Quarter Life Crisis

Quarter Life Crisis

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‘25/26 is not a nice age for a man’ the post appeared several times in my wall. ‘……25/26 is not a nice age for a man,…..Your ex-gfs are getting married,….. your career has just started…….Elders treat you as unproven theorems, ….. Every Aunty you meet ask “Shaadi kab kar rahe ho beta !!”, ……while uncle asks “Career ka kya socha hai beta…”,…….. You have all the confidence in the world but little achievements to show, ….. You know that whatever you have been taught about the world in schools has been sheer waste of time ……..’ I have heard a lot about a middle life crisis. But this is different; it’s not a middle life yet so for a reference let’s call it a quarter life crisis.

I remember my grandma citing an example of my dad and uncle wearing pants only when they were enrolled in college. Last month Nepali media published Prime Minister Dr. Bhattarai’s photo wearing a shorts while he was receiving an award of a SLC Topper. Seeing the photo in Newspaper my mom looked at me ‘See even the great man like Baburam used to wear shorts till SLC’. She took off the spectacle and gave a stern look at me ’what’s wrong with today’s youth! Whatever you give to them they won’t be satisfied’. And I hope my grandma if was alive today would support my mom. I am sure that my mom and grandma’s tone was why are you guys not like them? You are thinking of buying an Armani Jeans and you mom show you the picture of the great person wearing shorts and ask you to be like him.

‘Can we be like them?’ Great!! ‘Can be’ but the Getup!! ‘Hell No’. First thing he was not great when he used to wear the shorts and second how could you ignore the fact that we could be the great like him. The worst part is that the parents won’t believe in Quarter life dilemma no matter what you do. So I just laughed at her.

In the evening, it was a small family gathering and the newspaper on the table had a half page picture of Leaders signing a peace agreement. What more to ask for the gossips? But the sky is the limit. The gossip became a dialogue and gradually an argument. Happens every time when everyone thinks he/she is right. Dad and I had a tug of war. For him the peace agreement was great, for me it was bullshit. He was satisfied with the development and I was ironic. He strives for the social responsibility I strive for the money. He preferred cooperative I preferred company. For him agriculture was the backbone of economy for me it was technology. He wants road network I want a neural network. I want to work in the IT Park; he worked to build the PuspaLal Park (Park in the memory of Puspa Lal Shrestha the founder of Communist Party in Nepal). He sided with Gaddafi I supported Obama. I was sounding like a capitalist and no doubt he was a Marxist. Finding my ideas antithetical to his, he conclude ‘You have nothing, you are a zero’ and ended the conversation.

‘What!!! I’m different, does that mean I am a Zero’

I don’t know why he said so. Was it because I was really a zero or was it because I was a quarter life unproven theorem? The dialogue by Bhisma in Mahabharata ‘मे एक सुन्य हुँ जिसका अकेला कोही अस्तित्व नहि हे’ was ruling my mind ever since I watched Mahabharata few months back. Then I started believing myself as a zero. I even called it a Zero Anxiety. Today when dad gave his conclusion he hit in the bulls eye.

I didn’t have any concrete things to prove a theorem. I wished I could say ‘I have all the confidence in the world but little achievements to show’. But confidence cannot be shown and achievements; I don’t have. So I was in a deep crisis better to say in a quarter life crisis.

सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी

सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी

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Preceding three nights were quite rough; whole night digging into 3 books of card without blinking an eye and emptying the pocket without a good damn chance to win. So when the climax of Tihar came, the ending was sure to be forlorn: the evening of Bhaitika day, I and my blue visage left alone in the room trying to catch some sleep.

My laborious attempt to make up for those preceding nights was in vain when the stereo speaker started blaring on our front porch. ‘What the hell !!’ I wake up rubbing my eyes and came out doddering down the staircase. My god, the whole neighborhoods gather into our front porch. The banner on the side reads the name of Local Youth Club. And three damsel images were swaying in the heavily lighted porch to keep up with Gauri Malla’s classic Nepali number ‘Tiharai ayo lau jhilimili’. I pulled the chair and placed myself at the corner yawning and rubbing my eyes.

The MC guy started calling the name one after another. Dhinka Chika, Prem ki Naiyya, Shila ki Jawani, Taal ko Pani, Maya Godawari Ful Fulyo etc. The fusion of Bollywood and Kollywood was off-color yet jolly. When it was time for Shila ki Jawani my hangover was over and I was feeling rejuvenated. The girl shaked her butt well in shila ki jawani. I tell my mom that she won’t have to worry about cleaning the porch tomorrow. And she laughed. Thank God mom too loved Shila ki Jawani. The Dinka Chika Guys were funny, though they couldn’t do Salman’s 6 packs stuff but they did fine with their hands in the pocket and the whistling. ’ Taal ko pani’ lived up to the expectation of bringing the earthquake in couple of rector scales. Neighbor kid also participated in the boogy woogy.

