जीवन, कथाबाट कथासम्म

जीवन,

कथाबाट कथासम्म। 

भन्नु धेरै भन्न नसकिने धेरै 

सोच धेरै सपना धेरै 

इनिहरु कै बिचमा बाँच्दै गर्दा को जीवन 

कथाबाट कथासम्म 

हिजो मात्रै थियो सबै जना मिलि हासी खुसि समय बिताएको , अनि आज वहाँ हुनु हुदैन।  सपना जस्तै बिलिन हुनु भयो।  बाकि छ त केवल कथा हरु।  ति धेरै कथा हरु मध्येको एउटा कथा म सानो हुँदाको -

६/७ वर्ष कि थिए हुला म आमा बिरामी भएको हुँदा। त्यो कमुलो मनमा खै कहाँबाट यस्तो आएछ कि आमालाई केहि भए म नि बाच्ने छैन यो संसारमा। आमा बिना केहि छैन यो जीवनमा।  बस् वहाँ हुनु पर्यो अथवा जीवन केहि छैन।  वहालाई सन्चो भयो अनि जीवन पहिले जसरि बढ्दै गयो।  विभिन्न आरोह अवरोह र थप कथाहरु।  यिनी कथाहरु बुन्दा बुन्दै सकियो हाम्रो हजुरआमा को कथा। यो पालि त्यो सानी कन्चनले सोचेको जस्तो यो ठुली कन्चन जान सकिन वहाँ संग, न जान सकी वहाँको छेउमा नै। 

45 days of her departure. Of many things there came a time when we wished she got better and not suffer. And that was the time for the first time in life I realized that in life there comes a time when "not suffer" means "not live" i.e. "leave the life". Such a weird feeling. Such a weird experience. And from far all I could do was look at things helplessly. Cry out aloud or in silence. Only to find my sisters and mom comforting from far. Letting me be there. Be in the last rituals. Ankit giving me that space of mine and comforting and Aarvik crying with me. Times were sad. Times are sad. But we live. That was that. अनि यो कथा सकियो।  र पछाडी छोडी दियो बाकि कथा। अनि नया कथा बुन्ने साहस र धैर्यता।

जीवन,

यो कथाबाट त्यो कथासम्म

#Metta !

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Writing is therapeutic. Right?

So here starts the journey of writing, writing again. A and I have agreed to write. Write something each day? Maybe for at least an hour or lesser, but we will write. For how long don't know yet, but I feel we will write something. Writing in itself gives me life, makes me liberated, and makes me feel good. The other day my counselor was asking me, what do you do for self care? I said I listen to music, dance, move around...I forgot to say I write, why? Because I am not writing as much as I would otherwise. Writing mostly is therapeutic for me. It acts as a soothing balance. But still I have been skipping writing. Ask me why? and I won't be able to tell. If we keep writing something each day, maybe I would be able to tell some more. After I would finish this maybe I would be able to tell some more too. But yeah! one thing for sure is writing is such a wonderful feeling. Makes the heart go glee. It's a 1 hour for us to write and the fondfulness has already grown, hands don't stop and I am keeping typing. I can hear A typing too (he should be feeling good too? Maybe? Maybe not? We will know in a while :-))!

I like using a picture when I write something. A picture adds some feel in the write, it's a pretty distraction too I agree. Because when I started searching for a picture for this blog, I used up some moments of my writing- though I found a beautiful picture :-)! A girl sitting in the jungle, by the side of the river and writing. How good is the feeling? How so good? I can't tell. Such a pure feeling. Even the thought makes me so happy. Nature is such a good feeling. These are the things of self care right?

Writing is therapeutic...right? :-)

I found a good quote by Oscar Wilde on self-care "to love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." So rightly said. So nicely said. Many times when we care for whole the world (which we think we do) we forget loving ourselves some more each day. And we need loving ourselves the most each day. Maybe someone telling us they love us, care for us-will make us feel good and loved (it mostly does). Why is there then a dearth of love for ourselves? Why we fear loving ourselves some more? And doing all the good we can do to ourselves?  Why do we step a bit back when it comes to us? Why self-care, self-love is hard even though we never get tired of telling, hey you-I love you. Why can't we take the same approach for ourselves and tell ourselves," hey me! I love you. I love you so much that my life would be nothing without you." This would have given such a nice feeling and helped us grow some more too right?

Dear me,

Please love yourself a bit more. Some more from today.

