. Perhaps she widened her eyes, raised her eyebrows to express her emotions. Vacant eyes. The same which would be termed “2 dots on your face” years later by her sister, “ I don’t like them” D would say “the lips and nose are better” and the ophthalmologist would examine it to recommend in a playful tone “ Don’t marry a myopic”. Then one fine morning Sofs would hand her something from Pakistan “ Wear this Surma around your eyes” she would recommend making her roll with laughter catching her stomach on the green grass in Paris Danda wondering how that came from a person who knew her so well. Eyes betray you. Clandestines are leaked, hopes reflected and pain released in the form of sparkling tears.

Love lies in the eyes..it lies..lies..lies.

What’s love? He asks.

The thirty heads scribble on their notebooks. She overhears one asking “What’s samarpan(submission) in English?” She is amused.

Read out yours he tells her.

“Love is being in tune with yourself,” she starts. “ It is solitude for me.” (She doesn’t know what made her write that..the spending 2 hours in front of the pond..must be she thinks)

You sound like a narcissist. He comments.

You can interpret it the way you like she tells him. Love for me is unconditional which is next to non-existent.

It sounds like what a self-satisfied person would write he continues. No concern for anyone else.

Concern. She doesn’t want to explain things to him. Relationships… she has learnt all about people the hard way. Never through the love story crap but ways no one would ever comprehend far beyond anyone’s imagination…Real.Almost unreal to be real…hahaha…narcissist! Read my autobiography someday she wants to tell. She keeps it to herself.

He finds the definition very queer. Talks about it in another college he teaches. She hears of it once again. Nothing unusual. People surprise her she surprises them.

Love, anyone can love like a fool. But hating my friend is an art.

Who wants to be hated?

Know none of the kind? Then meet her.

She does.

It was a strange feeling when one fine day she realized it was what she wanted. Be hated by people..the closest ones..not just anyone. A weird clause followed: NOT BY TEACHERS. The hatred thing just happened. She never meant to hurt people but to make them hate her..it occured unknowingly. Most members of the human species she knows proclaim to like her or make a pretense of liking her. She doesn’t know that for sure.

She doesn’t care for careless words, mechanical handshakes and fake smiles. Making friends is not her hobby either. It is unbecoming of her to make the first move. She wants to escape. Escape from human minds, human touch, human words…ESCAPE. The things you love don’t have a niche in your mind. The things you hate do. “People, people, people..no not anymore of them.” the thought is strong. The power of thoughts. Thereby she is dragged into the maze of humans..

We know more people than our ancestors did but have fewer friends.

Friends, it is not just a word. It is a world. A real world, a reality unlike words that doesn’t pollute emotions. It’s not a smile; it’s an echoing laughter. It is not the brusque touch of fingers but a firm handclasp. It’s not a formal muttering of “ Its nice, you’re good…its “you suck”, an ease with which it is said. IT IS LIFE.

“HATRED” is the sieve, which filters friends. Unusual, but its her. She’s a pro at it. Makes sure they hate her..God! Why to complicate lives? People are better without her presence in their lives..A crank. She wants to be hated! A wish she knows no else to have. Why? Reasons, reasons, a psychologist’s code.

There was a girl she knew. She was always after her. No not lesbian.

Get lost! She yelled at the silhouette of the girl, someone taller and stronger though younger than her. A tight slap followed. Not once but many times.

The girl didn’t budge.

Making the girl hate her was the hardest thing ever.

Go run after …didi or that she would tell. Look I am so irritating..so bad..

The girl would be back again. No you are the best.

Four years later the girl called. The same admiration as though nothing had changed! “Remember the Willy and Milly story you told me” the girl asked. She couldn’t believe her ears. The girl remembers each and every thing she ever told. Every conversation that took place between them for seven years! There are some people you just can’t let go she concluded. Just meant to be friends. Accepted with all your shortcomings. And your presence mattered. If it made her happy..if she had taken the first step..the 10 towards the girl was just spontaneous.