The MC’s tone showed it was coming to an end. ’The last performance of today the Nepali dance esp. popular among the youth, I hope the old here also enjoy it a lot’. He paused for a while and screamed ‘Let’s welcome our friends for Simple Simple Kanchi’. I had heard the song’s snippet in a movie’s promo in Nepali channel and few friends in facebook had already mentioned it as weird. I had never got chance to listen the full songs. So I felt animated getting one now. I composed myself so that I don’t have to yawn for next 5 min.

‘सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी को डिम्पल पर्ने गाला, मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मलाई मन पर्यो’……

…………सुटुसुटु आउने कान्छाको लुटुपुटु पर्ने बानी, मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मलाई मन पर्यो’’

The whistling and clapping went for a minute or so. For me the song was funny, catchy and not so weird. I think that’s better than present days Bollywood’s Dhinka Chika or ChamakChallu. Unlike Chamakchallu or Dhinka Chika I can understand the wording of Simple Simple Kanchi. The MC called it a day by thanking all and bhailini packed their stuff.

Though they never bother to recite the Bhailini (anyway who cares whether they came to ask for Gunui Choli or Sent by Bali Raja) they were well appreciated. To conclude, one and half hour full entertainment and they did fine. When I fall back into the bed I was whispering ‘सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी को डिम्पल पर्ने गाला, मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मलाई मन पर्यो’. The next morning I sat to write this. To bring myself in a mood I think of the song so I searched for ‘simple simple kanchi’ in youtube. 28 search result and at the top of the list the song itself with 53,256 views. That was not bad for a Nepali movie number and not for me as well because the evening which was supposed to be gloomy went tip top with ‘Simple Simple Kanchi’.

Highway 200K

Highway 200K

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Next day after Dashain, the world wasn’t awake and I was all set to leave my home to get back to the shitty Kathmandu. Loaded with two heavy back packs I took a taxi to the bus park. My ticketing agent’s foul play made me to travel in a mini bus and worst of all I had to pay double. What to do its Dashain for everyone. So called tourist bus was filled with few but intriguing foreigners.

The bus started off and the seat beside me was empty. You pay double, you get double, I felt lucky and put my luggage by my side, plugged the ear phone in my ears and relaxed. ‘So we keep on waiting, waiting, waiting on the world to change’ one of the John Mayer’s best was buzzing on my ear when the daylight pierced through the cloud and caress my countenance. I closed my eyes, felt the warmth of sunrise, took a long breath and the cold breeze form Machhapuchre filled every alveoli. When the playlist was changing, the panorama of Majestic Mountain was slowly getting away from the eyesight. Three Gurung Teenage girls were sitting in front of me. Their gossip was more interesting than my playlist so I just paused my cell phone’s media player and lurch my ears toward their conversation.

‘Did you know the guy who made iPhone died yesterday (ओइ सुन त, iPhone बनाऊने मान्छे त मरेछनी।)’ the girl on the front seat turned back.

‘Oh I see, that’s why the facebook was filled with RIP’, the second replied. She started luminous smile and start to comb her hair.

‘Yea you are right’, the first one clarified. ‘That’s why everyone was writing RIP in their status and I too did last night’ the voice was filled with the boastfulness and her face glowed with the glory.

‘Oie listen’ the third one: silence listener by then, poke her presence. ‘Sipora sent me the friend request on facebook, but I didn’t accept’

‘You did damn right; she is just a show biz, braggart fool’ (ठिक गरिस् तैले, कस्तो घमण्डी छ बाई त्यो पोजे त). God these girls are really something, I thought after I heard the terse reply from the first one.

There was more interesting scene to indulge myself with. The Blond foreigner couples on the other side next the Gurungs were in full mood. Series of kisses, it felt awkward to watch Hollywood romance live no matter how modernized you think you are. Thank god there were no elders on the bus otherwise they would have wasted their energy by cursing the blonds. As for me I couldn’t restrain myself without a comment. ’राम राम हेर्नेलाई भन्दा देख्नेलाई लाज’, and my others neighbor, The Gurungs on the front giggled. ‘Oie see the Khaire are kissing hehehehe’.

After an hour the bus pulled out, four passengers got in. It’s better to say four troubles got in. The melodrama of the finicky couple didn’t move the bus for next 10 min. The old women and a girl with them were watching dumbly.

‘No, no we can’t sit in the cabin’, ’How can we sit at the back’, ‘I need a window’, ‘we can’t sit apart, manage two seat together’ and ‘We can’t travel in this shitty minibus, we are paying for the tourist bus’. They went on and on. Everybody on the bus was watching them quietly.

‘You are travelling in the shitty minibus’ the guy next to me grumbled with frustration.

The women didn’t stop there. She kept on trucking for another 10 min. sometime calling their ticketing agent, sometime scolding the driver and the support staff. There was no sign they would stop.