Yours,
Me

Metta!!
Image: Theodora Goss

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The Legend of Lakshmi Prasad: A Review!

The book :-)! PC: @KanchanOjha

After Pyjamas are Forgiving and Matilda , The Legend of Lakshmi Prasad stands to be the third book I finish this year. Thanks to @TwinkleKhanna who binds with her writes. A continuous three hours of sitting and the book was done. This is what I like about the book;

The Legend of Lakshmi Prasad is a compilation of four different stories from India. There's disparity in all the four stories, with an only similarity that each story ends with a strong message. 

The first story starts with "The Legend of Lakshmi Prasad." This is the story of the vibrant Lakshmi Prasad-a girl who changed the view of the village at how they perceived girls. The metamorphosis of a girl child from burden to celebration is the limelight of the story. The spotlight for me remains the ritual of planting trees under girls name.

Second story is of sixty-eight-year-old Noni Appa in "Salaam Noni Appa" where the author portrays elderly life. The difficulties and challenges of elderly life is versed well in the story. The complications of relations and what matters to us at the end adds to the flavor. 

Independent Elisa in "If the Weather Permits" holds the burden of the societal norms as the keepsake. There's a tussle between absurd norms and a glee life-where Elisa fights for her covets, failing each time. 

Finally Bablu Kewat plays "The Sanitary Man from a Sacred Land". He fights for giving women a hygienic and comfortable life by introducing cheap sanitary pads to the poorest of females. Amidst this fight he was left alone, ostracized and abandoned by family and peers. Yet with a narrow escape he conquered. A story of self-defiance, struggle and victory also based on the true story of Arunachalam Murunganantham.

From fluttering in the paddy fields to driving a dented white fiat and from becoming a carefree young one to an ambitious one, the author binds you to her write with a great visual detail. I give a 3.5 ***  

Happy Reading :-)!

Also find the review @GoodReads

Metta !!

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कोठा नं. ५

आर्जितलाई आज बिहानैदेखि नै छटपटी भइरहेको थियो । यो एक घन्टामा कति गिलास पानी भ्याइसक्यो, हिसाबकिताब नै छैन । छिनछिनमा फोन हेथ्र्यो, अस्पतालको ग्यालरीमा खै के चहार्दै हिड्थ्यो । र छिनछिनमा उसका आँखा त्यही कोठा नं. ५ मा गएर अड्किन्थे ।

समितालाई त्यस कोठाभित्र लगेको त एक घन्टा मात्रै भएको थियो । तर, उसलाई लाग्थ्यो जुनी नै बितिसक्यो कि । हस्याङफस्याङ गर्दै नर्सहरू यताउता गरेको हेथ्र्यो । बस टोलाउँथ्यो । सोध्न खोज्थ्यो । के भयो भन्न खोज्थ्यो । तर, नर्सहरूले ‘सर, हजुर बाहिर बस्दै गर्नुस्’ भनेर टारी दिन्थे ।
केही मिनेटको अन्तरालमा नर्सले भित्रैबाट औषधिको लिस्ट थमाइदिन्थिन् । अनि, ऊ फार्मेसीबाहिर औषधि लिने लामो लाममा पालो कुथ्र्यो । र, चिटचिट पसिना बगाउँदै औषधि बोकेर उही कोठा नं. ५ तर्फ दगुथ्र्यो । यसरी पर्खिंदापर्खिंदै, दगुर्दादगुर्दै दुई, तीन, चार घन्टा व्यतित भए ।

अँध्यारो नि भैसकेछ । समितालाई अप्रेसन थिएटरभित्र लगेको १२औँं घन्टामा बल्ल नर्सले बाहिर निस्केर भनिन्, ‘हजुरहरूलाई बधाई छ, पेसियन्ट खतराभन्दा बाहिर हुनुहुन्छ । अब अत्तालिनुपर्दैन ।’ आर्जितको रोकिइसकेको मुटु बल्ल धड्किएजस्तो भयो ।

‘समितालाई हेर्न सकिन्छ ?’ उसले अप्ठ्यारोे मानेरै सोध्यो । नर्सले फेरि रोक्छिन् कि भन्ने डरले उसलाई सार्है गाह्रो भएको थियोे । ‘एकैछिनमा वहाँलाई पस्ट–अपमा ल्याउँछौँ । अनि, तपाईंले भेट्न पाइहाल्नुहुन्छ नि ।’ निन्याउरो भइरहेको आर्जित झन्डै खुसीले उफ्रिएन ।