People are invaluable. They aren’t meant to exist as merely acquaintances in your address books. Not someone you know for the heck of it, just to tell others..I know this and that and absolutely not a source of entertainment. A tip for real people who dare to live!! People you know are Life. Life Demands Respect.

Another “she” came along like an angel from the sky. There is no need of words between them it is like Ronan Keating’s “ you say best when you say nothing at all”. The hate voodo magic failed again. And he, thought she succeeded once again, asked back the letters burnt them, burnt her carpet. She celebrated on being hated! Time changed. They share …an unusual understanding.

As you lay on your deathbed, you are the most blessed among all human folk if surrounded by five true friends…She’s found three. Two decades of existence. Death..deathbed. Its certain. For now..know this deviant. Hate her…She’ll be Glad!!

One year in the Blogging Realm

Realm of Reasoning Anniversary

Blogging Anniversary. A year of stepping into the blogging empire. Happy Birthday REALM OF REASONING. A year and …the changes have been immense. Blatant and bold I turned into someone I never thought I would be. But it feels like this is what I was all along…just hadn’t realized it. Blogging helped me Be Mear than me.

Blog. I didn’t like the word when I first heard of it. It seems to have been derived from web log. Curved red lines appear whenever I type Blog and the pronunciation isn’t cool either. Hysh told me she had a blog, I thought she was talking Chinese. What is that? Check out http://www.blog.com.np she told me. I forgot the name as soon as I heard it. There was a programme in Nepal Tourism Board the next day on something related to constitution. A guy sat at the end of our row. Faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Foreign journalist most probably. A speaker told something in Nepali, it was an error the hall boomed with laughter, the guy laughed along. Only then I realized he must be a Nepali…maybe a foreigner who knows Nepali..I have seen him somewhere. I thought. He walked up to the front to of the hall to take pics. I noticed http://www.blog.com.np on his t-shirt. What coincidence I thought! I noted the name of the site. Meena Didi peered into my notebook as I scribbled. I checked out the site the first thing next morning. To the left of the page was a picture of two men. One of them had a thin moustache…ah the guy I saw yesterday I told Hysh. “He looks like a foreigner. Is better than this photo..with beard”I told her. There was an article on Girlfren..sth.. I remember a line which said who wouldn’t want a girlfriend like Ash..the entry had the pic of Aishwarya Rai in a yellow dress. I wanted to comment on the entry…Name it demanded. I wrote Whtever. This is the first change blogging brought in me. I developed a damn care attitude. My comment read sth like “ all the best to finding a gf like Ash…you look fine clean shaven..but better with beard..who knows you might knock sb off her feet with your ..looks” . It was so exciting to see my comment posted on the blog. I mean you could write anything and the world could read it! Awesome I thought. Wonders of wonders there was a reply to my comment the next day: Hey Whtever thanx for saying that or sth like that. The great bloggers (I didn’t know the term then) even interact! I couldn’t believe my eyes. I called Hysh to read the comment.

I was slowly getting to know the blogging ways. Posting entries, comments..The latest entry appears at the top of the screen. Hysh’s blog was addiction. As soon as the bell would go at 8:15 I would hurry to the computer lab. Pouring out my mind was more important than filling my tummy. My comments would always be too long. The first one to enter the lab and the last one to get out. The half an hour break was always “Blogging Time” for us ( Hysh and me). Arun Dai called us “Blog bhoots”. Hysh and I even opened up a “Blogbhoot” space, posted an entry and sadly forgot the password. We have been trying to open the page ever since!

