( Mr Wag's put the link to my blog in his football entry and man, can I say am in serious trouble?His blog visitors might kill him for providing a link to the Muscle Premi's Blog.hahahah..Whtever..My blog, my mind. Wht the hell. Anyways here is something sensible for your eyes!!

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Football in Germany

(Hey guys I am back, back with a Bang. It has been a really hectic routine for me, helping the Jap journo, the assignment deadlines and presentations. Oh god Dev Mgmt yet to submit on June 5 and Man the ESD presentation also begins with me on Monday! I wonder why life is never a middle path affair for me. One day I am relaxin at home, absolutely no work and the next it is No time to breathe! All I wish for is a mindblowin ending to this week. Ah..then I can relax. Relax! Does the word exist? Exams again.

BtW its been a rocking N adventuresome week + some days guys, meeting all big shots like Gagan Thapa, Tika Chaudhary, Rajesh K.C, Bikas Rauniyar, Mr DinWag, Meena, Swanaam Sathi (he gave me something to cherish all my Life! hahaha )…and a lot more! This has surely been one hell of a sem for me. Ooohh I never learnt so much in my entire life…. and there is so much more left to learn as well…and yesterday was in the Maoist mass meeting in Khulamanch with Yumi, a wonderful Jap Journo, not a journo exactly though…but no time to explain here…here is my experience. And Mr Wag was kind enuf 2 to put it in UWB too, but I have added a lot of personal stuff here…

and read another  posting in UWB http://www.blog.com.np/united-we-blog/2006/06/03/a-nepali-girls-american-experience/#more-901..

I simply LoveD it! Its direct, bold and beautiful!

I reach the place 45 minutes ahead of the allocated time. It was about 9:20 am and I was strolling around the Khula Manch. Red ruled the place; the army men look at the activities in the Khula manch with interest. I receive a message which reads: Hey Daz do you know what sign makes the best couple with Tauras?”

I smile, laugh making a small sound obviously because I was on my own. I reply; No dear I only know that they get on well with Cancerians. Red rules Khulamanch, love rules the lives of my friends. Everyone is falling in love. And I take this opportunity to congratulate her, and the new love jodi in our class! Now that’s confusing, kasko side bata biha khana jane! Dhulha ki Dhulhai!

She calls me to come along. I am more than glad to accompany her. We get the Press pass. The “Bepatta Pairwar Samaj” office is just across the office where we get the pass. A man there speaks in English. His elder brother “Deepak Neupane” disappeared one day after he went to Prithvi Narayan Campus, Pokhara to talk of free student union. It was in 2061 B.S.  Police in plain clothes arrested him as soon he stepped out of the campus premises.

It is very painful to live without any knowledge of the whereabouts of your dear ones he says. A woman behind him is asking for the picture of her younger son, she is already carrying the one of her elder son. Both of them have disappeared. Nepal has the highest number of disappearance cases he informs, we have 2000 recorded cases while an equal number are off the record.

What do you do? I ask.

Teaching is my profession. I teach and get torturtured he replies with a laugh.

Disappeared. A very easy thing to be told, a very difficult fact to accept.

I am eager to know what the Maoist Biggies have to say about it.

The Maoists prevail in the Khulamanch area. I meet a Maoist comrade. He wears a ‘Che Guevara” T-shirt and sips the black tea. He tells me he is being trained as the photojournalist of the party, taking pictures of various party functions and other activities. I find that very amusing. He points out to a man outside the restaurant window; do you know the name of that photojournalist? He asks me. I don’t.

So do you think you will be back to the forests? I question.

That depends on how flexible the Seven Party Alliance is he answers.

The number of vehicles in the Bagbazar area is slowly decreasing. It is the supposed big day for most people out on the streets. She is heading for her work; she is a housemaid cum maize seller. I help her fill up the sheet of paper. Her message is for her daughter: ‘ May you never have to work like me, maybe you be able to study a lot.’ She herself is illiterate but can write her name. The slow movement of the pen up and down, the cautious writing, I can almost feel the effort she is putting into it. She tells us that she is just back from one house after completing the household chores there; she is heading to another place to do the same. She’ll be selling maize at two in the afternoon. Simple people, simple dreams. Life goes on, she has to work. Things cannot be averted to an alternative path like the Kathmandu traffic. I explain her that the sheet of paper will be exhibited in Japan. “Good” she says and gives thumbs up sign. That makes for a fine picture!