आफ्नी प्रियलाई यति गाह्रो पछि हेर्न पाउने खुसीले मात्रै उसलाई फुरुंग बना’को थियो । ‘समितालाई होस् त आएको छैन होला तर, मलाई देखेपछि उसलाई यत्तिकै सन्चो भइहाल्छ’ आर्जितले मनमनै सोच्यो । त्यसमा विश्वस्त नै थियो । सोच्दा सोच्दै अलिकति रोमाञ्चित पनि भयो ।

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‘ओइ आर्जित, तिमीलाई देखेर त म आजित नै भइसकेँ । कतिचोटी भन्नु के मेरो एनाटोमीको किताब ल्याइदेऊ । भोलि मेरो नि टेस्ट छ, होइन !’ आर्जितको मुखमा रोटी कोचार्दै समिताले कराइन् । उनी आर्जितलाई आजित भन्थिन् । ऊ फिस्स हाँस्दै रोटी चपाइरह्यो । केही बोलेन । दुवैजना टिचिङ हस्पिटलको जर्नल वार्डबाट भरखर फर्किएका थिए, क्यान्टिनमा ।

सिनिअर डा.तीर्थसँगको १० बजेको राउन्डमा भर्ना भएका पेसिएन्टहरूको किड्नीको हिस्ट्रीबारे टिपोट गरेका थिए, दुवैले । ११ बजेदेखि कक्षा सुरु हुन्थ्यो । र, यहीबीच समय मिलाएर खाना नि खानुपथ्र्यो । आर्जित केही नबोलेपछि समिताको पारो झन तात्यो ।

आफ्नो रिस पोखेर क्यान्टिनबाट निस्किइन्, खाना नि नखाएरै । आर्जितले फेरि आज किताब ल्याउन बिर्सिएको थियो । सामिता हिँडेपछि उसले पनि अर्को गास मुखमा हालेन । लुखुरलुखुर उनकै पछिपछि हिँड्यो ।

डा.तीर्थ ग्यालरीतिर आएको देखेपछि आर्जितको एकाग्रता भंग भयो । पुरानो दृश्य त्यसै ओझेल प¥यो । दुवै हातले आँखा मिचमाच गरेर कपाल मिलायो । डा.तीर्थ नजिकै पुग्दा खुसीका आँसु झन्डै झरेनन् । डाक्टरको खुट्टा नै ढोग्यो । ‘लौ, के गरेको बाबु तिमीले ?’ डा.तीर्थले अलि पछाडि सर्दै भन्यो ।

‘डाक्टर भगवान हो भन्थे, हजुर त्यसै भएर आउनुभयो, आज । हजुर नभएको भए अहिलेसम्म के भइसक्थ्यो । म कल्पना नि गर्न सक्दिन्’ धेरै बेरदेखि रोकेको आँसु खोलाको बाँध फुटेजसरी फुट्यो र भरर झ-यो ।

‘पिर गर्नुपर्दैन, आर्जित । समिता अहिले खतराभन्दा बाहिर छिन् । समितालाई यस्तो रेअर किसिमको किड्नी डिजिज लाग्ला भनेर कसले सोचेको थ्यो होला र ! ह्वेन आई कन्सल्टेड विथ माई प्रोफेसर्स फ्रम द हावर्ड मेडिकल स्कुल दे वेअर सक्ड लाइक एनिथिङ टू । सी ह्याज अ रेअर जेनेटिक डिस्अर्डर अफ द किड्नी ह्विच इज हार्ड्ली क्युरेबल ।’

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‘हामी कहिले बिहे गर्ने भयौँ, समिता ?’ आर्जितले कोकको चुस्की लिँदै सोध्यो । पसिनाले निथ्रुक्क भएकी समिता केही नबोली घटघट कोक पिउन थालिन् । बोत्तल रित्तिनै लाग्दा बल्ल लामो सास फेरिन् । ‘तिमी मलाई हरेक कुरामा कति आजित पारिराख्छौ के आर्जित ? गरम्ला नि बिस्तारै । टेक अ चिलपिल म्यान’ समिता फुसफुसाइन् ।