ROR (Realm of Reasoning) provided place to open up. And I remember Hysh’s comment on the “King Gyanendra and the Sripech” entry in Arun Dai blog where she writes. “ It’s ( bloggin) good for her (me) as she has something to write on everything and is so hyper.” Sometimes Hysh would tell me “ You always have something to write don’t you”. She first told me that when there was another long comment of mine in an entry where she talks of movie. I wondered if “Having sth to say on everything” was bad. Perhaps I cared what people thought of me then, thought hyper was bad….the usual Inferiority Complex Syndrome! Blogging changed me. Now my guideline is “ What do you care, what other people think???” I don’t give a damn

Blogging on the other hand was a fulfillment of a little dream I had harbored for a long long time. I was a voracious reader back in school; the library was rich. As a child Enid Blyton’s books, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys were among my favorites. Darell(the main character in Malory Towers by Blyton) aspired to be a writer. My frens (13 other gals) lived in a world of fantasy. We loved books and our talks would always be centered around the books we read. We talked the way the characters in our book did e.g “ M & F” was a code word. It means “Midnite Feast” in Malory towers series. We planned one ourselves but it never succeed. Always too sleepy to wake up at the allocated time. Man that was life! Nancy Drew another inspirational character for us had equal influence. We all wanted to be as smart as her when we turned 18. She was Nancy didi..hahaha. I loved George (her fren) and would tell my frens to call me that. Embarassing? Nah..we’re all crazy as a child aren’t we? Wait that’s not the end, the nickname I picked was “ George Thunder” hahaha. We gals named ourselves “Thunders” and wrote it on our inkbottle. The boys turned it into “Banders” (Monkeys). Thunder was the name of a horse, of a girl named Willhelma in short “Will” in Malory tower. She had 7 brothers. Wow! I still remember. Blogging n Books?Wondering about the connection? Well Nancy studied journalism in her college so we wanted to as well. Writing was a common passion we shared. We wanted to be like Darrell and Sarah. I was the editor of the school newsletter in the pre-historic age (Grade 7) and my frens were reporters, I was a reporter earlier. The collecting of articles from the lower grades, the editing and sorting out..was so much fun. Gone are those golden days dear…no I think they are back..am reading “Atlas Shrugged’ at the moment and being rejuvenated..Hey Paruj you rock! Thanx for the book.

I got the first reporter feel when I was in the protest ‘sabha’ organized by NGO Federation in Baneshwore. I scribbled on a spiral notepad hanging on to each and every word the speakers uttered. I felt I was reporter for Realm of Reasoning. I later commented, “ What use going to a protest rally and not having the batons crash on your head”. Hysh put it as an entry itself and my happiness knew no bounds. I had an entry!! I felt like a child who had accomplished something great. And there is something I will never forget about that protest. A little girl clad in her school uniform stood beside me watching the NGO biggies lecture.

School is over? I asked her.

Yes. She replied timidly.

Do you know what is going on? I asked. She shook her head.

We are not happy so we are protesting I explained. And someday when you grow up to be as big as me then don’t forget to boast you were there is a protest too!

My colleague was listening to the conversation. She laughed.

You’re so funny and equally crazy she told me.

DUH! You just realized that??

We (H & me) turned into UWB fans. Hysh put Avi’s “ KTM is the face value” and an article of Murari Raj Sharma in her blog.We talked of a revolution( blogger instincts perhaps) haha long before the nation showed any signs of it. Hysh put a song by the “Calling” in here blog. Arun dai put the same in his too and wrote. Kudos! To you.

And I can still feel the thrill of listening to the song in the staff room.

I had a blog “ xazee”. Trust me to come up with the craziest names ever! It was a trial..no entries only to get to know the blog owner’s options. I opened this space ( zaded ) on Feb 2.2006 ( Girls r good at remembering dates..hehehe) The tagline then “In between Dreams”is the name of Jack Johnson’s album. I got addicted to bloggin, writing about everything in sights. There was a time when I wondered if everything around me was wailing “Hey Daz Plz don’t write about us”. I scribbled, waiting rooms in hospitals, Paris Danda, Bus stops, on the Nepal Yatayat, cafes..just anywhere I got a place to sit down.

Blogging changed me . I turned Zade and messed up my life!! Took a too wild ride on the too wild side. Tried my skill in professional blogging when I wrote “ From NY to comrade” entry. Got overexcited. Spilled the beans. So much for my stance on staying incognito!! U could tell me “ Promise breaker Shoe maker”.

