When the order to move on comes, the warrior looks at all the friends he has made during the time that he followed the path. He taught some to hear the bells of a drowned temple; he told others stories around the fire.
The heart is sad, but he knows that his sword is sacred and that he must obey the orders of the One to whom he offered to his struggle.
Then the warrior thanks his traveling companions, takes a deep breath and continues on, laden with memories of an unforgettable journey.
Manual of the Warrior of light by Paulo Coelho
Archive for May, 2007
The TV should have been my preoccupation. But its not. The stereo then but amazingly it is not either. The FMs have nothing interesting at this time of the day which is 3:50 pm in my table clock. Maybe they do but I don’t know because I am not supposed to be home at this time of the day. I had a class to attend so I took the bus. Got a seat, lucky me! And the route changed from Tinkune, the hell with these rallies. I spent thirty minutes suffocating in the bus because of the same while coming home from college in the morning and now the bus is supposed to discover a new route to Ratnapark! I wasn’t angry then, just certain that I would reach my destination on time. Oh the optimistic me! So the bus headed towards Gaushala. The road to Purano Baneshwor was blocked. However the brave conductor removed the hurdle and the bus set rolling. I was glad. But as we reached the P.B Chowk the traffic policeman asked the driver to head to New Baneshwor rather than allowing it to take the Maitidevi route to Ratnapark. My temperature was on the rise. It kept escalating until we reached Baneshwor and I could take no more when the traffic there directed the bus back to the same goddamn route! What the …..! So, the passengers yelled but of no avail. I cursed my fate and got off the bus. Got on another and headed back home. An hour of journey to nowhere. An utter waste of time.
That’s life. That is exactly what it is like to live in the capital of this country. Ah..I just want to get this frustrating experience out of my system.
Chalega Mentality. That’s the Nepalese way of doing things. Good roads-chalega, bad traffic-chalega, good grades-chalega, bad grades-tyo pani chalega. We’ve gotten used to all bad things in life. And increased our We live through the good and through the bad. Change? You ask us. We’ll all yell YEAH! We want Change. But the change in reality is nothing more than the change in “Chalege” circumstances we face.You might differ, but I know you not. You might be yelling “No more Chalega, I don’t want to put up with this crappy system anymore” but you are somewhere unseen, unheard probably only doing that in the solitude of your room, in the safe territories of your mind.
Everyday is the same. Someday I walk out of home for college and it is the Araniko Highway closure because some driver was beaten up. The other day I am in Bagbazar and am informed this is the last bus back, no more when the last is literally exploding with people. The buses block the highway so what we walk on through the “Nali”. Oh, we’ve got soo many alternatives. So everything Chalega. I think we are immune to any goddamn bandas now, we are all comfortably numb to everything around us. That’s life. This is just enough of a change our so called Mahan Janaandolan 2 has brought. This is enough for me atleast to want anymore out of LOKTANTRA.
Wasn’t listening to this song. But it was being repeatedly played in my head. Especially these “chalu” lines. And God knows why! But I like the “Bal matlab” attitude here: “We just don’t care…..
“Let’s go to the park
I wanna kiss u underneath the stars
Maybe we’ll go too far
We just don’t care
We just don’t care
We just don’t care………
We were on the way to Bridim. It is three hours walk from Syafrubesi. You can take your time and make it four/five, your wish, your pace. There were five or six people before me. Way ahead. I called out to her in the middle of the journey but received no answer. “Keti pakkai Tethrathum kai raiche” I concluded. Ha ha ha And as the walk progressed I was convinced of my own “hard-core-hilly-origins” too! Genetic, I concluded! The rest were at and equal distance behind me. I walked somewhere in between the two groups, in an unusual route feeling somewhat lost but good. Tiring journey though, gulped down bottles and bottles of water and was sweating like a pig obviously ( a short walk in KTM turns my face into a dark red tomato, so you can picturize my color status then!). The black t-shirt was not helping at all. On the way I picked up two rhododendrons!! Yes, I was finally able to accomplish my own “Afno laligurans afain tipaun” Aviyan.
Maile affain tipeko ho ke! dui ota! yeah he he he