उनी आर्जितलाई आजित भन्थिन् । र, उसलाई आजित बनाउन पनि कुनै कसर बाँकी छोड्थिनन् । ‘भोलि हाम्रो ग्राजुएसन डे । वी गोटा डिसाइड नाउ समिता । आई ह्याभ अ ह्युज फेम्ली प्रेसर । आई कान्ट स्टेन्ड वियोन्ड दिस एन्ड मोस्ट इम्पोटेन्टली, आई लभ यु’ आर्जितले एकै सासमा सबै कुरा ओकल्यो । तर, समिता टस न मस भइन् । चुपचाप कोकको बोतल मुखमा लगाइन् । र, त्यो कोकाको अन्तिम बुँद नि भ्याइन् । आर्जित एकहोरो हेरिरह्यो ।

यतिवेला पनि आर्जितले बोल्न खोज्यो । तर, बोल्न सकेन । एकहोरो समितालाई नियाली रह्यो । पस्ट–अप रुमको बेडमा सुतिरहेकी समितालाई देख्नासाथ नै आर्जितको मुटुले ढुकढुक गर्न छोडेको थियो । अस्पताल आएदेखि यो हजारौँपटक थियो होला, आर्जितलाई मुटुले साथ नदिएको । पस्ट–अपमा नल्याउँदासम्म नदेखेर उसको मन कमजोर भएको थियो, अहिले हरेकपटक देख्दा अझ बढी कमजोर हुँदैथ्नयो ।

आर्जितले घडी हे-यो । समितालाई होश आउने वेला भइसकेको थियो । ‘कुनै वेला नि उठिछिन् होला’ भन्ने सोचेर कुरी राखेको थियो । त्यसै वेला कोही आएको जस्तो पदचाप सुन्यो । पछाडि फर्केर हेर्दा डा.तीर्थ रहेछन् । डा.तीर्थकी पनि त प्रिय विद्यार्थी बनिरहिन्, समिता, सधैँ । पढाइ मात्रै होइन, हरेक चिजमा अब्बल, मृदुभाषी र साह्रै ज्ञानी जो थिइन् ।

‘सर, मैले हाम्रो देशमा रहेका विभिन्न रोगसँग लड्नलाई नै डाक्टरी पढेकी हुँ । हजुरले मलाई राम्रोसँग पढ्न जहिल्यै सहयोग गर्नुपर्छ है’, एमबिबिएस पढ्न भर्खर सुरु गरेकी एउटी फुच्चीको यस्तो कुरा सुन्दा दंग परेका थिए, डा.तीर्थ ।

त्यसपछि एमडी आफ्नै सुपरभिजनमा गराएर किड्नी विशेषज्ञ बनाउन कुनै कमी राखेका थिएनन् पनि । विधिको विडम्बना नि कस्तो ! त्यही समिता अरूको किड्नीको उपचार गर्दागर्दै किड्नीको नै असाध्यै ठूलो रोगबाट पीडित बनिन् । पीडित पनि यति कि अहिले उनको जीवन नै दोसाँधमा छ ।

००००

बिहेको पर्सिपल्ट नै हस्पिटलको डिउटी भ्याउन तयार भएका थिए, आर्जित र समिता । बिहेमा आएका पाहुना आमाको जिम्मा लगाएर बिहानै निस्केका थिए । त्यसयताका दिन, महिना र वर्ष कसरी बिते पत्तै पाएनन्, उनीहरूले । यति व्यस्त थिए कि घरबाट आउँदा र राति फर्किंदासम्मको दिनचर्याका बारेमा ब्रेकफास्ट टेबुलमै छलफल गर्थे । दुवैजना आफ्नो विशेषज्ञताले ख्याति कमाइरहेका थिए ।

काठमाडौँ मेडिकल कलेजको नेफ्रोलोजी विभागको जिम्मा हालसाल नै समिताले पाएकी थिइन् । र, इन्डोक्राइनोलोजी विभागको हेड त आर्जित अलि अगाडि नै भइसकेको थियो । व्यस्तता दिनदिनै बढ्दै थियो र बढ्ने क्रममा थिए, सुनौला सपना ।जुन प्रेमिल जोडीले देखेका थिए, सँगै कलेज पढ्दादेखि नै ।

एक दिन घर फर्किंदै गर्दा कुन्नी के सोचेर हो, समिता बोलिन्, ‘मलाई तीर्थ सरजस्तै बन्नु छ, आजित । एकदमै फ्ललेस ।’ आर्जित चुपचाप हेरि मात्रै रह्यो । केही बोलेन । फेरि बडो अनुग्रह गर्दै समिताले सोधिन्, ‘डू यू थिन्क आई क्यान बी लाइक द्याट ?’