The program begins exactly at one o’clock with a Sherpa dance. For me it’s like attending the annual function at school. Only this time I am the relaxed spectator rather than a fussing student who is to appear on the stage. Devendra Poudel is on the dais and he begins his speech by addressing everyone in Nepal: the so called intellectuals, the human rights monitors, journalists, women, the Tamangs, the disadvantaged, injured, families of the martyr, the ones who have disappeared, volunteers. It could be summed up as an inclusive address. He says the Maoist will continue leading the people until the movement results in the attainment of complete democracy. Agni Sapkota’s speech follows. A huge banner reading “Bishal Janasabha” floats in the air above the stage. I wasn’t excited about the whole affair in the first place, I am not interested in another mere babble in the so-called historic event I am a part of either. Just then a branch of a tree overloaded with people breaks. There is a commotion.

Leknath Neupane shows the signs of a typical youth leader. Energetic and Excited. His voice booms from the 14 speakers to my left and another 14 to my right. The Japanese journalist I am sitting next to closes her ears as he yells to stress on certain points.

 “ If the King hadn’t made the announcement on Baisakh 11 then this Shahid Manch and the Royal Palace would have been history!” He yells. It is followed by applause. “But things took a different turn so we had to move on with a new policy” he adds.

“Now it is not going to be us training people in the villages and bringing them to the cities but training them in the cities and mobilizing in the same” he yells once again. Another round of applause. I see no reason for the crowd to get so excited. So the Maoists will be closer to our doorsteps, how happy should one feel?  Who can you trust? The same applies to the SPA.   The mass meetings in Khulamanch seem more of a fashion to me. I have been to all of them held after the 19-day movement.  And on the stage speakers seem to lose their minds promising everything they can’t even make an attempt to think about. Big talk, always talk and petty actions. The monotony is killing me.

Prabhakar Janadhar makes quite a few strong statements. “If the Nepal army doesn’t obey your order Oh Girijaji then the People’s army is ready to take your order” he says. The crowd is pleased. “ We had two peace talks earlier but then we were accused of losing people’s support, of being tired of fighting back, lacking ammunition. We fired back( Thnx Mr twaaks) by attacking Thankot. Remember this, we are not tired. It’s not only a matter of one or two years but we are ready to fight for 100yrs if that is what the people want. But we are not here with the proposal of war but of peace. Peace, peace, peace is the need of the hour.”

It is natural for people to get swayed by emotions after being out after years of hiding! Everything is easier said than done. All we need to do is wait and watch what happens next.

Krishna Bahadur Mahara is finally on the dais. His speech is just toooo long. I scribble on my diary “Constant talking isn’t always communicating”. I take down notes just to keep myself from falling asleep! Another one of those blaming sessions. He says there are three roadmaps in front of the Nepalese people now. One is that of the King, the other of the SPA and the next of the Maoists. The latter represents the wish of the people.

People, what do you mean by the people? Sometime ago I was a participant in a program where a journalist explained the vague term, so who can we call the people. The ones on the streets, the ones staying back at home flicking channels all day long, who are they? He asked. If representation is sought then the community forest users group members which accounts for around 20 lakh people should be called the people. It is the organization with the largest number of members he said. But my confusion is not of who the people are but on the grounds do the Maoists proclaim to represent the people.

The Maoist is in control of 70% of the country while the remaining 30% is under the SPA Dinanath Sharma says. That isn’t convincing either.

A woman speaker finally, Pampha Bhusal. She advocates on how the Maoist party has helped prove that a woman is equally capable as a man.  40% of the Maoist cadres are women she informs. I look around at the women volunteers clad in red t-shirts. I can’t tell if they are the Maoists or not but they it feels pretty good to notice the air of confidence they carry around them. The way they walk, the tailored pants they wear, the way they shake hands with their male counterparts everything looked different to me. They certainly reflected more confidence than many educated women I knew.

Nothing different I conclude. After all is said and done about women’s participation in the decision making level. Look at what we Nepalese women have been provided with. Not a single woman minister in the so-called democratic government. If not for the Ministry for Women and Children Welfare no consideration for women would have been made either. And neither the SPA nor the Maoist have included one-woman member in the Peace talks Committee too.  How the all so concerned and know it all men want to decide everything for us women!! Things are still the same for us. Thank God! For the recent amendments, at least that is some solace for families with only daughters like mine.  At least that provides me with more points to retort back at people when they express that …Oh only two sisters to me or no son? to my parents.

Pampha receives a thundering applause after her speech. What good is it? Some 20 people are on the stage; only two of them are women. I sit amongst hundreds of journalists around me; there are only ten or twelve women.  Guff..mere meaningless babble..

