Does ten o’clock early morning ever feel this way? You wake up with a football hangover and a disdain for people: known unknown alike. But you have to leave. Go be a part of yet another group of people discussing conflict outside themselves. Who disappeared? Who got killed? Which class struggles against whom and who doesn’t…

‘Human rights came to see us once and nothing happened.’

Some people speak UN-ese. The others speak PHDese and all you would like to do is yell ‘Stop these moronic dealings with somebody else’s loved ones!’ Nice choice of word: loved one. It’s a moving term indeed. It doesn’t actually move the HR men and women but it makes it sound as though it does. An entire industry called human right built upon someone else’s loved ones. Are we all so altruistic? So concerned of what goes on in the hearts of the one whose loved one has died?

What is normality? Is it not forgetting that loved one and moving one. Yes,move on.Whatever and wherever that be. The dead couldn’t have been the breadwinner forever could they?

‘Ordinary people.’

‘Simple people don’t even know they want.’

Nice statements. Who are the simple ones? And just who is the complicated one? Does anyone ever know what they want?

Your mind is not ready for a discourse right now. Not when all these sparkling heads, watchful eyes, nodding heads are suffocating you. All these people suffocating you under a tree in a beautiful forest.

Drink some water. Calm down.

Is it the t-shirt talking? Is it the dark color bringing in dark memories to the one who wears them? Or is it because the ones with the darkest history rule the game? Or is it the high contrast on the computer screen darkening every picture on display? Is it just an inexplicable bout of memory at the wrong place: A random day among the millions you’ve lived so far where you wish to see anything but humans around you?

All these people who have the power to make you think, to feel, to influence and they vanish. Sometimes they vanish and other times banish themselves. And you keep being a part of some ‘elite’ discourse. Elite bullshit about somebody else’s life. So called intellectual texts continue to be read. Jargons, jargons and some more sophisticated terms….

Drink water. Calm down. Distract yourself.

Think not of the things that question your existence. Discuss development, be a part of some great feminist mafia, go do some pretentious work for the children, the women, the poor, the Dalits, network and keep being a part of the Nepanglish world. Don’t think of life beyond that. Kill the bird inside and get entangled in this mess. Don’t question life. Listen to the murmurings again. Focus on the red tika on the bald head. If memories could kill you’d be long dead.

Drink some water. Live.


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