पुलुक्क समितालाई फर्केर हे¥यो । र, काँधमा चिउँडो अड्याएर कानेखुसी शैलीमा बोल्यो, ‘यू आर द बेस्ट स्विटहर्ट एन्ड यू विल बी द बेस्ट अल्वेज ।’अहिले पस्ट–अप बेडमा समिता अक्सिजन मास्कको सहयोगमा पूरै शरीर हल्लिने गरी सास फेर्दै थिइन् ।

दाहिने छेउमा उनै डा.तीर्थ थिए, चुपचाप । बायाँतिर आर्जित । समिताको अनुहार दायाँतिर ढल्किएको थियो । समिताले बिस्तारै आँखा खोलिन् । डा.तीर्थको अनुहार खुसीले उज्यालियो । बिस्तारै बायाँतिर टाउको घुमाइन् । पुलुक्क आर्जितलाई हेरिन् । ऊ पनि मुस्कुरायो । र, क्यानुला रोपिएको हातमा बिस्तारै थपथपायो । समिताले डा.तीर्थतिर टाउको घुमाइन् ।

र, यतिवेला आर्जितलाई समिताले उही प्रश्न सोधेजस्तो लाग्यो, ‘डू यू थिन्क आई क्यान बी लाइक द्याट ?’आर्जितको बोलि फुटेन । तुरुक्क आँशु चुहिए ।

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प्रकाशित : http://www.nayapatrikadaily.com/2018/07/07/69291/
मिति : २३ असार २०७५ 

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Poising a thought !

Sometimes so many thoughts move around in mind that you can't just quieten them. Some of those thoughts got poised and spilled over here.

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*Take I*

My thoughts moved on from the age thing.

What difference does it make when I say am 50 years old or 40 years old or 30 years old or  20 years old?

Is my way of behaving garnered by my age. The day when I will reach 40 should it be different then the way I behaved when I was 20. Do I really need to change that far? Can I not behave like a teenager when am 40? Can I not wear what I want to wear when am 45? Do I need to speak very much differently when am 50? Do I need to put on a severe serious coat "a mukhauta" over my face to be me? Why won't I be able to be me when I am me-myself? Why would I need to move on with the certain societal norms when I want to be me?

Why should I be judged by my age?

----

*Thoughts*

While I pose these questions I get my answer too. 

Age is just a number garnered by our thought. We tend to believe and make that belief such profoundly integrated within our system that we want ourselves nurtured in a wrong way with the wrong and false beliefs. 

I would say no! We do not need to be guarded by the false belief of guarding ourselves by age, profession, seniority, hierarchy etc. BE YOU and it's as simple as that.

For now I would like to end my note with this video "Khat"

----

*Wrapping up*

I felt like,
*poising a thought*
The thoughts,
which can always fly
Still I felt like,
Poising a thought !

PS: I want to write something more on this topic. May be someday I say something more profound.
Until then let me be older :-)!

Metta!
Video courtesy: Emotional.

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She-my friend (The "HALTED" story)

14^th March, 2015 

After freshening up early in the morning, I directly went to my laptop. I had some quick emails to make as I was busy preparing for a trip starting the next day. It was a week long trip where I was to have limited access to email. With a cup of tea I sat before the screen and started my e-day. As I was going through the regular mails, a subject line drew my attention. It was written in bold letters 'HALTED'. This was a surprising 'subject' in an email from Preeya. Though she had had different complains at different point of time but this was more of a different subject line in her series of emails.  I somehow felt something was bothering her more this time, but still couldn't make out what. As I opened the mail my thoughts flew to her place;

Dear Suman,

I just wanted to tell you that the thoughts wanted to halt for sometime. They have had enough of battles with themselves...................................Preeya!

"This was the end of a brilliant piece of email," a thought swirled in my mind and vanished itself. I had seen her growing and glowing within different spheres and also witnessed that each day had been a battle for her but she was not the kind of person who would surrender. I never thought this word existed in her dictionary. But there she came with the word "Halted". I tried to figure out the meaning of this word. I typed "define halted" in a new tab and google came up with the option:

The word 'stop' drew my attention. "She wanted to 'stop'--but why??," I asked myself. 

"What was the reason of her stoppage? 

Why does she want to stop in the middle of nowhere?

Why such an email?

What has been bothering her so much?"

Questions overflooded me. I couldn't work anymore, I felt the need to speak to her. I called her immediately. In my 5th attempt she picked up the phone. 

"Hello," a timid voice spoke up from the other end. 

