सुत्न पनि मलाई गार्हो छ

ब्राम्हान्डको यो शुन्यको
एउटा कण म
दिम!गी त्यन्द्रोको तन्तु केलाउदै ,
सोच माथि सोच थुपार्दै  ,
सपनामाथी सपना सजाउदै ,
राम र श्याम गुहार्छु
Gurdjieff र Nietzsche लाई नियाल्छु ,
आसु बगाउछु ,
प्राथना गर्छु ,
तर न कुनै बुद्ध भेट्छु ,
न कुनै बुद्धत्व भेट्छु ;
भेट्छु त केवल एउटा समय
जो नियन्त्रण गर्न सकिन्न
र जो भगवानको रहस्य झै बिरोधभासपुर्ण छ ,
र देख्छु मेरा समक!लिनहरु:
जो समयको ख्याल नगरेर
मस्त निन्द्रामा छन् ,
मानव अस्तित्वका प्रत्यक नियमहरु
धर्मभ्रस्ट भएका छन् ,
म सबै देखिरहेछु ;
मेरा समकालिनहरु सपनमा पनि देख्दैनन्
यहाँ प्रेम र आत्मियताका हरेक प्रर्थनाहरु
दबाइएका छन् ,
म सबै सुनिरहेछु ,
तर मेरा समकालिनहरु सुन्दैनन्
वा सुनेर पनि नसुने झै गर्छन् ,
यहाँ अन्याय भएको छ ,
यहाँ पाप बढेको छ,
यहाँ श्राप लागेको छ,
जाली भटाहाहरु
राजा भएका छन्
बलिया बाङगाले
गाईझै गुनिला आत्माहरु मारेका छन् ,
म सबै भोगिरहेछु ,
मेरा समकालिनहरु त्यती टाढा सोच्दैनन ,
यहाँ रोग, भोक, शोक, गरिबी देखेर
मेरो मन जलेको छ ,
प्रत्यक असमानता र अत्याचारहरु देखेर
मेरो दिमाग गलेको छ ...

मेरा सम्मकालिनहरु सुतिरहेछन,
ब्युझिन उनीहरुलाई सार्हो छ ,
म ब्युझिरहेछु ,
सुत्न पनि मलाई गार्हो छ ।


24th Oct 2010
G. Saline, Texas

तिमीमै मेरो कबिता बन्छ

कहिले दुनियाँसँग

अपहेलित भएर

कहिले संसारसँग

थकित भएर

मेरो कथाहरु

तिमीलाई नै त पोख्छु,

मेरो ब्यथाहरु

तिमीलाई नै त सुनाउछु,

जुन कुरा तिमी

आधी त सुन्दिनौ ,

त्यसको आधी त बुझ्धिनौ ,

तै पनि म जोगीको घरको

सन्यसी पाहुनाझै

एकनास सुक्सुकाई रहन्छु,

तै पनि म

प्रेम पिडामा परेको

गनगने पागझैं

तिमी संगै भुत्भुतई रहन्छु ।
 
 
संसार त बिरानो छ,

सम्सरको मन पनि सानो छ,

यसमा खाली

बिहेको मात्र सम्बन्धलाई पूजा गरिन्छ,

येसमा हरेक प्रितीको बोट मरिन्छ,

यसमा हरेक प्रेम कहानीहरु

धुजा धुजा परिन्छ ।
 
 
किन आफुलाई

"नजिकको तिर्थ" भन्छौ?

किन आफ्नो प्रितलाई

ब्यर्थ भन्छौ?

किन आतिन्छौ?

किन शंका गर्छौ?

म त सौन्दर्यको पुजारी हुँ,

म त भगवानको कवी हुँ।

ग्रिसमको ठन्डीमा

शितमा वोइलाए पनि

फूलमा सार्है सौन्दर्य देख्छु,

अरुलाई घिन लाग्ने

आफ्न बच्चा र अरुका बुढीमा

म बारम्बार कहानी लेख्छु,

मेरो मनमा पाप छैन,

मलाई कुनै पस्चताप छैन।



तथापी,

जव जव

एक्लोपनमा निससिन्छु,

जव जव

पापी संसार सँग आतिन्छु,

मेरो धर्मराउदो विश्वाश

तिम्रै काखमा गई,

लाहाडे बालकझैं लुट्पुटिन्छ,

जव जव

तिमी म सँग हून्नौ,

पानी बिनाको माछोझैं

एक तमासमा छट्पटिन्छु ।



मेरो छाती फुटायर हेर,

त्यहा तिम्रो तस्बीर हुन्छ,

मलाई प्रेमको परिभाशा नसोध,

प्रेममा

पिरमा पनि सुख

र सुखमा पनि पिर हुन्छ,

तिमी मेरै कबितामा

आफुलाई खोज

तिमी मेरै गीतहरुमा

आफुलाई रोज ।


यहाँ म छु,

यहाँ तिमी छौ,

चौतारीको भेट हो यो

युग युग त छदै छ पछिलाई

अहिलेलाई
 
केवल त्यती भए पुग्छ,

अहिले यही कबिता बन्छ,

यहीं प्रेमको सरिता बग्छ,

तिमीमै मेरो

गीतको भाका लहराँउछ,

तिम्रो खुशीमै मेरो

प्रितीको झन्डा फहराँउछ ।

  
Oct 08, 2010
G. Saline, Texas

कहिले चिन्छौ मलाई ?

जव भगवान
आकास र पातल बनाउदै,
मानव जीवनको सुर्सार कस्दा भए,
म अदम भएर
तिमी एभसँग
एदनको बगैचामा
प्रितीको गीत गाउदै थिएँ
यो हाम्रो सम्बनधको राज
तिम्रो हातमा थमाउदै थिएँ,
कुनै बेला प्रलय हुँदा
जब
संसारलाई बाढीले बगाउदै थियो,
म नोआ भएर
तिमी सँग संसारको बिडो
थाम्दै थिएँ
एतीहासमा मायाको बुट्टा खोप्दै थिएँ,
सृस्‍टिको बिउ छर्कदै थिएँ ।


   
तिनै दिनहरु देखि
मेरा सपनीहरुमा
पुर्बजनमको झझलको पाँउदै,
म तिमीलाई
मायालु भनेर पुकार्छु,
मेरो बिपनीहरुमा
तिम्रै तस्बिर हेरेर
तिम्रा गिला आँखाहरुमा
आफुलाई
परम त्रिप्त भएको स्विकार्छु,
तर आज सम्म पनि
कहाँ छौ मयालु?
म तिर्खाए पनि
तिम्रै अमृत खोज्दछु,
म रन्थनिए पनि
तिम्रै शरण रोज्दछु ।

अरु
के चिनारी दिऊ तिमीलाई?
अरु
के भनेर बुझाउ तिमीलाई?
पुर्णिमा को जुन झै
कहिले झुल्किन्छौ
मेरो आकसमा ?
बसन्तको बाहरझै
कहिले सुबसिन्छौ
मेरो बतासमा ?
मायलु! थकित छु;
प्रिय म चकित छु,
कहिले चिन्छौ मलाई ?
कहिले निन्द्राबाट जाग्छौ ?
बिपनाबाट किन यसरी
सपना जसरी भाग्छौ ?


Oct 09, 2010
Terrell, Texas

The Old Man

The Old Man


The old man was dying. He no longer had that charm that he was famous for. He was no longer dominating, was hardly breathing and suffering in his bed that was prepared for his last days. Suffering from Asthma and diabetes, he was in his last stage.

All his life, he remained very firm, confident, and determined. He did lot of things that he was proud of. He lived in Mahabharat range for couple decade looking after a herd of hundreds of cows and buffaloes, milking them, making ghee and selling them. He bought many land and sold those. He grew up in the country, lived most of his childhood in the woods, eating just milk and raw flour, fighting with wild animals, partly because he wanted it and partly he did not know any better things to do. When his brothers wanted to be priest, teachers and clergy men, he enjoyed living in the Mahabharat range, in the snows, talking with wild animals and naked people, still uncivilized living in caves, who were feeding on wild animals and could not speak like other human beings.

He became politician later in his life. At that time, he brought running water to his village. People lived up in the hills and they had to go fetch the water in a river, down in the valley which would take an hour or two. Beside that running water, the village had nothing but a bunch of egoistic primitive creatures who made fun of each other, calling each other funny names and spent their time in total ignorance of the world that was beyond their village’s horizons. He helped poor people by providing food, houses and lands. He gave justice to people with minor or major household issue. Majority of people called him a righteous, just and honest but very aggressive person.

He won the village elections many times to become a mayor. He did many wonderful things for that society who never fully appreciated his sacrifice for them. But he was not afraid, he insulted who were against it, he thrashed them who tried to be cocky, he overthrew those who misused power, he made his path to success anyhow. People feared him, respected him because he was man of integrity and tremendous courage.