Enough of the crap. She is hungry. So am I. We head for Thamel.

Want to try Japanese food? She asks.

I am ready for anything to fill my tummy.

We walk There are the A.P.F (armed police force walking on the road) she reminds me of what an interviewee had told us. Most lesbian and gays are in the army and police.

There are women too, aren’t they? She asked.

Yes, I replied. I think it is the lack of chance I tell her.

Ya, I don’t understand it as well she says.

Actually we both need to be enlightened on the subject of homosexuality. I wish I had a close gay fren then maybe I could understand it better…

We walk…she asks so he is your boyfren?

I’m like “No way! Laughing and shocked at the same time.

He’s too old I add.

No, he’s only 25 isn’t he? She says.

Add some more years to it. I say.

Is it the lack of chance in your case as well? She asks.

Chance, maybe.

But you sure must have had chances; you are a student after all.

Hmm…actually I know see any attainment by falling in love I tell her.

Ya..by what I have come to know of you, you seem to be the kind of girl not so easily satisfied. You seek something more, is it?

 Yes. I reply. Compatible on a mental level…but love is not my thing. There are a lot of reasons.

We reach the place, some Fuki..I forgot the rest. But it means Mother’s Food or sth like the taste of mom’s food she explains.

You have a white complexion; by any chance do you have a Chinese link? You know grandfather, grandmother…anyone? She asks. I find that very very funny. And equally shocking! A Chinese Connection!

No, I don’t I explain. But a lot of people say that. When I was in South India people would ask me if I was a Thai or Singaporean many times!

But the funniest incident took place in Tokha. When a village gal came up to me to ask the Map of my place! Map?? She started talking to me in Eng and told me her name was Grace. Later I had a good laugh with my frens telling them I was sure her name was “Kripa” but she translated it For Me the Japanese!!

The food arrives….

Meso soup, tempora, dipping sauce made of egg plant..

“ For my lover, for my lover…” Tracy Chapman sings in the background….

 ( btw read the first comment by khulamanch3 on this article, the way the same thing is seen by different ppl really amazes me..it is damn satirical..KOOL learning for me!)

A wonderful ending to a otherwise boring? Not really but sure Damn Hungry day. I hadn’t anything other than a cup of bournvita and 3 rusks since 7 in the morn. …ya and a coffee milk shake later..oh and tea made by Nirmala another interviwee, a tea- shop? Not a shop but tea space owner…. wonderful woman.

N what I have learnt by meeting so many people is that the so-called hi-fi ppl are mostly stuck up except a few. It is so much easier to connect to simple people. They are so real, so easy to talk to and of course they aren’t like the rest who don’t give a damn to if I am in the room or not sort.  I mean those meetings with the stuck up ones really left me feeling all-terrible, like a nobody from nowhere. When it is me who is doing the transcribing work, and I don’t even want to write their interviews. And know what I feel sometimes, just want to walk up to them and say u may not be even greeting me or asking me to take a seat but one day you will…you will remember me as the person who came up to ur. …Offices sat scribbling silently acting as though I was so ignorant, an assistant who understood nothing all quiet…but in fact understood more than what u ever uttered! You will remember this day Jhaljali!! Oh man…why don’t the so-called great people act great. Btw the stuck up gang isn’t mentioned above..Why should I care to mention their names in the first place!! And once again I reiterate what Asish’s uncle told him and he told me when we walked on the banks of Bishnumati last January, 2005: A person is known by the way s/he treats his subordinates..people below him/her in any way…

MAKE THIS YOUR MANTRA IF YOU WANT TO KNOW PEOPLE GUYS!

Trust me with all the experience! N never ever add up as another brick on the wall of such people!

Transcribing Time Now!! Reality Bites.

“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.

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!

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!!

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..

MAY 15

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?

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 2^nd 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..)

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!!

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 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 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!

(Started this entry in on my way home on the Nepal Yatayat…completed it at home)

Drained. That’s what I feel. I am on the bus on my way home April 11:32. Its henwriting …whatever happened to the “…” with a wonderful handwriting back in school.

Thank God! No meeting to attend I had thought. There are no plans in my life. I was forced to mention them in a workshop and the only things I could think of were complete Masters by 2010 and …dream wheels that too because I was forced to write. All other participants wished me luck. Nice of them but life…events just happens just like love. They say love just happens don’t they?Whtever.