"Hey," was my brief say and immediately I flooded her with my questions. All the 5W1H were waiting for her.

"I do not have any answer for now Suman," she said. But she forgot it was me- the one with whom she cannot hide a word. 

"What happened Preeya, tell na," I said in a loving tone. She sounded melted.

"I don't find ways Suman, I feel helpless--with no way out. 

I feel I am creating delusions.

I feel possessive.

I feel obsessed.

I feel loved and thereby feel unloved.

I feel I donot have much time, I feel the urge to do something and suddenly my interest withers off. 

It is such a dilemma I am in, I can't tell,' she started crying.

I could feel all the pain in her voice. I knew her restlessness. I knew what she was going through, still I wanted to hear more from her. "Keep going," I said slowly.

She sulked her cries and added,"I want to fly Suman.

I just don't want to exist, I want to get existenceless.

I do not want to be there in the known world.

I want to dwell in an unknown world at many times. I have not slept for days just thinking this," she said in a quivering tone again.

I couldn't see her in pains anymore. I said,"Preeya, have you seen the dusk end?" I paused.

"Have you seen the dawn rise?

Have you felt the blowing breeze?"

She was quiet.

I added again,"everything is existential, everything has it's value. Time flows like the sand in hand. None of us can ever stop it. Can never break-through. 

You feel possessive-quite natural, no worries dear.

What you can do is do your part. You can love-but can't make others love.

Sing, dance, read, write, just ENJOY -- all your interests will be back. Remember there's an end to everything. 'Everything passes--as everything else does.' So let the unwanted ones pass and the wanted ones come on track. Stay happy dear. Happiness is the ultimate charm of life, so be happy." 

There was silence all around. I couldn't hear anything more. I could hear the silent snores in the phone. I felt how tired she was from past few days which came up as the snoring song. After listening to her sleeps, contentedly I put the phone down and got busy for the days' tasks.

15^th March, 2015

Before leaving the town I checked my email briskly, this might be the last email checking for the rest of the week I thought. Under a pile of emails I was astonished to see the subject line ":-)". I couldn't help my smile and curiosity and opened up the email in a haste.

Dear Suman,

I feel happy. I see hope. Hope for today. Hope for tomorrow. More when you come back. I love you dear friend. Thank you for being there............................Preeya :-)!

I felt happy. Relaxed! The smile changed it's face value in my face.

Driver dai had started blowing horn at my door. I hurriedly closed the laptop, ran downstairs towards the door-smiling this time.

Metta!

Image courtesy: Google Images.

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Illusions !

I wrote about the "Amazing World of Words" once. The world is literally an amazing place and words rules all over-I reiterate again. As I sit down to write this blog today, I remember I was told-I have been lazy in writing. I do not write any piece at all. May be yeas, that was how things have been moving. As I say this I remember another blog of mine where I tell about the difficulties I face while writing. And with these says of mine I would like to borrow the following words of Richard Bach from his famous book "Illusions". 

"It was a question I heard more than once, after

Jonathan Seagull was published. “What are you

going to write next, Richard? After Jonathan, what?”

I answered then that I didn’t have to write anything

next, not a word, and that all my books together said everything

that I had asked them to say. Having starved for a

while, the car repossessed and that sort of thing, it was fun

not to have to work to midnights.

Still, every summer or so I took my antique biplane

out into the green-meadow seas of midwest America, flew

passengers for three-dollar rides and began to feel an old

tension again - there was something left to say, and I

hadn’t said it.

I do not enjoy writing at all. If I can turn my back on an

idea, out there in the dark, if I can avoid opening the door to

it, I won’t even reach for a pencil.

But once in a while there’s a great dynamite-burst of

flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall

and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the

throat and gently says, “I will not let you go until you set

me, in words, on paper.” That’s how I met Illusions."

This was how Bach met his great write "Illusions". My "Illusion" is yet to come :-)!

Metta ! 

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She-my friend (the long distance talks) !

"Oie, k chha khabar," Suman messaged her from the other end. Though miles away they were always together and a word from Suman was her solace.

"Good," was her brief reply.

"How's life going on? Been long we have chatted, I was busy I must admit. So tell me how are things running at your end,"Suman asked it all in a sentence.   

" :-)," was her reply.

":-)," Suman smiled back. "Come, lets Skype," she added.

After a brief silence she started,"I was just searching for words Suman, where do I start from. It sometime just feels sadder knowing the fact that some things are not for you and may be then again you are longing for it. Though you know it was never for you but still the craving was there. The craving was even not for anything more, just that things do not dissemble or may be I do not know what." Preeya said in a flawed tone.