He lived his life with passion, very righteously. He married, he had sons and daughters, and they were married too. He moved to a better place. He changed his lifestyle. He quit politics later in his life because he knew at some point that politics is something that can corrupt someone’s value and morals completely. He said “politics is the worst thing that can happen to a good man.”

All his life, he lived with challenges, and overcame them. Not only was he a good speaker, he was very effective healer. He loved people, and he loved jokes about people. He loved scaring evil people and he was very successful. He liked punishing bad people. He respected very few people in his life. In his time, he was himself a symbol of justice and law. Any issues in the village, big or small, people would come knocking his door for justice and he gave his verdict. People respected his authority.

But now he was dying. He had been sick for a week now. His younger son, some of his close nephews, and some of the villagers came to see him. Doctors had already told him that he would not live very long. His eyes were weak, he had become very thin. His son who was living with him asked him if he wanted to go to hospital but he was stubborn. He wanted to die at home. He hated hospitals and the smell of dying people. All his strength was lost; he was suffering from breathing problems. He never accepted his defeat, but this time he knew he was dying.

Every night people came and sat in his room. For a week, he told them to go to their own houses to sleep because his son and couple nephews who were close to him were taking care of him. Villagers themselves did not want to spend the nights waiting for someone to die. They did it anyway because It was just a ritual, a help and a way of sharing encouragement and sympathy to the family.

After nine days in his own room he wanted to shift to a comfortable room, in the ground floor, thinking that the ritual performing would be easier after he dies. His skin had become little dark. He called his son and said: “Let’s not take the medicines anymore; they are giving me more problems. I am not going to revive, just a matter of few days...”

His son became very sad because his father had never given up hopes before. The old man was very accurate in predicting deaths. If people got very old and sick, they called him instead of doctors and asked him if his time has come to an end. He would tell them accurately when to shift the dying one to the proper place for their last breaths. Therefore, it saddened his sons and other family members.

His son then called the neighbors to come and stay for that night. From that night he started only drinking liquid, he could not even swallow anything properly. Anything he ate went down flowing from his lips to his chest and to the bed sheet. He smiled at his own weakness, perhaps he was remembering his encounter with a bear one day, long time ago, where he had to dual-fight in the Mahabharat range. It was a very weak smile… but it had his life written on it. The neighbors became little paranoid. They thought he started losing his senses. There were little whispers in the back of the room which was full of people.

The night went well, without him saying any words. He could not sleep all night; just put his head on the pillow and breathed heavily. People thought the old man was not dying, because he had not lost charms of his face yet. He could still speak in a clear voice.

“For a few weeks, nothing is going to happen” they said.

His son had not gone to his job for a week now to stay with his father in his last hours. He too did not sleep all night but in the day time, he took turns with his cousins and took naps here and there.

Eleventh day, and the number of people started growing in the house. People knew that he was sick. They came to see him from different places. His relatives, sisters, well wishers, his colleagues, his friends, whoever knew of his condition came to visit him.

They came to him and touched his hands and asked “Mailaba! Do you recognize me…? You will be okay in few days …don’t worry…”

He looked at them with disdain, a strange look that would make people think that they had said something very childish, because in those groups there were not many people that he liked. He said only this- “I know you all perfectly well.”

That day, he wanted to be alone with his younger son. He asked time and again to the villagers that were looking after him to leave the room vacant for a while for some fresh air. It was obvious that he was trying to talk something important to his son. People were therefore interested. They went outside the room but their ears were still inside.

One fat neighbor said “May be the old man is going to tell him of his old treasures that he had been hiding….”

Another said “Perhaps he is hatching plans not to give his older son his share of his legal share of his property. I heard that he hates his older son…”

“Well, he is probably afraid of his sin that he committed in his youth and going to confess to his son….”

Another got involved “I have heard that he does not speak to his older son… may be he does not even want his older son to perform the ritual after his death…”

“Have you seen the younger daughter is law, people are talking that she is a witch…she told me other day that my cow looked very strong and healthy and now my cow is sick, not even letting me to milk ….I can’t stop thinking it is because of her….”

“Who was that girl who was feeding him juice a while ago…, one smelly neighbor who was there for the first time said, “She has exceptionally large boobs…”

“….feed the old man your milk ….the old man is weak…”

A long laughter followed. Outside the room, people started to smoke and talk loudly.

One of his grandsons who was going to the room was listening to all this. Hesitantly, he walked through the crowd to go inside the room.

The old man was talking to his younger son and two other nephews in very low voice.

“Hey babu, you go away! They said to the kid, “kids are not supposed to be here.”

“Let him come” the old man said.

The boy touched his grandfather’s soft hand. It was warm. The old man had very long, smooth and beautiful fingers. The boy rubbed it very gently between his own hands like he used to. For few minutes both were lost in memories.

The boy used to pull and stretch the skin of his grandfather’s back hand, which was not very responsive and used to start counting the seconds in his watch to see how it will go back to its original position. And the old man loved it. The boy loved to massage his grandfather’s feet.

The kid used to say- “grandpa! Do you want your feet messaged today?”

“No, go do your homework!”

“I have finished doing homework… do u want oil or just with bare hands?”

The joy was not in messaging, the joy was to listen to his grandfather. Every night, all the family members and the guests, many of whom were not even invited and many of whom never stopped coming to stay overnight, would be in the old man’s rooms after dinner and they would talk. The old man would tell jokes, and stories of his life.

“Hey! Are you messaging my feet or just shaking your body to fool me?” the old man would ask. And people looking at them would laugh.

And the kid would blush, and lifting his both feet in his shoulder, would say “when you die, I will carry you like this...”

People would scold the boy but the old man and the kid enjoyed the jokes very much.

His mother would come and say “Babu, can you take the trash out?”

The boy would say- “I don’t feel like doing it.”

And the old man would add, “Yeah that’s right, I and he are very lazy, we don’t like to work, we just want to eat delicious food and sleep…nothing else.”

Both would laugh at her. They were two jokers, one soul.

Sometime the kid would ask the grandfather- “Grandpa, can I have a dollar?”

He would reply- “just you dollar? You got five”

But today, the boy could not speak. His grandfather was really dying. The boy was not sure what to say. He was hesitant to say anything because he had never been in that situation before. He stood there, stiff like a pole, watching his grandfather’s watery hazel eyes. The old man also could not say anything either. Nothing more had to be said … everything was expressed through their eyes; there was a synchronism with a very silent melancholy in both their hearts.

“What kind of grown up kid is this? Even at this time, he stays there without word. Ask your grandpa if he want to tell you anything…” one of his uncles said.

He heard someone outside the room said “stupid kid… why is he there? He will be scared. Let him out…”

The boy was silent and still not sure what to say. The old man was still smiling at his grandson, with pain but with very cautious bright hazel eyes. He also knew that it will be the last time. His son and nephews started cleaning the room a little bit. With courage, the boy sat near the old man to offer him some water to drink.

“Do you want to say …” The boy had tears in his eyes and there was a lump in his throat.

The old man whispered- “I am going…. we were pilgrims, just met in the rest area, under a tree shed, we enjoyed it when we were together… you have a different journey now…. …I am going back tomorrow… we will meet someday again…You and I don’t cry. Go now!”

The boy knew his grandpa never lied but still could not believe his grandpa was dying. He went outside, to upstairs where he could be alone.

That night the old man told his son to call his close relatives to see them for the last time. The neighbors now thought the old man was out of his senses. All night his face glowed like a moon and he was very silent. His son was scared and called some experienced people in the village to check on his health progress. People came and checked his wrist and said he will be okay for couple of weeks. His son was still worried. That night there were lots of people watching for him. The room was full.

The old man’s daughters and some daughter in laws who were serving and preparing food for the guests and relative who had come to see him were also tired.

“How long are we going to feed the whole village?”

“People are asking for certain food, certain vegetables as if they are ordering in a five star hotel…..”

“I am tired of the smelly shoes of these relatives; I think they have not washed those socks for years…”

“I wish the old man dies soon… we love him but it is very painful for him as well….he will get salvation from the suffering…” a big mouth relative said.

“There is no privacy in this house, we can even change our clothes …people are everywhere…”

The sick room where the old man was taken was also full of gossips all night. The boy was tired and was deprived of his bed because he had to share his bed to some relative who was snoring loudly. So he went to check his grandfather again. People were talking about the whole world.

“Oh did you hear about Clinton? He has accepted that …Shame on him, he is the ruler of this world….”

“Do you think there will be peace in Bosnia...?”

“What the hell with the moist, they killed 25 policemen yesterday in Rolpa and the government is doing nothing… “

“This is kaliyug, now the end is near; the time is now for the messiah to come save us….”