‘You better charter a private plane, why travel in a bus?’ The previous guy next to me seemed angry. All four turned toward him. God their scary growl!! But he was also something, didn’t move an inch with four pairs of ferocious wild feline eyes.

‘Fuck you bitches’ I wish I could utter these words but I zipped my lips and waited their melodrama to end. Finally they settled, the two women found out the last seat, the husband took one in the cabin and the daughter came next to me.

The blond couple and other foreign got off somewhere near Muglin for the rafting. The drama queen and the old women took the blonds’ seat. The fat guy singled his daughter to come front. She took her belonging and left. He told her to seat by the side of the First Gurung teenage (The bald guy like Bruce Willis, next to her had got off for the rafting). And he placed his ponderous belly by my side. God he swaps her seat. Do I look a diddly? I was totally shocked and scrutinized myself from top to bottom. ‘What the fuck? Am I that gross so that a man didn’t felt safe to let her daughter sitting by the side’?

Entering Kathmandu Valley descending down Thankot is like jumping deliberately into the realm of wicked beings. As people say ‘Journey is what brings us happiness not the destination’ so thinking little about the shitty destination was the best for me. 7 hours and 200K was all it took to take me back to where I didn’t wanted to be.

Odds and Even

Odds and Even

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It was late night and we exchanged few email. I don’t know why I didn’t dare to open the chat box. But a couple of emails were enough to evoke an Elysian memory. There were no more high school slangs, no more nickname, no more haggling just formal words, and words enough to make you realize we’re grown up dude.

Half dozen autumns had passed since. As soon as I finished reading the email, I just lay in my bed, strolled my eyes absentmindedly on the ceiling and gave my brain a go to travel back in time. Image started filling the ceiling some haze some limpid. After a minute I took a long breathe, closed the eyes. I thought it would be really soothing memory but to my surprise I became a calculator. I was summing the odds and even of the couple of Autumn I spent back then with a grown up dude on the other side of the SMTP terminal. For me those two autumns were the perfect combination of balmy ambiance of sissoo tree swaying in the wind and the animated high school teen life. But now my own understanding has befuddled me. I started waging it on the scale of odds and even.

I enjoyed every tick of duel autumns. From classroom to playground, from hostel to dining hall, from my dear seat in the classroom to my cozy bed of the hostel I catch a glimpse of happiness in every instance. Study, game, programs, time pass, TV room, study hours, and PE classes I took all fun out of them. I think my even camp is full of high times. Despite this I know there are ample of occasion when I was what my dude called a prick (He said he was also one of it). Though I was not right up front, my unsatisfactory deeds on several occasions were enough to felicitate me with an adjective mentioned above. Undermining the existence of the other sect in the classroom, being boisterous on several occasions and ridiculing the fellow mates, I left behind these gross memories which will sum up in the odds camp of my scale. I wish my odds camp won’t be bulky coz I never enjoyed the adjective. I calculated my odds and even with a little assistance of the emails. And the conclusion: blah blah blah......

‘Knowledge, Character, Service’. I can’t say how much I excelled in these three endeavors but one thing for sure I did excelled in numbers of pals who will be forever there to share tenderness and warmth not only on the other terminal of SMTP but also on every details of life.

DK Bose and Super 5’s

DK Bose and Super 5’s

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The perfect set up for the long planned weekend seemed bleak when the week long rain never took an interest in subsiding on the dawn of Saturday as well. But the pray on the night before had done some tricks as the cloud started to disperse from the east showing void hope of sun. 7:30 in the clock and we were all set for the ‘Bhaag! Bhaag! DK Bose DK Bose Bhaag!’

I was standing on the queue in front of Cinema carrying a small yellow chit worth 100 bucks after a long time. As far I remember it was the first ever after the college. Saturday; Morning Show, God! It’s been 6 month since I last visited cinema. No more class so no more bunking and how can I do my attendance in the theater. The long lost feeling was again haunting my psyche. 2 hours total fun and when I was out just wanna say ‘‘Bhaag! Bhaag! DK Bose DK Bose Bhaag!’

Two hours with DK Bose was enough to spend the morning. What about the whole day? We made a plan to walk along the National Soccer team on the road to Brazil 2014. Qualifying round for the samba land was on the way in the capital and how can we miss it. We went to the room, hurried our lunch and get ready to line up for the ticket in the Rangasala.

Two hours before the kick off we were biding our time on the long queue outside the Rangasala with 200 bucks hoping the cost and the wait will be for the glory. I remember lining up several times in past and the thoughts were different then. I used to call them The Chicken Theory: at least don’t get hammered much. But now after the leap frog in the FIFA table my mind has fostered the new one The Buff theory: Go and kick their ass. And I with my gang was waiting outside along with the long queue of zealous fans to see our champs excel over Timor Leste’s.