Preeya seemed depressed. Suman exactly knew the feelings that was flowing inside her. That was she, who could exactly depict the thought flows of Preeya, exactly knew what she was going through, exactly could relate things. She could sonder and ponder at the same time.

"Keep saying," was her say.

Preeya quietened for sometime, neither did she speak nor messaged. After sometime the message box blinked up. "Suman, may be I can't depict my says properly. May be I am a bad communicator, people do not understand me or moreover I do not let people understand me and then the dispute rises up."

Suman was smiling at the other end and typed,"and then??"

"And then I ruin up every thing--every piece of thing exactly," she spoke. "I act damn weird at times. May be I am very possessive at times and that exactly shows in my actions. I do not actually mean it but that happens time and then and result is my complains of self at your place. I don't want things as such Suman. I am literally tired," Preeya said sadly. "Everyday I try doing things well from my end and then I end up ruining things. I am off taking things as such. I want peace."

Suman knew what she was feeling and going through. She did not want to speak anything more today cause she knew even words were not going to heal her for the day. The pain was more severe which Preeya was going for the day. She just sent her a photo showing two trees and typed on the screen,"be we be farther as shown in the pic yet we will always be as near as they could be captured in a picture. Don't you worry Preeya, I am always there for you."

Far-yet near !

Tears flew down Preeya's eyes and they were tears of joy after the cloud of painful thoughts flew out of her. She gave a faint smile and send back a smiley," :-) I love you Suman," was what she could reiterate.

Metta !

Image: Kanchan

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Of Books and Reads !

There are phases in life when you happen to like some books a lot and then years later when you look back and turn over the same pages you don't find them as interesting as it used to be. As worthy as it was back then, but still, you have some feelings for the book-for the read you made. In this write I felt like talking about my love for books; when and how it started and where is it going these days.

My book love started back in the school days where reading stories from text books used to be fun. After finishing my own class reads, I used to finish up all the stories from my elder sister's English and Nepali text books. In addition to these there was a English supplemetary book for our school reads which used to be a short story book. All these instances geared up my love for the books.

Daniel Defoe was the first writer I read back in class 1 with "Robinson Crusoe" crowned up as the first novel. I have faint memories of Johann David Wyss with "The Swiss Family Robinson" in Class 2. I read more of Mark Twain in the latter classes with "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" and "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn". And then it was Sir William Shakespeare with "The tales from Shakespeare" which was a compilation of the tales by Shakespeare compiled by Charles Lamb and Mary Lamb. I read the "Geeta" and "Mahabharat" back then in my high school days.

At the same time back at home we used to read "comics" which kept on increasing the fascination for another genre of book. Chacha Chaudhary, Bhokal, Super Commando Dhruva, Naagraj, Pinky, Channi Chachi, Raman, Bankelal, Doga, Fantom, Mandrake used to add up the attraction always. Along with them there were monthly story books Nandan, Nanhe Samrat, Champak and others which were the added attractions. There always used to be chunk of books in both Nepali and Hindi back at home which always fascinated me. 

While I started reading the second genre of novels it started with Arundhati Roy's "The god of small things", Ayn Rand's "The fountainhead", Leo Tolstoy's "Anna Karenina". I read couple of Sidney Sheldon as well. Books kept on adding up and so on added were the reads.

In the later days, I liked Paulo Coelho after reading "The Alchemist". The Alchemist is one of its kind. It has impressed me in many ways. I was so impressed by the author the then that I immediately bought and read "By the river Piedra I sat and wept"-I liked the read. But then there was "Brida" and "Eleven minutes" which I started and never finished. Albeit there are many other reads which I have never been able to complete after starting but regarding these two reads they didn't fascinate me anytime, so I just stopped reading them. Lately I had a discussion with a friend of mine who was telling Paulo Coelho is such a lousy writer who writes of things and talks of fantasies and a dream world which never exists. I could not convince him with the idea that some books are just like first love, you love them a time and just like them with not much of attraction or things now but still like them.

Similar was the case for Robin Sharma. Sharma is famous for his motivational writes and speeches. The first read I made from him was "Who will cry when you die". I really liked the book then, which was a train souvenir while we were coming back from India to Nepal. Immediately after finishing the first read by Mr. Sharma I bought "The Monk who sold his Ferrari", I liked the read then too. This year I happened to buy one more motivational read by him which I could never turn even a page more. And these days, when I try reading the first two reads I made, I cannot read them anymore. Those books have some good memories with me and now they are like nonexistent being for me.