“What do you think about the sex tape of Aishworya rai? I think it is fake…I don’t like her acting anyway…”

“I hate Girija, he can’t be prime minister now. He is an Indian poppet….”

“….It is hard to pass time, let’s play card to spend the rest of the night…”

. They were laughing, and arguing and throwing their hands in the air. The son and his two close nephews did not know what to tell the villager and relatives. The old man who was closing his eyes to ease his pain a little bit, was so annoyed that he raised his head a little and said “Don’t be so loud. Go to your houses.”

The crowd in the room kept their silence for few minutes and they started again.

“The old man’s domination has not yet gone. He is not going to die for at least a week….” Someone outside the room whispered.

Someone in the crowd saw the grandchild peeking from the door to see his grandfather.

“Hey Kid! Go to bed,” someone yelled at the boy.

The boy went upstairs in the room, tried to sleep but he doubted he would see his grandpa next morning.



Feb 9th 2010

Ye of Little Faith!

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Mathew 6:26.

Jesus was travelling in a ship with his disciples and was asleep. It started raining with lightining and thunderstorm. The ship started sinking. His disciples, who had seen Jesus do mircales, walk on the sea and first believed he was the only son of God, lost their faith and hope and cried on to Jesus and woke him up to save them. When Jesus woke up, said: "Ye of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

It is a lesson to all Christian and non Christians. The message is so simple but human nature is such, we can't stop worrying. So I am writing in a very simple language- so that the message could be grasped

I heard some Nepali guy hit his own car again to claim insurance money. My heart is troubled. I like to say- "Ye of little faith… You steal money from gas stations where you work, you burn your own motel to collect insurance money, and you destroy your own car to get insurance money. What will be your answer when you stand before the judgment? Will you say that you stole because you think you would not survive from the money you are paid in your job? Will you say- "I hit my own car to collect insurance money because I had to buy a new car, or will you say- "I did it because I had to show how clever I am."

Ye of little faith, why would you sell your soul for that little bit of money? Not only you will go to hell, your consequences are waiting for you in near future. There is a Nepali saying: Paap dhuri bata karauchha" meaning Sin's consequences will be declared from your own roof"

Eastern spirituality has a word which describes our soul- "Jeevan Jyoti"- the beautiful soul which has an eager quest for God. Money, properties, family, all materistic happiness that people enjoy with thier brain is nothing compared to what the pure soul truly enjoys. The true nature of the soul is to live a faithful life. The primary purpose of the Life is to enjoy life with the blissfulness of God's mercy, with prayers and love.

Please do not be a pump. Do not sell your soul. Even bird in the sky does not worry about tomorrow and stores in barn. You are better. You can still drive your old car. You will not die of hunger. The value of a single soul is greater than the value of the whole world. I am deeply troubled with lack of faith in people. You need not steal money from job, nor had to hit your own car, God knows everything.

Please do not sell your soul. Don't do it. I can't use simpler language than this. Have faith. Keep your hopes. It is not false.

केही त बोल मायालु !

तिमी कसैको भुत्ले छातीमा
आफुलाई लुकायर
सुरक्षित भएको भानमा
बाख्राको पाठीझै उफ्रिन्छौ
अलिकती रातो धुलो
टाउकोमा हालेर
आफुलाई "बिबहित", र "फलनोको श्रीमती" भनेर
सार्वजनिक ठाउँमा कुर्लिन्छौ ।

कही कतै पुर्बजन्म र पुनर्जनमको
Synchronicityमा आस्चर्यचकित भएर
म जस्तै कहीले घत्लियेकी छौ?
भाबीको लेखाको अगाडि
दास भएर
हार स्विकारेको पराजित योधाझै
रुदै हाँस्दै र हाँस्दै रोयेकी छौ?


मेरो प्रश्नले
तिमी ठुलो घाऊ लागेझै गर्छौ,
मेरो सन्देशलाई तिमी
पापको दाउ गरेको मान्छौ ।

तिमी कस्तुरी हौ

जो आफुलाई नै चिन्न सक्दैन
जो आफ्नो अस्तित्वलाई
अरुमा खोज्न बिबस हुन्छ
म त
सृस्‍टि को पहिलो दिन देखी नै
तिमीलाई नै पर्खिरहेको छु,
मुटुलाई धेरै नजलाउ,
मलाई पागल नबनाउ,
मलाइ पापी नभन,
केही त बोल मायालु !
मेरो भगवानलाई
दुखी नबनाउ ।


Oct 2nd 2010
G. Saline, Texas

म जवाफ पर्खिरहन्छु

मेरो जीवन
एकपल्ट उखेलियेको बिरुवा हो,
यसमा कुनै फूल नफुल्न सक्छ
मेरो कहनी
मरुभुमीको जवानी हो,
जसमा मुनै मुल नफुट्न सक्छ ।


बार्ह बर्षमा
नदीले पनि बाटो फेर्छ,
एकजुगमा एकदिन
प्रलय पनि आउछ
तर कति कठोर हो तिम्रो मन
जसलाई मुटु खन्यायेर 
प्रेमको गीत पठाउदा
दुई शब्द लेख्न पनि म!न्दैन ?
कस्तो कठोर हो त्यो आत्मा
जस्ले बार्‍ह बर्ष सम्म घायल प्रेमको
एउटा पनि मलाम जादैन?

मेरा तितरबितर सपनाहरुमा
भबिस्यको कुनै मोहनी छैन,
मेरो रसिक कबिताहरुमा
कुनै पस्चतापको ध्वोनी पनि छैन,
मेरो जीवन खाली कागज जस्तै हो,
यसमा जे लेखे पनि हुन्छ,
मेरो प्रेममा बासना त छैन,
यसमा जे देखे पनि हुन्छ,
झन्झट लागे च्यतिदिय पनि हुन्छ
किनकी मेरो मनमा
भुतको को कुनै त्रास छैन,
मेरो मनमा भबिस्यको कुनै आस पनि छैन,
छ त केवल एक एक शुन्यता ...
जुन शुन्यतामा
हरेक युगका प्रेमिप्रेमिकाहरु
प्रितिको भगिरथ तपस्या गर्छन,
बिना कुनै हिच्किचवअट
आफ्ना आत्मादेखी,
प्रेमेश्वोरको प्राथना गर्छन।

म त्यही प्राथनासंगै
प्रेमको घाउमा चर्किरहन्छु,
तिम्रो मन नपग्लुन्जेल
म जवाफ पर्खिरहन्छु ।


October 2nd 2010
Grand Saline, Texas

मेरो कुनै देश छैन

तिम्रो देशका प्रत्येक बोर्डेर्हरुमा
देशभक्त कहलाउदा मुर्खहरुको रगत बगेको छ,
तिम्रा प्रतेक लडाईंका बिजयहरुमा,
मानवताको बली चडाइेको छ,
तिमी छाती ठोक्दै, टाउको छिनाउदै,
राष्ट्र प्रेमको गीत गौछौ
बुट पड्काउदै, सलाम ठोक्दै,
काल्पनिक सिमारेखाहरु खिच्छौ,
म मानबलाई दानब बनाउने कुनै राष्ट्र प्रेम किन्दिन
म प्रिथी एक देख्छु, त्यसको कुनै रेखा चिन्दिन ।
मेरो कुनै देश छैन,
म कुनै भेशको होइन।


बुद्ध नेपालमा जन्मिएर के भो?
बुद्ध एथिओपियामा नहुर्किएर के भो?
मरिसकेको बुद्धलाई उठाएर,
किन आफु जस्तै जिवित लास बनाउछौ?
बुद्ध जहाँ जन्मे पनि,
जहाँ हुर्के पनि, बुध्ह नै हुन्छ
बुद्धत्व कही गएर पनि नस्ट हुँदैन,
आफु भित्रको बुध्हालैइ हेर!
ब्रम्हन्डको हरेक कणकणको अध्यत्मिक थर्थरहटबाट
जुन ॐकार तिमी भित्र गुन्जिन्छ,
के त्यसमा तिमी हजारौं बुध्हहरु सुन्दैनौ?
के त्यहा हजारौ ख्रैस्टहरुको ज्योति भेट्दैनौ?
तर तिमी फगत नागरिकता र पस्स्पोर्टमा बल्झिरहन्छौ
तर तिमी ख्रैस्ट र बुद्धको रास्ट्रियतामा अल्झिरहन्छौ ।
भगवानको नाममा तरबार उथौछौ,
मान्छेका निर्दोस् मुटुमा रान्स्ट्रियताको फोहोरि झन्दा गाड्छौ,
म बुद्ध र जिससको महिमा झन्डाहरुमा देख्दिन
म मान्छे ले मान्छे मारेको कथाहरु लेख्दिन।
 मेरो कुनै देश छैन,
म कुनै भेशको होइन।