I was one of the 15 thousands fanatics on the stadium with eyes wide open to witness the history in making. Small country and wee history but it was wonderful. And not to forget it took just 90 min to embark the one in the pitch. The Mexican Wave, the Fan Songs, the Clapping and the Yelling, Scolding, Rough words, Excitation and shittttt, Tips and Coaching from the stand. The 90 minutes passed in the blink of an eye with hackling, whistling and screaming. When the whistle blew off the side screen was showing the statistics 5-0. Those super fives were the best figures I had witness in my visit to Rangasala. What more you want? The hour’s long wait and the happy ending.

The two hours spend inside the theater and the stadium was equal

in duration but what can I say about the feeling they imparted in my minds. The best weekend I had spend in a long time made me go through the drastic transformation of emotion. The fokaad entertainment and the glory you’ll die for to see. The alloy of fokaad entertainment and the glory made my weekend. Not to forget the later one made by Buff Theory the winner. Now onward I’ll say Go Nepal Go, Go and Kick Their Ass.

Season Quandary

Season Quandary

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Time and often the human mind go through the quandary. I have felt such in last few days. Just for the instance I would like to mention my phobia and mania of the seasons; my phobia of the summer and mania of the winter.

No doubt the winter is the best one. The warmth of the winter sun that breeds new aroma in the air, the droplets of dew on the leaves that shines like the diamond which makes you feel opulent and chilly yet sizzling airs that will rejuvenate your eternal fire are the things that make me crazy about the winter. Unlike summer we don’t have to walk through the water filled pits playing holi every now and then with the strangers driving by. And every time I think of winter I think of the great Devkota ji and his superb style of describing the miniature things and their greatness. The way he describes the beauty that behold in every aspect of nature has intensified by love to the winter (because I learned to talk more about the things I like).

On the other hand summer never excites me. Living in the Capital during summer time is like being cooked inside the pressure cooker. The scorching sun that never takes a break until it roasts you like the Sekuwa on the footpath restaurants of Baneswor Chowk. The malodorous streets and the pile of trash that never disappears and makes you nauseating. The dust filled streets and the crowds of people that never sleep. These all summon up to make one big pressure cooker to cook you alive. The positive vibes about the summer never penetrated through my skull. And due to this reasons I used to frown hearing the praises of summer. I used to lead the crowd that criticizes it and I felt good about it.

However in the last few days my mind had cooked the new notion; what’s wrong with the spicy summer? The chauffeur behind the new notion was the continue rainfall. And see how this drizzling week in Kathmandu drives me to draw this thought in my mind.

The beauty that beholds in every modicum of this sublunary world has energizes me. To name a few: A drizzling rains that splash in my ceiling and trickles down to my window pan making dulcet music. The music more divine than Persian Sufi, more eternal than Buddhist soul music or more mellifluous than Pink Floyd. The Godly chime of the bell in the temple next to my house that propels the religious instincts inside me. The cool monsoon breeze puffing inside my room flapping the curtains. All of them tempered the summer torridness and let me roll myself in the velvet quilt and sleep.

The sound sleep I got in last few days has really changed my thoughts about the season. But I don’t know how much does it last. Is it until the day sun emerges from the gloomy cloud and starts to roast you again or will it last for few more? But for the time being I’m enjoying the little change going through my mind.

ओइ, भन त, तँ किन जन्मेको?

ओइ, भन त, तँ किन जन्मेको?

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I and one of my friends were returning from the workplace. Putting aside the burden of day long work and walking freely back home was really pleasing. As we were few blocks away he got the call. After getting off the phone he turned to me and said ‘we gotto go somewhere else’.

‘Why? What happened?’ I asked in a doldrums. I thought my plan of getting to room early and having a good early sleep was spoiled then.

‘A friend had bought something from my home, we have to receive it’

‘Ok, let’s go’ I was left without an option so I accepted his proposal.

After 20 minutes or so we were standing by the side of DhobiKhola waiting for the delivery boy. I was standing by the compound wall putting some of my load against it and scrutinizing the environment of this corner of the metropolis. The usual setting of Kathmandu; the street momo vender with his cart was busy dealing with the customer, the corn seller by the side of road was making fire, the fruit seller pulled his bicycle by me and started waiting.

The wait was already 10 minutes and there was still no sign of our delivery boy. So I was putting myself up with the typical ambiance of the Chowk. People rushing around the Chowk, the messed up traffic and the murky water filled pits all over the road was an orthodox outlook of the Chowk.
The group of teenagers appeared from the corner giggling and when they passed us I heard them talking. ‘ओइ, भन त, तँ किन जन्मेको?’ the first one asked.

The second guy was muted by the question.

‘I mean people studies, they becomes great, professor, scientist, doctor and many more but what about their life…………………’ the first one was trying to explain. But before hearing all of it they were far enough that my ears couldn’t perceive more than the above lines. Before thinking anything I turned to my companion. He was already staring at me. So we both smirked at each other.