I like Murakami, Khaled Hosseini, Khalil Gibran and Kafka too. After reading "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini I tormented for a long time, it was that touching. I have grown up reading my grandpa Aatma Ram Ojha. I like books by Saru Bhakta, Jagadish Ghimire, B.P.Koirala, Parijaat. I keep on reading one or the other writer time and then. A single read by some while a chunk by others. I have been reading more of Richard Bach and John Green lately. I am impressed by both of these writers. Reads keep on adding on the list and my hunger for reading them keeps on increasing too.

As Ernest Hemingway says,“There is no friend as loyal as a book.”  I can't help adding my friends :-)

Happy reading folks!

Metta !!

Picture courtesy: Deviant Art

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Tits-bits-of life--They continued the story !

Preeya knew I was up for trekking again and she would not be in touch with me for long. May be that was the reason, I witnessed 30 missed calls from her in my phone again. So she was trying hard to talk to me a thought flew over my mind.

I called her back and as soon as she picked up the phone she could not stop herself and started without any formality,"at every point I feel like writing. Writing always gives me solace. There are always as many ideas as could be flying by in my mind that need to rest. I have this weird feeling of being heard always...I always have so many says to say to peoples and I am always filled with ideas. Ahh ! Suman what do I do?"

"Hmm," I said (this was our usual way of listening).

"Sometimes I feel, would I just end up in this wall of writes or sayings? Or will my ideas, my thoughts land up as somewhere concrete?" she quivered. 

I was listening to her quietly while she was speaking in her usual tone.

"Having a bunch of ideas is always a tough thing and I always have been going through this. Life's tough Suman," she added with a long sigh.

I could not help smiling. And she knew that I could exactly depict her feels.

"You know what Preeya every single individual thrives for their individuality, stands to be something different from the other," I started slowly.

"Do you know the word 'sonder'?," I inquired.

"No, what is it?," was her prompt response.

"It is a sudden realization that everyone we see/meet has as complicated and interesting life as ours. So, how much do we really think about other people? Do we have time to do that? Similarly, what makes us think that others have time to think about us and if they really do, how boring and dull their life really is," I replied in a casual tone.

"Hmm....That's interesting," was what she could say.

I was on with the flow,"Also, I have realized that time actually travels so much faster when you live in a different society. Trying to work, finding a place to live/rent, communicating with different people everyday makes our lives so filled with tiny details that we have maneuver our ways through that we think everyday routines are petty."

"But on the other hand, people who have lived in the same place for decades, donot have to interact with different personalities on a daily basis hold on to the same old thoughts. So, usually people who have lived a very stagnant life tend to be more judgmental than the ones on the move."

"So, if you are looking for friendship that you think is neutral and supportive, find people who are always on the move, and who enjoy that kind of adventure. Just saying that if you seek some kind of openness and a good healthy relationship/friendship, careful that you dont seek it from people who have nothing else to do all day rather than edit and post their selfies on facebook. If you find more "interesting" friends, your obsession over one person that you think is so wise and cool will subside because you will know so many people that are wise, smart, generous and cool."

"I am up making friends Suman," Preeya said.

"I dont think you are up making friends- just saying that if you dont have a few friends that you can actually "talk to" and think wont judge you, then maybe you are not making "good friends", or in the right context. No one ever meets people who can fulfill all your needs- emotional, physical, mental, sexual... but lets say someone can meet your emotional needs, but not your mental- they can at least be supportive of your needs."

We were scratching thoughts as much as possible. We both were struggling with the ideas and I just tried to let her flee her thoughts with my says. I felt she could subside some of her thoughts, but still it was a long run. Life as it is.

I called upon her, but may be she had already slept. I could hear her snoring. The burgeoning thoughts might have made her tired, I smiled and let the phone cut off. 

We always have tonnes of thoughts-one residing over the other

Metta !

Image courtesy: @deviantart

Series: Tits-bits-of life-A story

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Narcissism Vs Admiration

When the debate of narcissism goes on around and the blame-game on social networks is always at heavy toll, I remembered the prologue of one of my favorite books "The Alchemist" and felt like sharing;

The alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought. Leafing through the pages, he found a story about Narcissus.

The alchemist knew the legend of Narcissus, a youth who knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the narcissus.

But this was not how the author of the book ended the story.

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