तिमी आफ्ना बिचराका सिचाइहरुमा
कपोकल्पित पर्खाल लायर,
खोला वारी फलानो देश बनाउछौ,
र खोला पारी तिलानो देश थडाउछौ,
म तिम्रो पर्खालमा बाधिन्न
र तिमिझै बिचारको शिचाइ गर्दिन
खोला मेरो लगी खोला मात्र हो,
हिमाल मेरो लगी हिमाल मात्र हो,
बिचारको चरी केवल टाउकोको पिजडा भित्रमात्र फिट् फिटिन सक्छ
तिम्रो रास्ट्रप्रेमको रुन्चे गिड् गिहाडमा
प्रजतन्त्र बन्धित छ,
स्वोतन्त्रता बिभजीत छ,
खोलाले दुइ भाइको प्रेममा पर्खाल लाउन सक्दैन,
हिमालले दुइ आत्मालाइ मिलनमा आगो लगाउन सक्दैन
सगरमाथाले जसरी नेपल र भारत चिन्दैन,
म पनि अंेरिका र
क्यनाडा चिन्दिन;
असिअन् र अफ्रिकि चिन्दिन।
मेरो कुनै देश छैन,
म कुनै भेशको होइन।

प्रत्यक क्षण प्राण दिने हावा,
बिना पास्पोर्ट सबैलाई स्याहार्छ,
रास्ट्रियता नसोधी बदलले पानी पर्छ,
बिना झन्डा सुर्य उदाउछ,
बिना लडाई तारा टिल्पिलाउछ,
बिना काटाकाट गुलाफ फक्रिन्छ,
आकाश्को कुनै रस्त्रियता छैन,
प्रिथ्विको कुनै नागरिकता छैन !


तिमी खुकुरी टल्काएर मलाई
रास्ट्रियताको पाठ पढउछौ,
तिमी तोपी ढल्कायर मलाई
अंेरिक र नेपाल चिनउछौ,
तर मेरो मुटुमा कुनै घ्रिणा छैन
छिमेकी भाईलाई मेरो मनमा पर्खाल छैन,
म त खालि यात्री हु दुइ दिनको,
मेरो समय छ्याल्फ्याल छैन
प्रिथ्वि मेरा लगि एक छ,
त्यहा कुनै रगतको आहाल छैन।
म भगवानको मान्छे हु,
मन्छेमा प्रेमको उपहार् खोज्छु,
निर्दोस् आत्माले हरपल परमात्माको सार खोज्छु,
मलाई टोपी नभिराउु,
मलाई टाईले पनि ननिस्याउ
किनकि मेरो कुनै देश छैन,
म कुनै भेशको होइन।


28 sep 2010
Desoto, Texas

My Silence is of God

My writing has stopped for a while. I was thinking to write about the excitement and my previous World Cup memories but that is not me any more, although I still greatly enjoy football. Many unexpected events have turned live upside down really but there is great pleasure in it. Life has been a lively stream. Only thing that is bothering me is: I am not spending my time to write. Had few stories on mind playing but did not make to the paper. I did whatever I could. It was not supposed to be written just like the world cup memories that I enjoyed growing up.

My sporty life, my childhood my sufferings from sports, my energy are all just memories. I have no regrets, no egos, and no sense of unique achievement. Few people keep asking me about my childhood. It was just a regular Nepalese childhood. May be there was little more emotional attachment to literature and philosophy than a regular kid...that’s all. But everyone is a little poet and a philosopher in himself. These days I can't be a philosopher because I have no time to think deeply about unimportant things in life, like- "what would happen if the sun does not rise tomorrow?" Philosophy is absurd.

Summer is here and as thought I am trying to enjoy cycling, swimming and sitting in silence. Few things are not going well, but where has everything been so perfect? Family issues, financial issues, health issues... if I want to be depressed, there are hundreds of reasons I can go insane tomorrow. These days I am enjoying spirituality in the gaps of silent filled naps and busy lifestyle. I am reading Bible and Zarathustra at the same time. It is absurd but what can I do? It just happened. If you look closely, Bible has everything one needs to know. If you look philosophically, you can go insane after reading Zarathustra. It is absurd.

But I don't care. I am son of God. Like my grandfather once said, "I can kick your ass today and I can still be forgiven and go to heaven." Sinning is not my intention here. I am just here, lost in philosophizing, overwhelmed everywhere by immature, silly, stupid people and being treated unfairly.

Who do I look upon? My grandfather? Jesus? Buddha? Philosophy? Literature?

Buddha would say- don’t do anything. If you are treated unfairly, still smile.

Jesus said turn on your right cheek for those who hit on your left.

Philosophy is never complete; it can be right and wrong at the same time.

In a worldly world, we can’t really keep quiet over unfair thing. Although sophisticated philosopher would always create confusion over what is fair and unfair and what s write and wrong, God has given human beings an intuition, a soul, which think rationally all the time unless it is itself manipulated. Jesus didn't keep silence when he saw people collecting taxes unlawfully. He overturned the tables. He called the priest: "snakes in white clothes". Jesus was not very saint when he had to speak. But he was still calm and collected. He was still in silence. Silence of inner peace, a calm humility of spiritual being that we people sometime do not understand. Yet we think we are the best in this planet and can create hoax on Spirituality and God.

Hopefully, things will get okay! Not that it will change with my writing. In every religion, there is a place here God came to this world, died for people and all he asked was have faith in him, He would give you salvation but the nature of human tendency is such idiotic. Not a whole lot changed. People keep forgetting. Not a whole lot is going to change with my writing and I am not seeking to bring in revaluation anyway. People, who understand, will have no problems, because the message is very simple. People, who are idiotic, egoistic and full of worldly things beyond the necessity, will not even sit in a minute of silence to meditate about GOD or spirituality. Even God appears in front of him and tell him of the message, he will still say-screw you! You are not the God I believe so I don't care. It is absurd. My silence is way better. My writings will continue for myself and those who enjoy it. I have no goals. Whatever I write, whenever I write, whomever it concerns-my writing is of my silence and nothing else. My silence is of God and no one else.

05/18/2010

Peaceful Living and Kangaroos's Testicles

Another peaceful week with lots of joy. Life is such a joy for who likes to live it the wonderful, peaceful way. For losers, it is just a gathering of crowd, diplomatically praising about one another's beauty, handsomeness, dresses or even cars. I know people talk about cars very randomly and my mention here is also random because life is wonderfully random, and so are the people living in this earth. Some torilahure going to Mt Everest with a pair of kangaroo testicles, some torilahure claiming to not eat for seventy years... World never seizes to wonder me.

There are good people and bad people. There are peaceful, indifferent people and there are jealous, crooked people. There are nice people and there are not very nice people. "sheeps follow sheeps, and goats follow goats". Sometime by mistake sheep get into goats herd and feel lonely, missed and different but it is just the nature of the existence. You are who you are and people that you associate with greatly reflects your intelligence sense of living and godifying this world. People that you hang out with really shows your personality.

Man is always alone but don't mistake this for loneliness. Family, friends and lovers are just your short-term company in the journey. People(most of the time) get carried away. It their nature. People change friends, family and lovers. Its okay. A beautiful person should not worry about anything. People grow old too easy, too fast. I sit in prayers, that when it is due, let me not die with any regrets. Any regrets of ugliness that I showed to this world. Lets take it the way it comes. It sometimes does not come with beauty but if we take ugliness silently with pity and compassion, it becomes beautiful.

Life in America is just an adventure. You just see people and their dramas. I love Nepalese dramas and love to be indifferent from it. A bunch of teenage boys and girls come to USA with dreams, most of them being stuck in the complication of American laws. Greatly enjoying the freedom, and luxury it offers, most of them forget their genuine intention of studying, and complying with whatever comes as ease and luxury. Poor boys and girls. Life changes for them so quick. Roommate issues, school issues, car issues, gas station money managing issues, job issues, all these greatly affecting their lives.

A bunch of losers will always worry about how other people are beautiful and they are just ugly, fat and unwanted, how they have to wait on some ride while other have their own beautiful cars, how they struggle with grades while other excel in studies, how one's roommate got boyfriend and they are still looking for just anyone to call them- girlfriends or boyfriends, how someone is tall and they are just fat dwarfs from some wild planets, how someone has money and they are not making any. To all these jealous, bunch of losers, wild, immature, uncivilized, ungodly piece of crap, I feel sad. But my sadness is of great compassion and pity, don't take it otherwise. My language is of rhetoric and not of condemnation, you have potential to improve.