Talking of bloggers. I am the exception perhaps the rest are all too enigmatic. Hysh’s space is private. She’s a mysterious lady. Look at him, he is just unfathomable. Creates a conducive environment to ask questions but chooses to reply a selected few. Ah..and says I know too much of him..here is what I do: his job, age( that keeps changing..hahah), and sex (oh he is “HE”), he’s got a girlfren ( congratulations!) a nice nickname..

Oh God! I am overburdened with what I know of him!! ( Not intending to say I want to know more though..just stating the FACTS n FIGURES J)

Be blatant, be bold is my bloggin mantra. In the end just be you.

Now if you can’t even express what’s on your mind, what else can you DO???

HAPPY B’DAY REALM OF REASONING!!!

BLOGGIN ROCKS!

Generation What? by Pacifist Rebel

You name it. Got a name for our generation?

We who are neither here nor there. Its tough being the “youth”, its tougher being Asian youth. Stuck between preserving, conserving, adhering to the rock strong cultural, traditional elements, of our profoundly historic societies. And yet being pulled towards the speeding river of modernization and globalization. Conflict of the mind rampant, inescapable. What do we follow? What do we accept, reform and out rightly deny? Do we even have a choice?

In south Asian currently, insurgency and instability in Nepal, impending war and armed conflict in Sri Lanka, bitter political opposition in Bangladesh, the beginnings of a revolutionary opposition in Maldives and Pakistan, breakdown of judicial system, and regional power play in India, suppressive communism in China. And now, Iraq, Iran, Israel, Palestine, US…war looms…

Has anything changed from the time the Moguls went galawanting for war? When British colonized weaker regions? When Columbus set out to be a bad jinx for the Native Americans, when Africans woke up to the sounds of chains tied to their ankles?

Yes they’ve introduced the internet, MP3, lip gloss, super slim mobiles, MTV, porn. To keep the youth busy. We’re slaves, in a different way, neo-colonization is occurring, galawanting is done with Black hawks, precious resources stolen from Asia. And you and I, we are busy. Our minds are too occupied, so a damn tweety bird won’t come whispering to us, telling us to “Challenge the system”. So that wars, murders, killings, will seem like mere inspiration for movies, games and music videos. We are so preoccupied, We the youth. So obsessed with machines, so fascinated, so hypnotized.

There are more weapons on earth, probably more than there are humans – do we care? Imagine then the number of bullets. What for? We got a generation just entering this earth, the next generation, our childrens generation, who have already started their appearance, we need we have enough bullets to murder them too.

So that’s it isn’t it? We’re too busy murdering the nxt generation that we don’t see our generation getting murdered. Harsh language, harsher reality.

Oh there is an untouchable weapon too. Corruption. What can I say about corruption? You gotta give credit to it. It’s a stubborn tic that sticks to the flesh of society and multiplies rapidly, rotting the flesh it lives on. To eradicate corruption would be to cut away the rotten flesh. Painful eh? That’s why not many have tried it. Coz the system has a way of making the knife blunt before it touches the flesh. So do we conform to it? We the youth. We watch while it eats away. Politics has already become a slave to it, money fuels it. That’s corruption.

Lets watch and wait, we’re so good in doing that. That’s our job right? To watch and wait. While it eats up good governance, tears apart our judicial system, where “justice” becomes a distant wish and “truth” a lie in itself. Till it enters our organizations, institutions, colleges, school, families, individuals. Oh wait! Has it already done that? How swift!

Where was I? Where were you?

Or generations name – “the waiting generation”, “the generation that waited”, “The patient generation”, “the preoccupied generation”, “the busy generation”

You say you can’t change the way things are, the way things will always be, have you tried? Have you tried hard enough? Or have you too conformed to failure?

We shall be blamed for what we did, we shall also be blamed for what we did not do…..

Its easy for us too look away, when the gruesome sight is at a distance, but when it is staring you at the face would mean one of two things –

We are blind, slaves to darkness,
We’ve stopped caring.

I think we’ve learn to master both.

The gruesome image one day will not only stare at us, it will be us. Then who’s gonna look away?

Our generation – “the blind generation”, “the generation that couldn’t care less”, “the generation that failed”.

Take your pick