There were a few participants around 10-15 in the unplanned meeting once again. They were discussing what should the program format be. Discussion in between the movie or specific scenes or after it is over. I listen keep listening for I have nothing to say. I was in another meeting yesterday. “Your opinion?” they asked. I began with a laugh. Some show of professionalism. “We’re an enthusiastic bunch of people, our energies need to be channelised in a proper way. A proper plan is the need of the hour.” I conclude my babble. My statement is the shortest. The others have a lot to say, need a clear vision, what are we, what do we do..our stance...and a lot more.

 I have nothing to say about anything these days. Politics…How much of it is overdose? Any answers? I walked out of a “view on the current situation” session in college. A foreigner, a journalist must be was interviewing the students..most were  of 1^st yr students. “Not again” was came to my mind as soon as I took a seat. Within the next five minutes I was out. Its life I know and no wonder if I am back to babbling about it the very next line. Whatever one politics free sentence is all I want to frame. Thought I had framed one but looks like I have mentioned it….Now. Yahoo! I did it.

I seek action. In the recent days I have had plenty of it. Somebody up there sure loves me loads. The Political party meeting at Khula Manch (Open theatre)..from start to finish. I stay there.( details no time now). The next day is the comrades’ turn. Then NASYA program in front of Singha Durbar. The survey, the talk session.(l8er).. Walk out of home at 5:30 and am back at 7:30..Great feel. I think I missed the Jap Project meeting yesterday. What’s with Devs Society?? Office.Is there anything more I need to get involved in?  Busy? You ask! Studies?? Its high time I had the pinch of reality. I am a student first. Thought I had screwed up the Devs Management test but the results were great. No urge and strength to go through my notes too. But the deadlines are back and how I love the swooshing sound they make as they pass by. Can I afford that? No way.

Btw I can see people outside my bedroom window. There was a truck loaded with bamboo sticks parked on my way home at around 7:45 yesterday evening. Seems like there is an encroachment of public land going on here. I can’t say who they are but we sure need a new functioning government soon. Or else the “don’t bother about the helmet we’re free, we’ve democracy ” situation will aggravate to lawlessness. I sure am worried. Politics again. That’s life. Come on.

Let me talk of the great sabhas, light guff (no politics involved). People, people, people in thousands. I always wanted to get away form crowds. I (the old me) walked to avoid getting on buses, missed appointments scared with the thought of patients in the waiting room, hid in closets. Look at my life now; my acquaintance list is ever growing. Responsibilities too. He stepped down from being the Coordinator of the Forum group Arun dai revealed. Great I need to step up. Any ideas? He asks. Drained, that’s me. The next instant I have ideas oozing out of my head. That’s again me.

Still these days the only things I want to talk about are matters that ought to be kept to yourself. You can close your eyes to the things you don’t want to see but you can’t do the same with the things you don’t want to feel. It is great to have Makune and Deubas talk to you right up your nose. Maybe the feeling even rocks?! Not so sure about that though. If they act accordingly then I will get back to my “Rocking” dialogues.  Until then its only kool. But experiencing a bout of loneliness after you walk out of the crowd of hundreds isn’t.  A multitude of people and yet a solitude. What can I say? That’s why I am utterly grateful for asking and listening to whatever I have to say about NAYSA Hysh and Jaz.Thanks. And everyone who takes the time to comment her Mr Twaaks, Golsji, Maria, Prabesh, thanks dudes.. hmm…. Bloggin is a dangerous affair for someone like me..I said that in the very first entry! Cautious. I think I need to write the rest in my journal, which is personal, just personal and not personal yet public!!

The days are better ,the nights are still so lonely

Sometimes I think I'm the only cab on the road.

                                                                        -‘Cab’ by Train

Even pain is welcome. It provides an opportunity for soul searching. You look back; you review what is going on in your life. You know yourself better. Self-introspection. I have no regrets in life. I have never regretted anything. Pain is an enriching experience in the end. Despite all its imperfections I still am a firm believer in marriage.

Wow! What proclamation! Did you think that? Did I say, “Believe in marriage”? Hey wait! That’s what Imran Khan was telling Simi Garewal. (Remember the show?). My sister was watching it when I got home. Know what we commented on it, Simi is flirting with Imran, too much probing into his past, they should get married!  He talked of democracy too. You should watch it!!

And why am I not working on Sabha entries and babbling all nuisance? Writing releases tension, that’s what Sigmund Buda says. I agree with him a 100% on this one. Now need to get back on the 10th Plan. Then Kirtipur..Ohhhh I have so much free time. I hope I don’t receive the “Kina thado puchhar lagaudai kudnuparyo” dialogue this time! Hahaha.

Balai bhayena ni.