We have to take it as it comes. We have different lives. We can be anywhere, any day. We may not have this day tomorrow. But whatever day it is, lets live it in a civilized, intelligent respectful life like we, people are supposed to be and be peaceful everyday in our course. If losers, attention seekers, ugly (at mind) people, jealous , crooked, "I can't do" mentality people, can't compete with people who are already beautiful because of their beautiful heart, kind nature and non-competing nature, they don't give a crap about your attention seeking, love wanting nature. They are already above you, they don't compete with you. They already have love and compassion for you. You can't compete. If you still worried, jealous, revengeful at heart, ugly at mind, and still looking to attract some insignificant, hateful cuckoo's attention, why don't you go to the top of Mt Everest with some kangaroos testicles? That may help you.

05/26/2010

Tori Lahure/ Mustard Hero

Just saw a link. Another Nepali guy is going in around the world in a bicycle.There are so many who did it, sailing around the world, ballooning around the world. Reminds me of a term-torilahure, exactly translated in English as "Mustard Hero".  It reminds me of a story.

Nepal is a very fertile land. It grows lot of crops in the world famous valleys and plain. One of the important crop happens to be Mustard. When mustard is due, the bright yellow flowers covers the whole field and the smell it provides is magnificent. The taste is not that good though. The beauty of mustard field is almost ecstatic. But the mustard seeds that makes the oil is very important in Nepalese culture.

When the mustard is grinded for the oil, the oil has such a beautiful smell, it looks gross but the smell is so organic. The mustard oil which is thus produced.is used almost everyday, for cooking, make ups, massaging, lubricating, etc etc.

Nepal is a poor country. It was poor so people would sell the mustard seeds for money. Sometime a youngster would sell mustard to run away from home. In old Nepalese days, people used to go to many Indian cities including Lahore (India back then? now in Pakistan) to work in industries, or sometime to become soldiers, but mostly gate keepers. The run away kid would live a very miserable life back there for some time and would save some money, sometime just would save some stories to tell about big cities of India. When he finally return to their country, he would buy a new radio(usually huge), carry it on his shoulder, wear soldier uniform or guards uniform.Since he did not have any sophisticated deodorants or brands of perfumes he would use fresh mustard oil on his hair and mustache to show his prosperity and richness. He could be smelled from miles. He would get "hero" welcome. He is called Lahure.The villagers would get excited to hear his stories of bravery, nationalism, earning, wisdom and what not. But at some point of time, the villagers know that the guy is exxagerating and bluffing about things, and know he is good for nothing except the rumors and hype, they start calling him Tori Lahure- Mustard Hero.

Nepal gives birth to these ignorant mustard heroes again and again. People are such in this world, not only Nepalese, I know about Nepal more so its easy for me to rephrase the story, these people have no better alternative names, sometime has to tagged as 'Tori Lahure'. English language does not have such beautiful phrases. Telling of stories about bravery, nationalism, peace, diplomacy and humanity, they do no good at all. Mahatma Gandhi, and some of his followers, Teresa, all politicians in Nepal are some of the higher category Tori Lahures. The world tour bicycler, the saint who picks up stone with penis, the guy who sleep on the tree to make world record, the saint who who claims of meditating and disappears often, sai baba his propaganda makers are all low category torilahures.

If you really want to be a hero, do something which will serve the humanity and your so called nationality. Why carry your stupid flag when you talk about brotherhood? Why worry about money when you bark on peace between countries? Why keep pissing around the country like a dog. A dog usually pisses on a trees and claim his territory, of his circle. These guys are doing the same. These guys are doing nothing, just exploiting the name of a country and pissing around in Egypt, Mexico and now in New York. This idea only comes to Nepalese most of the time. I don't understand. Just one word Tori Lahure- Mustard Hero.

Nurse Week & Women

So called nursing appreciation week ends today, which was also the birth day of Florence Nightingale. I have always loved her story and always appreciated what she did for humanity. For some reason she gets my respect and not so called Mother Teresa and Madam Curie. There are very few women who have successfully surpassed the great challenge of overcoming the difficult situations set up by the men and served humanity. She is very few of countable names that comes to my mind with immense respect and appreciation.

Women have been always dominated both physically and emotionally over thousands of years. They have been misused, mistreated, and unrespected everywhere. Be it in a house as a wife, or in office she works, or in the streets she walks. They are used in nude magazines, in advertisement boards, used for entertainment purposes, used as attraction and nothing else.

You go to a business, you see a cute but dumb clerk in the front desk. Every great business and every successful boss wants some hot female secretary. Television add? Bikini girls. Car sales-half- naked girls. Artists best so called modern arts- nude oil painting. It is disappointing to see the way they are never really appreciated for their emotional part but only looked as some cute things to attract idiots. And what about few women in human history? Only political, some bogus religious propaganda like Teresa is given noble prize. Noble prize means nothing for me if it’s that stupid. It does not serve any purposes. But who cares, noble prize has been very cheap these days; in the sense that they are given away in a lottery picking way. Nobel prize is overrated.

Nightingale, as I have read in my curious childhood days, is still my hero(heroine). The story always attracts me. “The Lady with the Lamp”- I have always loved it. Last month, I met a nurse in Baylor from South India, Lilly during my waiting there for my cousin and I did not see her to say thank you when my cousin was discharged. I feel some guilt but it was not my fault, she was not scheduled that day. Anyway, humanity has more value than politics and religion.

To all the nurses: my sincere appreciation of what they do everyday. A popular poem on F. Nightiangale.

Lo! in that house of misery


A lady with a lamp I see

Pass through the glimmering gloom,

And flit from room to room.

05/12/2010

My Insane Weekend

Ohh! My insane weekends… This time it was gloomier with the stupid tragedy movie I happen to see on TV. Life has more to it. People have either taken life for granted or they have completely overused their time. I didn’t have neither of those because of the dreamlessness I am feeling these days.

What a great weekend to talk about… a couple phone calls from old girl friends and the laundry talk begins… I am not really sure what I have missed. I did not wonder about the cross-cultural relationship once I was out of reach of that Romanian girl back in time. Please don’t make it feel “ALL” girls are same. The same laundry talk… same talk about relationship…same bullshit…I am allergic to these talks. I am sorry, it does not matter you are white or brown; I have no patience to listen.

It may be perfectly fine for some women to not know who is their kid’s father and it is not my business either. I am talking because I have to talk. I have no obligation to teach or preach. I have no fulfillment in doing any of those. I am okay on what I am and I am living the most reasonable but insane way. This is my way.

Don’t give me any intelligent talk. That will be your hypocrisy. I can market myself in facebook looking for attention, I can post pictures, and I can talk stupid to attract you but oh well! I don’t need no advertisement because I am nobody and its good. You are nobody too and its good too. But you don’t know that you are nobody and its not good. You are always trying to be somebody and you can never achieve it. You cross one mountain and there appears another. Life is not simple if we think that way.

Whatever I can gain in my insane weekends, I have no control. I am thinking about the inner gaining. The outer world has not touched me that much. Yes flowers, beautiful girls, blue sky, white cloud….everything is beautiful but the outermost beauty is to enjoy joyfully the outer whole in the innermost core. My weekends are hard to enjoy. Beautiful girls, laundry talks, attention seekers in the Internet, a bad vending machine and an overly excited new nurse…. What an insane weekend.

05/09/2010

Nepalese Fighting and My Boredom

Last week could have been better. It did not turn out good. The boredom prevails. The bore dom of constant condemnation of this stupid world...In nepal people are begining the fighting again. They are hungry for more blood. They are taking about reviving the king again, the maoist are trying to see if they can fool the people one more time and the poor people are in the street again just dreaming about freedom, peace and justice. They don't get it. They will probably never get it- this is never going to help. I don't know how many innocent lives will be scarificed in the name of democracy.

There is no such thing as democracy, freedom of speech etc. People are still living in stone age. Bug fish are eating small fish. Power is the deal. There is nothing wrong, there is noone to protest for the poor. The powerful one is always ruling and is considered right. Who cares about the poor, weak, unpolitical voices? People will keep dying for nothing. Its still jungle there. I am indifferent towards Nepal. Sorry!

Uff.... summer is not yet. Not that summer is going to change anything. Summer is a false hope. Still looking forward to it.

Another Misunderstood Message

Well, as Kundan improves, I think I will catch up on my writing. Last month was a horror month. Nothing productive…too much stress. But life is a continuous growing. We learn something everyday and it never ceases, not even after death because I know for sure death is not the end. It was hard just to think about losing someone closest to you. It is just overwhelming. I kept thinking all those anxious days: may be I should have said this to him, may be I should have given him some message, I could have done lot of things and I didn’t do because I knew he would not accept it. I could have forced it. I could have hammered it into him.