‘ओइ, भन त, तँ किन जन्मेको?’ I laughed at him.

‘What kind of Question is that yaar?’ It was not only me who was moved by the question.

‘This is million dollars question man, can you answer it?’

‘No way, How would I know why was I born?’ He was deeply upset by the question.

How would I know why was I born? Was it to be some freaking programmer, was it to read some ridiculous novels, was it to watch 3 or 4 movies a day or was it to be a Chelsea fan. I don’t think god wasted his time in me for doing these mere tasks. As per my notion I was made to do something really great but what? I think I should ask my mom and dad, what? Because they were the one who get me into answering this troublesome question. I think my dad wanted me to debug human’s hardware and mom didn’t have the slightest idea but I’m here compiling some freaking computer software. But there is no harmony between our wish. The more I think the deeper it takes me. The depth of the question was like the unfathomable sea, the deeper you go the darker it becomes. And I am trying to find a clue about my something great.

When asked to young guys and girls they may not be able to answer the question because they might not have figured out why they were born? But what if we asked this to some veterans crossing half dozen decades or so? Can they answer it? Think about it.

Finally the delivery boy arrived with a plastic bag. When we received the parcel we had a look and no doubt the parcel had a jar of pickle, ghee and a kilo of Daal. Seeing the parcel big smile came to my face. And I tried to answer the question.

‘I don’t know why I was born but you are born to eat this pickle, ghee and daal’(‘म किन जन्मेको त थाहा छैन तर तँ चाँही यो अचार, घीय्ऊ र दाल खान जन्मेको होस् यार’), we both snickered and headed to the room.

Batch 2006 A Memento

Batch 2006 A Memento

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The Inception: The playlist in my media player was playing Kid Rock ‘All Summer Long’. I neither bother to add another one to the list nor did I try to pause it. ‘It was 1989, my thoughts were short my hair was long’. The lucid images of my early college life started to roll around my eyes. My long hair which I cherish these days in facebook albums had an interesting role in marking the beginning of my college life. Frequent hide and seek with the coordinator to save it from getting trimmed were funny. But more than that my foreheads along with Nabin, Ghoda, and Migsho were the nice bargaining chips for 2006 batch to get, what they want. To mentioned a few, bunking canteen to visit the Baje ko bhatti pasal early in the morning, blaming teachers for not teaching good, bunking practical classes blaming load shedding. And when asked to trim the hair, I didn’t have to say a word coz the whole class was there with the readymade answer; why don’t you first arrange a practical, why don’t you first buy a cricket bat, basketball, why don’t you get the toilet cleaned and many more in the list (I remembered summarizing them to 21 points in 2^nd year). And the last one about the toilet was special one from Gaurav.

The Romance:Later days in Baneswor were more romantic, with the frequent visit to the cafeteria, a rose day celebration, getting your body warm with winter sun in the balcony and piping through the window of room 201. There was something warmer than the winter sun, I think Nangebaba, Bivor, Jayan and Laure know more than me about the winter of 2008. And how can I forget getting the new analogy the president Sarkozy, the romantic Neta. But the worst part of it, Sarkozy got Carla Bruni and I’m still single. Neither the 35 bucks rose nor the Bade’s challenge around TT board worked for me. But many many thanks to Chicken for being an allies gathering information and getting a cell no. And I think I’m not the only one to thank her. After all her nickname ‘Keti ko Dallal’ worked well for her then.

The Memento: The classic dialogue of Pandey ‘Dherai hero nabhai, muji lai yehi baneswor chowk ma gaddinchu feri’, the sexy slap of Tori on everybody’s arse, Gabbar Singh laugh of shiva, kukur birala fight between poje and Chake. Jagadamba Steel’s body of a Modal. Legendary Jodi of Amitabh bacchan and jaya bacchan(sorry Alchiko poko and Fuchhi, I couldn’t find a better analogy for you guys). 24/7 Black and white Fakhira. Once in a full moon Bharat. Salman Bhai sumeru and Sagun. And our Chinese friend Gu Sung and Dick Sung. But Laure who are they really? I also don’t know exactly, please let me know. Sports week 2008, 2009, CITS 2010, IT#, IT Conference, and Farewell Party in Anandaban. And many many more, but hot conversation are not included. Cherish them yourself.

I have a strange feeling about being a graduate. There were few occasion when I really wished for. But today when I’m the one I have a sour feeling. Because I will badly miss you all. (………………….)

I think someone is absent here too. But my blank space for ( ) Manoj.

