Frozen palace and Raining revolution

I woke up with the rain. I had slept with the rain. I love rain, but too much of anything is unpleasant. But again how much is too much? For me if it rains for more than two days it’s too much of rain. And it has been raining for two days, hence unpleasant. Unnecessary, unwanted rain. Dropping anywhere it likes, making life more miserable, making our poor roads uglier, yellow-brownish muddy water camouflaging the puddles and inviting road mishaps…above all dropping memories, dreams, and hopes over our naïve heads. The music it produces…it’s a black magic, melting our hearts for the things that have always forced us to be stone-hearted beings.

The kids are at play. It’s a little more than noon, but the sun is nowhere near. Just like mice play when the cat goes away, children play when the sun rests beyond the clouds…huge black clouds, waiting for another natural attack. Surely, it will rain again, for everyone and everything wants to see the sufferers suffer a little more than before. And this tendency of rejoicing the suffer lengthens the war, natural or unnatural, royal or alliances. War is a war. Weapons are not counted. Stones or bullets. Weapons are weapons.

Blood is cheaper than water, it has become so lately. Only the color hasn’t changed. I wouldn’t wonder if one day something colorless oozes out of the heads of the freedom fighters. What is freedom? I tell you it’s not about forgetting our responsibilities. What are our responsibilities? Turn back and you will see them injured and infected, crawling to catch you up… those forgotten unseen lines to guide you through your reckless lives, mine too. Why are we making the price of our freedom reach the sky? Making the sky heavier, therefore it’s been raining for quite sometime now. Taste the rain. It’ s salty. Taste your blood. Mine is salty, so must be yours. It’s our blood pouring down to extinguish the anger, the hotness, the foolhardy to change the world overnight.

It’s been a fortnight; more than half a dozen subjects have lost their lives. Can your freedom bring them back? Can your stubbornness bring them back? And who are you to buy their death? Compensation, you call it. Why don’t you die and be compensated? Martyr, you baptize them. Why don’t you die and be baptized? When will you run out your storyline? When will you stop preaching the converted? When will you be a nice god-like man and be ceremonial? And when will you renounce the habit of making stories out of nothing? Creativity is good; write novels. Imagine the impossible and make a film. You will be awarded with Oscars, but please for God’s sake stop experimenting your bizarre imaginations on us, on those who stand for you when they need a good day rest, on those who come out of their houses hungry and sleepless to shout your rhythmic slogans. Why do they follow you? What makes them tolerate the heat, rain, bullets and lathis? Hope. A hope to live a better life, a hope to live a happy life, a hope to walk without being checked, a hope to speak what they want, a hope to see all the hopes come true. But will they? Come true?

Where do I stand? I am one of the confused youths of this nation, a little scared, a little curious, a little hopeful-bewildered by the roaring ocean of uncountable heads which is flowing furiously bursting, shortening and breaking the dams, which were once, built virtually everywhere to keep the mass at bay.

This time around after a long time, it seems, the monsoon has arrived pretty sooner.

Kamlesh Pandey

I wonder what would I say if anyone asked me why I always write ‘bout RAIN!



Is there anything more enigmatic than rain and death?

No logical answer required!



  1. ” Compensation, you call it.” … indeed ….. how much money per head per person, you politicians ?? what is a person’s life worth (in monetary terms)….. one who died while fighting for “hope”, hope that you have squashed in the past, and could very well do so again ………

    eeerrrrr …. laughter and … life ?!?!?
    i dun know, NOT a logical answer !

    Published By (no name) ( – April 26 11:28 PM

  2. Rain falling down on streets, washing away everything, the dirt, the filth, the pollution ,the smog. Also washing away the blood spilt on the streets, the remenant chemicals of tear gas shells, cordite, dust from broken bricks. Rainwater collecting on little puddles on streets, tea colored rainwater, as if special chiya that costs more than the regular chiya, only it is cold.

    But on a more personal level, I loved the rainy season on KTM. It does wash away everything. Also goves a respite from the opressive heat. And I just love it when it rains all day and suddenly stops in the evening, when the sun sets. The colors is just fabulous then, and the air is crisp and clean. You could just feel your heart elate.

    It used to be even better in Dhulikhel, clouds would come out from nowhere and a constant drizzle would start or it would get foggy. And we’d say “weather le kya challenge gareko!!” and hehehe go to Harati for a drink or maybe to Newa Kitchen (Lurey would remember). Have a “Khaja” consits of Choyela, bhatmas, chiura, golbhedako achar and maybe a half a plate of momo. Drink endless rounds of beer, whiskey, vodka whatver we could afford. I just have fond memories of rain back home.

    Now to the core of the writing.” Hope”, Kamlesh writes, people faced all the guns, boots, batons, teargas because they had hope that things could change for the better. And well, we can hope that id does change. Confused, you bet we are all confused, but we are no longer “subjects”, and maybe the “son” of god will stay quitely on his palace, like all gods in temples, stay impassive and stay away from the affairs of us mortals. If that happens, well something was achieved. Was it worth it? Probably not for the people who dies, who lost sons, daughters, fathers, mothers , brothers and sisters. Probably not for those who lost an eye, limbs, got beaten so severely that they suffered a concussion, lost their mind. But then again, it is for the rest of us to make it worth for them. Compensation? The money that the Netaji provides? The money that the “son” of god provides? Probably just the dignity to live as a free people is enough.

    I received an email a couple of days ago that asked “who are all these people protesting? no one I know is on the streets, does that mean that I am a minority in my own country?” – A lot of answers were provided to that question, a lot of “intellectual answers” that said that people need to be educated, look at the United States and Japan, educated people do not go about throwing stones, no one I know is on the streets, no one from my family is on the streets, the people in the protests are maobadis from outside Kathmandu, 80% of the crowd is maobadis, people are coerced, Nepal is going down the drain, blah this, blah that.

    And to them I say, fuck you morons, I know a lot of fine yound poeple like zaded and her friends are on the streets. Theyre still figting for a better Nepal. Your moronic fancy sounding degrees are wasted if you cannot even decide why the whole fiasco occured. And yes you have become a fucking minority in your own country, and do you know why? Because you are poor in your own mind because of your precious “phoren” degree, so you can take your intellectualism and stuff it up your ass. 😉 Sorry for the French, but well hehehe I am from the streets………..

    Published By twaaks ( – April 27 1:51 AM

  3. Hey

    Kamlesh’s article on rain is really beautiful. I simply loved it!!!!


    Published By (no name) – April 29 4:56 PM

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