I am here to share the message and the message is so strange that people will not accept it, whether it is my own family or my loved ones. The nature of message is disturbing. It is just hard to grasp. People are just smiling on my messages because all they think is I have gone insane and with a smile they try to declare their intellectual authority over me, and for their own sake I laugh inside. I laugh because of my failure and of their failure.

I hate politics. I hate politicians. Very clear …politician dirty, stupid, inhumane idiots and there is absolutely no exception. My message to them: Go to hell, there is not even a slightest of chance that you can make through with politics, that anyone can save you. Once you are a politician, you have ruined all the eternal potential that you have had to be something in life, something you could offer to humanity. You do not exist for this earth.

There is a story, which keeps striking my mind. Raman was dying and Ram asked his brother Laxman to go to his dying enemy, Raman to ask with respect for any messages or for any words of wisdom he would want to share. And sure Raman had a message.

He told Laxman, “Things you are postponing for tomorrow, do it today and things they are due today, start right now.” This is the simplest message everyone can understand; still it is so hard for people to follow. People have forgotten priority. Politicians have forgotten their priority and mislead all these innocent people. They are building temples, masjids, and churches not knowing that GOD does not live there. God live in our hearts. There is no need of idols; there is no necessity to fight on where Buddha was born, where he peed and where he shaved his head. This is ridiculous. Grasp the central theme. People are just divided by politicians. Politicians’ central theme is their belly. Temple, Churches, societies, clubs, cultural groups, parks is a way for them to give a hollow hope for people who forget about God and worry about institutions. God is in everybody’s heart. Out soul is so precious. The value of a single soul is greater than the value of the whole world.

Do it today, do it now: Beutify souls, take care of them before it is too late and worry about institutions and politics later.

04-19-2010

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Life Has More Cockroaches

Dear,

What do you expect me to write now? Now that I am free to write, I have nothing to tell you that is new to you. Silence is what I can give you. However if you are successful to observe, It has everything in it. The ecstasy that only you can get in a climax of a meditation, calmness in your soul that is all I can talk about. I am not very vocal in expressing my emotions. My emotions don’t count. I am not the central character today. You are. Still I want to tell you this: my expression is of silence. Silence is my way. I have no words. I have poor vocabulary and I am a highly self-opinionated, uncommon man and verily, I don’t want you to be lost in my words. The central theme should be clear to you as well as to me: life has more cockroaches than what you and I think, is it not?

Yesterdays!!!

Do you not remember? We, as responsible was we were, we made mistakes, we grew in life from those. And from the mistakes, we learnt our lessons, but did we ever stop experimenting with our lives? Did any yelling and shouting have to do with anything? Did cockroaches ever stop growing in our apartments? Was it our fault really? Are we supposed to suffer from those unwanted cockroach growth? Did we deserve any of that bullshit?

I am not asking any questions to you, I would not dare because it will scare you more. It is rhetoric. I am giving you answers in these questions. Yes buddy! Life has more cockroaches that what we expect. I know you are best equipped to deal with it. Trust is something that I learnt from you. You trust easily. So trust one more time, this hour will pass, just sit in inner silence, don’t worry about tomorrow. It will be bliss today, and forever.

The Old Man

The old man was dying. He no longer had that charm that he was famous for. He was no longer dominating, was hardly breathing and suffering in his bed that was prepared for his last days. Suffering from Asthma and diabetes, he was in his last stage.

All his life, he remained very firm, confident, and determined. He did lot of things that he was proud of. He lived in Mahabharat range for couple decade looking after a herd of hundreds of cows and buffaloes, milking them, making ghee and selling them. He bought many land and sold those. He grew up in the country, lived most of his childhood in the woods, eating just milk and raw flour, fighting with wild animals, partly because he wanted it and partly he did not know any better things to do. When his brothers wanted to be priest, teachers and clergy men, he enjoyed living in the Mahabharat range, in the snows, talking with wild animals and naked people, still uncivilized living in caves, who were feeding on wild animals and could not speak like other human beings.

He became politician later in his life. At that time, he brought running water to his village. People lived up in the hills and they had to go fetch the water in a river, down in the valley which would take an hour or two. Beside that running water, the village had nothing but a bunch of egoistic primitive creatures who made fun of each other, calling each other funny names and spent their time in total ignorance of the world that was beyond their village’s horizons. He helped poor people by providing food, houses and lands. He gave justice to people with minor or major household issue. Majority of people called him a righteous, just and honest but very aggressive person.

He won the village elections many times to become a mayor. He did many wonderful things for that society who never fully appreciated his sacrifice for them. But he was not afraid, he insulted who were against it, he thrashed them who tried to be cocky, he overthrew those who misused power, he made his path to success anyhow. People feared him, respected him because he was man of integrity and tremendous courage.

He lived his life with passion, very righteously. He married, he had sons and daughters, and they were married too. He moved to a better place. He changed his lifestyle. He quit politics later in his life because he knew at some point that politics is something that can corrupt someone’s value and morals completely. He said “politics is the worst thing that can happen to a good man.”

All his life, he lived with challenges, and overcame them. Not only was he a good speaker, he was very effective healer. He loved people, and he loved jokes about people. He loved scaring evil people and he was very successful. He liked punishing bad people. He respected very few people in his life. In his time, he was himself a symbol of justice and law. Any issues in the village, big or small, people would come knocking his door for justice and he gave his verdict. People respected his authority.

But now he was dying. He had been sick for a week now. His younger son, some of his close nephews, and some of the villagers came to see him. Doctors had already told him that he would not live very long. His eyes were weak, he had become very thin. His son who was living with him asked him if he wanted to go to hospital but he was stubborn. He wanted to die at home. He hated hospitals and the smell of dying people. All his strength was lost; he was suffering from breathing problems. He never accepted his defeat, but this time he knew he was dying.

Every night people came and sat in his room. For a week, he told them to go to their own houses to sleep because his son and couple nephews who were close to him were taking care of him. Villagers themselves did not want to spend the nights waiting for someone to die. They did it anyway because It was just a ritual, a help and a way of sharing encouragement and sympathy to the family.

After nine days in his own room he wanted to shift to a comfortable room, in the ground floor, thinking that the ritual performing would be easier after he dies. His skin had become little dark. He called his son and said: “Let’s not take the medicines anymore; they are giving me more problems. I am not going to revive, just a matter of few days...”

His son became very sad because his father had never given up hopes before. The old man was very accurate in predicting deaths. If people got very old and sick, they called him instead of doctors and asked him if his time has come to an end. He would tell them accurately when to shift the dying one to the proper place for their last breaths. Therefore, it saddened his sons and other family members.

His son then called the neighbors to come and stay for that night. From that night he started only drinking liquid, he could not even swallow anything properly. Anything he ate went down flowing from his lips to his chest and to the bed sheet. He smiled at his own weakness, perhaps he was remembering his encounter with a bear one day, long time ago, where he had to dual-fight in the Mahabharat range. It was a very weak smile… but it had his life written on it. The neighbors became little paranoid. They thought he started losing his senses. There were little whispers in the back of the room which was full of people.

The night went well, without him saying any words. He could not sleep all night; just put his head on the pillow and breathed heavily. People thought the old man was not dying, because he had not lost charms of his face yet. He could still speak in a clear voice.

“For a few weeks, nothing is going to happen” they said.

His son had not gone to his job for a week now to stay with his father in his last hours. He too did not sleep all night but in the day time, he took turns with his cousins and took naps here and there.

Eleventh day, and the number of people started growing in the house. People knew that he was sick. They came to see him from different places. His relatives, sisters, well wishers, his colleagues, his friends, whoever knew of his condition came to visit him.

They came to him and touched his hands and asked “Mailaba! Do you recognize me…? You will be okay in few days …don’t worry…”

He looked at them with disdain, a strange look that would make people think that they had said something very childish, because in those groups there were not many people that he liked. He said only this- “I know you all perfectly well.”

That day, he wanted to be alone with his younger son. He asked time and again to the villagers that were looking after him to leave the room vacant for a while for some fresh air. It was obvious that he was trying to talk something important to his son. People were therefore interested. They went outside the room but their ears were still inside.

One fat neighbor said “May be the old man is going to tell him of his old treasures that he had been hiding….”

Another said “Perhaps he is hatching plans not to give his older son his share of his legal share of his property. I heard that he hates his older son…”

“Well, he is probably afraid of his sin that he committed in his youth and going to confess to his son….”

Another got involved “I have heard that he does not speak to his older son… may be he does not even want his older son to perform the ritual after his death…”

“Have you seen the younger daughter is law, people are talking that she is a witch…she told me other day that my cow looked very strong and healthy and now my cow is sick, not even letting me to milk ….I can’t stop thinking it is because of her….”