Mary Poppins Creche

Mary Poppins Creche

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It was just another day; nothing unusual or exciting was happening. The most noticeable fact about the torrid summer morning was that the sun was ascertain to make you tandorri (Copyright from Alchiko Poko, sorry boss got to borrow your word) by the end of the day. And what more to expect in the Capital if it was the fifth morning without the rainfall? I had few things to take care of in my old place so I thought of getting them done. I hoped that would be the perfect beginning for the week. After scaling few streets, I was in my old neighborhood. It was just a couple of weeks so there weren’t any conspicuous changes.

I didn’t know what the morning life was like in the neighborhood because never got chance to be a part of it. First it was morning college which not only took my sleep but also aloof me from the morning life of the neighborhood. Second, I never wake up to say good morning on weekend, it used to be Good Afternoon by the time I was off the bed. Today I got the excellent chance to be the spectator, more than that I was the participant.

Loud wailing behind the wall was enough to catch my attention. The wall was painted with cartoons, alphabets (A for Apple, B for Ball, and C for Cat and D for Dog). I didn’t hesitate to stretch my neck to get my eyes past the wall and see what was going on. It was the morning assembly of the school. A mentor was shouting commands and the kids were following a PT Drill. And the ground was filled with the fog of dirt. The brown Roland Garros, I gave the smile. My god! So many Nadal, so many future clay court champions. Can’t we expect few more Grand Slams from Asia in coming years (let’s not get satisfied with the success of Li Na).

Jokes apart, It was the nostalgic portal. I was visualizing myself among them performing a drill. After a couple of minutes or so the loud music broke my day dream. The speaker was playing the track of the National Anthem. I rolled my eyes around to search for the speaker. It was hung on the balcony besides the large hoarding boarding painted in artistic fonts with the words ‘Mary Poppins Creche’.

Mary Poppins Creche? What kind of name is this? ‘The curiosity grew in my mind. Before the query was solved there was the child orchestra singing ‘Sayeu thunga ful ka hami eutai mala nepali’. Wooa what a song? It was years since I heard the national anthem sang with such energy. The fog of dirt was slowly settling and the sun rays piercing through the iota of dirt was imparting rainbow. The mellifluous national anthem, balmy morning sun and the perfect rainbow was enough to make the environment around the Mary Poppins heavenly.

Walking away from the wall of Mary Poppins I remembered a quotation written by a friend back in high school; ‘Beauty lies in the eye’ that beholds it’. I couldn’t make a sense of it then and I was left staring at the board. My gape posture wasn’t new because I was renamed (Twaa) after my unique style. Today seeing these beautiful poppins singing national anthem at full swing standing in the middle of Nepalese Roland Garros everything was making sense. There was nothing ugly because my eyes were beholding every beauty of the universe. The soothing national anthem, weird but beautiful dirty ground, and the warm and pleasant summer morning. Yea it was best the start you would want for the week.

Friday 13th Jesth

Friday 13th Jesth

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48 hours to go off the clock for the constitution and we can see all the attention and hurriedness summing around New Baneswor. Tens of group gathering around the Convention Center with banners some are chanting slogans others making a circle and dancing. God! Look at these morons’; it seems that they are performing Karaoke on the street. The result; its predictable, first no matter how much drama you perform in the street you are not getting the constitution and second no traffic in and out from Baneswor. This time second one was annoying me more (Last year I loathed the first one). The first difficulty I faced after moving out from Baneswor to Koteswor was to go for the morning walk during office hour from Koteswor to Thapathali. And not to forget that my morning walk was only for the week; the week we Nepali were supposed to get the new constitution.

Friday 13th Jesth, alarm remind me of my Putalisadak Dream at quarter to 5, I freshened myself, dressed up and headed to catch a bus. My bad luck there was no public transport, I wondered why? I returned to my room and started facebooking. Around 7 I got the call from my parents and that solved my queries about the public transport. I tuned the FM radio and there was the hurriedness of desperate Nepali citizen to get the new constitution. Half dozen vehicles were torched before the day break and the strike was called for the day. About organizer, I have to count my fingers to get the exact numbers of them so let it be. By the time the scorching summer sun started its business of making human tandoori I redressed myself, packed my bag and started for the office. I knew my one and half hours journey on foot was going to be dull.

The main road through New Baneswor would have been less dull to explore especially on strike days, but today I preferred the duller one. I took the Bagmati Corridor to Thapathali. Once I crossed the small iron bridge near ANFA Technical Centre Chyasal I happened to encounter a couple of girls around 6 or so. Their tatty get up remind me of a GRE word; Ragamuffins. My visage lightens up seeing the bravery of my Cerebrum. I thought they were from the slums of Sankhamul. My thought of Bagmati Corridor being less interesting than the main road was proving wrong. Those girls were catching my full attention. They were hiding behind the trunk of the big tree. As I approached near them I heard the Nepali song ‘Haraye ma timro komal jhai nayan ma, timro tyo roop ko mohani ma haraye’.

Second girl grab the cell and asked ‘Do you have that songs’.

‘Which one’ the first one tried to reach for the cell but the second one stretched her arms away from her.