“Who was that girl who was feeding him juice a while ago…, one smelly neighbor who was there for the first time said, “She has exceptionally large boobs…”

“….feed the old man your milk ….the old man is weak…”

A long laughter followed. Outside the room, people started to smoke and talk loudly.

One of his grandsons who was going to the room was listening to all this. Hesitantly, he walked through the crowd to go inside the room.

The old man was talking to his younger son and two other nephews in very low voice.

“Hey babu, you go away! They said to the kid, “kids are not supposed to be here.”

“Let him come” the old man said.

The boy touched his grandfather’s soft hand. It was warm. The old man had very long, smooth and beautiful fingers. The boy rubbed it very gently between his own hands like he used to. For few minutes both were lost in memories.

The boy used to pull and stretch the skin of his grandfather’s back hand, which was not very responsive and used to start counting the seconds in his watch to see how it will go back to its original position. And the old man loved it. The boy loved to massage his grandfather’s feet.

The kid used to say- “grandpa! Do you want your feet messaged today?”

“No, go do your homework!”

“I have finished doing homework… do u want oil or just with bare hands?”

The joy was not in messaging, the joy was to listen to his grandfather. Every night, all the family members and the guests, many of whom were not even invited and many of whom never stopped coming to stay overnight, would be in the old man’s rooms after dinner and they would talk. The old man would tell jokes, and stories of his life.

“Hey! Are you messaging my feet or just shaking your body to fool me?” the old man would ask. And people looking at them would laugh.

And the kid would blush, and lifting his both feet in his shoulder, would say “when you die, I will carry you like this...”

People would scold the boy but the old man and the kid enjoyed the jokes very much.

His mother would come and say “Babu, can you take the trash out?”

The boy would say- “I don’t feel like doing it.”

And the old man would add, “Yeah that’s right, I and he are very lazy, we don’t like to work, we just want to eat delicious food and sleep…nothing else.”

Both would laugh at her. They were two jokers, one soul.

Sometime the kid would ask the grandfather- “Grandpa, can I have a dollar?”

He would reply- “just you dollar? You got five”

But today, the boy could not speak. His grandfather was really dying. The boy was not sure what to say. He was hesitant to say anything because he had never been in that situation before. He stood there, stiff like a pole, watching his grandfather’s watery hazel eyes. The old man also could not say anything either. Nothing more had to be said … everything was expressed through their eyes; there was a synchronism with a very silent melancholy in both their hearts.

“What kind of grown up kid is this? Even at this time, he stays there without word. Ask your grandpa if he want to tell you anything…” one of his uncles said.

He heard someone outside the room said “stupid kid… why is he there? He will be scared. Let him out…”

The boy was silent and still not sure what to say. The old man was still smiling at his grandson, with pain but with very cautious bright hazel eyes. He also knew that it will be the last time. His son and nephews started cleaning the room a little bit. With courage, the boy sat near the old man to offer him some water to drink.

“Do you want to say …” The boy had tears in his eyes and there was a lump in his throat.

The old man whispered- “I am going…. we were pilgrims, just met in the rest area, under a tree shed, we enjoyed it when we were together… you have a different journey now…. …I am going back tomorrow… we will meet someday again…You and I don’t cry. Go now!”

The boy knew his grandpa never lied but still could not believe his grandpa was dying. He went outside, to upstairs where he could be alone.

That night the old man told his son to call his close relatives to see them for the last time. The neighbors now thought the old man was out of his senses. All night his face glowed like a moon and he was very silent. His son was scared and called some experienced people in the village to check on his health progress. People came and checked his wrist and said he will be okay for couple of weeks. His son was still worried. That night there were lots of people watching for him. The room was full.

The old man’s daughters and some daughter in laws who were serving and preparing food for the guests and relative who had come to see him were also tired.

“How long are we going to feed the whole village?”

“People are asking for certain food, certain vegetables as if they are ordering in a five star hotel…..”

“I am tired of the smelly shoes of these relatives; I think they have not washed those socks for years…”

“I wish the old man dies soon… we love him but it is very painful for him as well….he will get salvation from the suffering…” a big mouth relative said.

“There is no privacy in this house, we can even change our clothes …people are everywhere…”

The sick room where the old man was taken was also full of gossips all night. The boy was tired and was deprived of his bed because he had to share his bed to some relative who was snoring loudly. So he went to check his grandfather again. People were talking about the whole world.

“Oh did you hear about Clinton? He has accepted that …Shame on him, he is the ruler of this world….”

“Do you think there will be peace in Bosnia...?”

“What the hell with the moist, they killed 25 policemen yesterday in Rolpa and the government is doing nothing… “

“This is kaliyug, now the end is near; the time is now for the messiah to come save us….”

“What do you think about the sex tape of Aishworya rai? I think it is fake…I don’t like her acting anyway…”

“I hate Girija, he can’t be prime minister now. He is an Indian poppet….”

“….It is hard to pass time, let’s play card to spend the rest of the night…”

. They were laughing, and arguing and throwing their hands in the air. The son and his two close nephews did not know what to tell the villager and relatives. The old man who was closing his eyes to ease his pain a little bit, was so annoyed that he raised his head a little and said “Don’t be so loud. Go to your houses.”

The crowd in the room kept their silence for few minutes and they started again.

“The old man’s domination has not yet gone. He is not going to die for at least a week….” Someone outside the room whispered.

Someone in the crowd saw the grandchild peeking from the door to see his grandfather.

“Hey Kid! Go to bed,” someone yelled at the boy.

The boy went upstairs in the room, tried to sleep but he doubted he would see his grandpa next morning.

Feb 9th 2010

The Unwritten Story

The Unwritten Story

I have to write a story.

It has been long since I wrote any stories. I kept making excuses to myself, sympathizing my poor brain on unsuccessful defending of my incapability to write anything at all. I really have to write. That is what I love. All these years, I kept saying to myself, - it comes naturally to me, literature is my life. But all my creativity has died. I have become a slave of my high self-opinion.

Days, weeks, months and years passed but I could not produce anything. All the plots appeared strongly at first and later became weak and feeble, and disappeared completely from my brain. Lots of stories revolved in the brain and knocked each other out. The characters started arguing and fighting after sitting in silence for a while, waiting for my action. And again their patience did not last long. The brain was silent one hour and then there was a volcano of thoughts and imaginations. People were created, God was created, dialogues were spoken, verses were read, but nothing was written. Yes, nothing was recorded. Everything faded away like evaporation of water. I got tired, then recharged, and tired again. This continued for years.

Until the end of last year, I was busy with school. Yeah… school. It was tough. I thought of writing stories but could not. One day, I was driving to school and something knocked on the door in my brain. Suddenly I was talking to a man who had a great mustache. I call him the mustachioed. His mustache was very beautiful, long and wild, almost covering all his lips. He was knocking and peeking his long nose through the door. I would tell him- “not now, time is not yet”. He would not agree.

He would say- “Let the mustachioed take control”.

I was very stubborn myself, I told him to back off. I liked stories on princess better than a mustachioed. The mustache man did not go away. He waited in front of the door silently but his presence was strong. I tried to ignore him, to talk to another beautiful girl but he kept peeking his long nose through the door. He was silent but he was strong. Every time I look towards the door, he was waiting silently, with hopeful eyes smoothing his mustache. He really wanted to be in my story. I tried to leave him behind. I was trying to drive as soon as I can, but soon a cop stopped me to a with his rainbow lights.

“Sir, do you know why I stopped you?”

“I liked your sunglass but I don’t want you here right now”-I said.

“What…”?

“I am talking to Mr. mustachioed right now, can you go away? This mustachioed was following me for a while. He was irritating me”.

“Oh! Yeah? I did not see any one. There is no car behind you and she does not have a mustache sir. What are you talking about?”

“Oh…. I thought for a while. “This one is real”. The mustachioed smiled and disappeared. I was going to school with my friend. The cop was real. He wrote me an amazing ticket for speeding 20 miles over the limit and left happily.

“What were you babbling, were you nervous?” -She asked.

“Well, yeah something like that…” –I covered up. I was not aware that she was with me. The mustachioed never came back.

I imagined stories in my head and that was not the first time. I forgot myself sometime. School time was not good for writing. I never dreamt when I was going to school, I spent whole nights awake. So it was not hard for me to create a story. I spent nights silently, not even with thoughts; and all day, I was with bald men or mustachioed or princess or cops. There were so many stories in my head, but I never wrote a story.

After graduation, I was free. I didn’t have to memorize anything non-sense.

“The journey has now begun”- I thought.

I had lots of time. I started a story that was bothering my head for a while. I was looking for a good title first but before I found the title, my parents came to visit me for my graduation and I could not focus.