‘The song where Rekha Thapa takes a boat, she has a short hair…. That one k ’ She explain the plot of the song.

‘Oh I see ‘Sagar sari Chokho maya !!’

‘Yea yea yea that one, I love it so much, don’t you have it on the cell phone’

‘No I don’t, but my brother does. I’ll get it tomorrow’

‘Sagar sari chokho maya timilai deula’ the second one started singing and swaying her body with the melody. She circled the whole tree with her graceful dance.

As soon as I reached in front of them the first girl noticed me. She hurried to the second one, grab the cell phone from her hand, and hide her face with the both hands. Her shyness was something worthy to watch. Despite Her messed up hairs and face she was looking beautiful. The second one turned back as the music was brought into a halt by my arrival. She too noticed me and what more she couldn’t stand her awkwardness so she hurtled behind the tree by hiding her face like the first one did. And they both giggled behind the tree. By this time I have already crossed the tree. I couldn’t content myself so I turned back to watch them. They were spying on me by hiding behind the tree. My eyes were off the road and busy in capturing every moment of the girls behind the tree so I stumbled on the stone. I almost fell. This time it was my turn to get red. I heard the loud outburst behind the tree. I felt shy and didn’t dare to look them again.

‘Ok let’s go, mom will kill me if she know I stole her cell’ I heard them talking. They hurried and disappeared in the bushes.

I gathered myself and hurried my steps toward the office.

When the whole country’s attention was grabbed by the Karaoke around the Convention Hall, mine was blown up by those kids behind the tree. Can there be anything more beautiful and serene then to watch those innocent enjoying every moment of their life despite every hardship and poverty. Certainly not.

The whole day they ruled by brain and I felt rejoiced every time they came in my imagination. I was in no mood to spoil my happy mood so I put myself aloof from the media whole weekend. On the morning of Jesth 15th I saw the headlines on the newspaper hung on the bookstore that the tenure of the CA was added for next three month. What’s new in this? Nothing. That means I again will have to go for the morning walk after 3 month. Thank you 601 for thinking about my health. Because I might need it then as my belly has already started to add layers.

Pony Patriot

Pony Patriot

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Going through the Saturday edition of The Nagarik, I felt like getting laddu in both hands. The first one is 12 pages free in same 5 rupees and the second one is that it is dedicated mostly to books. Last Saturday we had a small gathering in my place so I asked a friend to bring Nagarik. After reading it I felt satisfied with the expenditure. Reading Buddhisagar is always funny and this time ‘Huss Guru’ was not an exception. I was so excited reading ‘Huss Guru’ that I was laughing at every line. I thought that was annoying my friends so one started watching music videos in my laptop and another one started yawing in my bed.
‘Sunko bala lauuni dhoko fukaunu cha rin ko poko’ the song was continuing in the background as I was reading and applauding every line.
The melody was brought into halt by the Rap. So my friend burst out.
‘What? ‘I took my eyes from the newspaper.
‘Nothing’ he continued his giggling.
‘Did I say anything wrong?’ I thought he was laughing at me.
‘No, it’s not you’ he controlled himself and continued again. ‘See this, why did he have to feature Rap in this song, he is making potpourri of Rap and Nepali, and this is completely nonsense man’.
I frowned at him, folded the newspaper and was ready to involve with him.
‘Is that so? Are you the student of music? Do you know what is Sur? What is Taal? I don’t think so, so how can you say it is a potpourri’
‘No but it sound so disgusting, listen him, he sounds so artificial’
‘Oh I see what you mean; you mean that he didn’t sound natural isn’t it’.
‘Yes, exactly’
‘I think he would have sounded natural if he had said ‘I wanna a fuck you’ like Akon isn’t it? I think speaking vulgar is natural in Rap don’t you think so buddy’ I was defending Avinash Ghising though I was not his fan.
‘I didn’t mean that way’.
‘Whatever, but I understood that he was using Nepali, and without any vulgar words so he was not sounding natural, mmmm I think he is making a potpourri of Rap’ I started laughing at him.
‘Nobody can talk to you, let me listen the song’.
‘Ok’ and I continued my reading.