My mother had really missed me for five years. Every time, I was about to write story, she cooked something with so much spices and smoke, even the mustachioed would disappear. I kept my response to minimum but she never stopped talking. For a month that I was with her, she was always talking about something. She talked about neighbors’ and their son and daughter in laws, her parents, brothers and their children’s. She talked about cows and dogs in the neighborhood, about her diseases, and her neighbors’ diseases, her clothes and her relative clothes, her jewelries and her relatives’ jewelries. I could sense she missed me so much.

One day she was tired, I was just about to type the title of so awaited story, she said- “You are old enough now, don’t you think you should get married?”

“No.”

“I and you father wants you to get married to a nice girl and settle down”.

“Okay”.

“Okay is that all you can say? We don’t want you to force you to marriage. You can choose from so many girls we have been looking for you. You can bring her here, we are not of traditional family, we will not keep the girl with us in Nepal.”

I laughed. Silence followed. My story was stuck somewhere.

“You want to die alone when you get old?” she started again.

“Everyone dies alone”. My story was completely dead by now.

“But it is painful to die when you are alone- no one caring for you when you are sick.”

“Don’t worry”.

“We will soon be old and die. I have so many diseases…, even grandmother wants to see you married before she dies…, what do you want.....I let you think for a month, you can reply me after a month before we return so that we can prepare….why don’t you come back to home once…?

“I don’t look back mom. I said- “past is not for me. By the way, have you brought pictures of the girls too?”

She smiled. I knew she had pictures too but she was too embarrassed to show it to me because she knew I would make fun of her.

“Well, I said, “You gave me one month, I won’t take that long. I will answer you now. I give you both, one year to think about this. Think about it and tell me what marriage has done to you. What good has it served to you both, and what would you have missed if you were not married to each other? What difference has it make to you’?

There was a long silence.

Besides, my mother is not philosophical; she was just representing my father. My father kept silence during all the conversation. My mother was not silent because she did not know the value of silence. My father was silent, just did not want to lose in a debate with his son. It is hard for him. The debate was open for my mom but my story plot was already closed.

Now when my parents returned to their country, I had so many materials already, yet nothing was written. My boss was panicking that I was on vacation over a week. I had to go back to the same job that I hated with my every cell in my body.

But my writer’s instinct liked the job. I was so free to ponder my mind on characters when I was driving. Only thing was: I could not write when I was driving. My mind kept bursting in pain. Doing this job, not only I have hated it, I have started hating dogs. Every time I knocked on customer’s door, their buffalo sized dogs barked at me like crazy.

“She won’t bite you. The customer said.

“I look like a thief, don’t worry” I said.

“No, her eyes enlarged. “Why were you so late? It over forty five minutes, I hope the pizzas are hot otherwise…” now she started to complain.

“Oh because you ordered your pizza and perhaps started making love with your dog and forgot everything,” mustachioed whispered me to tell her that but I did not. I said-“Madam I am standing for more than twenty minutes in cold, it is snowing outside and I can’t feel my fingers. I knocked on the door and rang the door bell and you cell phone is dead.”

“Wow, really? She acted like she remembered. “I am sorry”.

“Its okay. Twenty three seventy one please”

“Here it is”- she gave me twenty four. “I know your job is hard. I used to do that long time back. I thought it was great at first but I hated it when I knew you have to go to apartments, and you don’t know the access codes…. and all rich people are greedy, they don’t tip you. Poor people tip well. But I will pray for you ….I am a Christian…if you believe in Jesus…”

Mustachioed wants to listen to the story but I don’t. “She is a hypocrite”- the mustache man said to me. “It is fun to listen to her.”

She closed the door in my face. I looked at her house- a huge castle. It was beautiful, and she thinks she is poor. In the driveway there were two new hummers. “Probably her servants are poor too”- my mustachioed made the old joke.

When I was returning back to store, I thought may be that would be a nice story. It had been always nice to write about rich but foolish people. So I waited until the midnight, having prepared some exaggerated version of this encounter in my mind to write a story that night. That night I went home after work. It was midnight, and I was starving. I opened my apartment’s door to find out nobody there. Just darkness…My cousins were supposed to cook as we agreed but they were too lazy. Both were asleep soundly. I washed the dishes, cooked the food, and washed the dished again. All that time, the mustachioed, the poor lady with the castle, my mom, all are all laughing loudly inside my head. “I am writing today, this is the day” I thought.

But with my dinner, I ate the story too. I postponed again and went to bed thoughtlessly.

Next day I had a job interview with a lady for a food company.

“Are you Spanish?” She asked.

“Is it not illegal to ask that? I thought you were equal opportunity employer.” I said.

“we are but there is a reason….She asked- “it seems that you are the best candidate for the position but you do not speak Spanish where 90 percent of all my employees speak nothing but Spanish”.

“What about English”? I asked.

“They know English but they don’t want to speak it. They will just speak Spanish”.

“Really... Why?”

“They think they will be dominated. They think that is a way to discourage racism”.

“Why are you encouraging them, are you one of those too?”

“No sir, we value diversity” She told me.

“So why are you clinging stupidly to your Spanish thing?” I could not stop myself. “English is already my second language. You didn’t mention anything about your extra language clause in the posting of the job details”.

“Well not all things are mentioned on the details. That why we have interviews” she clarified hurridly. I could see her eyes blink rapidly with anger.

“I drove three hours from my place just to come here to listen to you say this. Wow bitch! You are one fat and ugly racist” my white cop with the black sunglasses told her from my head, “You look illegal to me. Perhaps you came from swimming in the Mexican border or maybe you were sold by an illegal Mexican hooker to this country…” But I calmed my racist people. They were ready but I told them that time was not yet.

After that week I was not working many hours, so I thought it was good time to start writing. But few job interviews followed. I prepared for the interview. I practiced every possible question. I conversed with myself. I rehearsed the whole interview hundreds of times differently in my head before I went to an interview. Neither my story grew nor did I get any job.

They never asked me anything. People didn’t like me because, for some- my name was too foreign, for some- my face was too brown; some thought I was an enemy of Indian people. Some people didn’t want to offer me job. Some wanted to make fun of me and for that purposes only kept calling me for interviews. Although I knew, I went. And in going to such waste of time, I killed a lot of stories.

Time kept racing and I kept forgetting what I had to write.

As I thought I was free from pressure, I wanted to write. As I sat in front of the computer I started thinking. “Now I have to write just for the sake of writing and I don’t know what to write. Without success, I have been thinking of a plot. My bills are due this week. Credit companies are bothering me everyday increasing my interest rates. My car needs to be repaired, the engine light is on. I have recent break up with my girl friend and I don’t know what to do. I have not cleaned my closet forever. I have to ask some of my professors to write me a recommendation letter. I have not followed on some interviews that were conducted normally. I have not answered a voice message about my absence to the church this week. I have not done laundry for a long time. Valentine is coming up and I have prepared nothing. Few girls are probably expecting something but how can I tell that I am not good with women and children? I have not called my mom to know she has found out about marriage. There are lots of things to do before writing I have to find a job very soon or I have to go back to my country to marry a girl that my parent chose for me. My interviews are not going well because they all ask about my rights to work is US. And no matter how I perfectly explain them with a proof, they try to find some fault in it. People have lost faith in people. I have to call my cousin in New York just to tell her that I might need her help. I keep not trying to remember what happened but the white lady in the lab yesterday humiliated me. So I am little unstable because humiliation is very dangerous thing. I try keeping my little ego inside the closet but such humiliation can bring war. She canceled a scheduled interview at the first place after knowing that I didn’t speak like her. After I responded strongly, she called me again, after a week for an interview. It was nothing like an interview, a typing test is what they called it. And she tells me- Oh you typed just 6000 date entry words per hour, we need someone who can do 8000. You are not eligible for interview. Let me show you the way out.”

The big black lady that I was writing a story on was really unhappy- “you are a white trash! A little unprofessional, so called supervisor of this lab, go to hell for such lies and humiliation. This part was silently expressed in my defeated smile. I only said this to her- “I don’t want to be here anyway”.

I keep trying to forget all this but it comes interrupting every time I sit to write something. I kept trying to philosophize things and sympathize myself that someday will eventually come, when I will be in no hypertension of my mind. But that never happened. Lots of things happened, lots of thoughts came by my mind and I kept watching my thoughts. Should I stay here or go back to my country? Do I want to go to graduate school? Am I liked by American people? Am I okay? For how long do I have to do the keep the buffalo’s size dogs barking? For how long am I going to put the mustachioed man in prison? For how long can I keep silence? Is it okay for me to eat meat? Is God watching over. I have to write a story but things kept interrupting.

I was trying to introduce the mustachioed and his story but today also the weather made me depressed.

The story was never written.

8th Feb 2010