Last Wednesday I had the similar experience in my workplace. One of my colleagues was playing Metal in his Chi-phone (Chinese version of I-phone). As I’m the country type of guy so the tornado in his Chi-phone was not making any sense to me. Suddenly the tornado stopped and I heard the guy singing a Nepal song. I was really wishing him to stop his chi-phone and now there was u-turn in the genre of songs he was playing. And that was my genre. I jumped from my seat and started singing.
‘Aankha aankha boleni maan sanga maan bolna baki cha’
Everybody threw their glare at me so I paused myself and slowed down to my normal gesture but I was still lisping with the singer.
‘Oie what happened to you buddy?’ the owner of the Chi-phone reacted.
‘Nothing’ I was back in my seat. ‘It’s just that I was really wising you to stop your chi-phone’ I replied.
‘And why were you so excited about the Nepali songs?’ he was asking me in condescending manner so I replied him with real pose.
‘Because I love the song and you know what, its more Pleasants than you bullshit metal’
‘Haha what do you mean by bullshit Metal?’ He was in no mood to give up.
‘Because you don’t understand a single word, and the music, god it’s a disaster’ I was getting more incensed with his blindfolded support to Metal.
‘Metal is not bullshit but this song is bullshit hahaha’ he started making mockery of the Nepali song. ‘Aankha ankha boleni… haha…. How can an eye talk man? .. haha.. what a bullshit songs’ his tone was getting more rude.
‘If so tell me the lyrics of the song you were listening before this’ I countered. My challenge muted him.
‘See you don’t even know the lyrics of the song and how can you say it’s a good song’ I felt like wining.
‘Go and learn the lyrics and talk about it’ I was enjoying his numbness.
And I started buzzing again ‘Jivan ko bato ukali ani orali samaunu haat maya timile’

To conclude, I never find myself in the bevy of patriots but sometime I enjoy putting some burden of nationality on my head. I rarely find myself defending crook nationality. Those were just a couple of occasion I became phony patriots.

Scofield Mania

Scofield Mania

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Finally it’s over. By this I mean ‘Scofield Mania’. I’ve been watching Prison Break for a year and I just finished it now. The moral Scofield taught me was more than the knowledge I could get from thousands books. ‘The fight for the freedom and the fight for your loved one worth more than the thousands battle fought in the human history’.

Getting along with the story I would like to start with the inception of this absurd mania. I was completely into television serial then with 4 seasons of Lost and 5 seasons of How I Meet Your Mom finished, I was looking for the next one. It was my friend from abroad who suggested me to watch Prison Break. Our cable operator didn’t broadcast ABC or AXN so I hurtle to every DVD store in the town but it was useless. I started googling the torrent for season 1, season 2, season 3. Everybody knows the speed of internet in Nepal. I waited weeks to complete the download. And what more it took me just a week to complete 3 seasons. I was touched so much by his heroic character that I went to the barber and trimmed my hair like Scofield. That was second time I copied somebody’s style. First one was Jack’s from Titanic around 10 years ago. But now with little hair left to comb like Jack, Scofield suits me more. Haha ain’t it funny? And about the final season, not even the google could locate the torrent. So I have to wait.

My wait was over after a year(last month) when my friend told that his boss had a DVD of season 4. So what? I asked him to borrow it from his boss. That’s how I completed the chapter of Scofield and his fight. More than me my junior from the college is a sycophant for Michal Scofield. After seeing season 1 he changed his profile name in facebook to Oggy Scofield and updated his status to ‘My name is Michal Scofield and I’m a fugitive’. I don’t know what Oggy means but the other part makes a clear sense. And last time I meet him he suggested a name for my son.
‘Ramesh dai you should name your son RJ’.
‘What does RJ stands for?’ I was curious.
‘It’s Ramesh Junior’ he laughed.
‘Haha you want my son to name like a Lincoln Junior (L J)’ I grinned at him. ‘I’ll think about it when I had one’ the big smiled came to my visage.

And there was a dessert of 1 and half hour in the form of a movie called The Final Break, I bought it and watched. It was the moody ending. I can’t imagine Scofield dead. But what more you want to see if he is dead. Its MJ i.e. Michal Junior the son of Michal Scofield putting flowers on the tomb of Scofield. I saw my melancholy face in the mirror when I completed the series. I don’t know why I became so fanatic about this series. It remind me of my movie mania when I was a teen in school. No matter how old I became I am getting more and more touched by these on screen fiction. Is it because I love fiction or is it because I am a real maniac or something else? I’m trying to find an answer.

Putalisadak Revisited

Putalisadak Revisited

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The continuous beep of the alarm and I was off the bed. As the matter of fact, I just completed my studies and I’m waiting for the transcript. So what more, it’s time to head towards same old destination; Putalisadak. When you are in between the studies it’s the best place to hang out. Reasons, I can give few of them. First agree or not everyone’s cooking something big in their head so it’s Putalisadak which help you to provide the fine recipe. Second you have a dream; Putalisadak will give you even the bigger one. And the cost, 10 grand for the trimester. No matter which door you went through the cheerful girl on the front desk will draw a browser toward you and says ‘It’s ten thousand for the course and I bet it’s the best you can get’.

The best thing I enjoyed while walking on the street of Putalisadak is reading the hoarding board. From Statue of liberty to Eifel Tower, Sydney Opera to London Bridge the dream Putalisadak shares are bigger than the seven wonders of world. I bet 90% of them say they make dream comes true. Other 10% I think I remember them easily. Five years back, the big one on new plaza by the side of Padmodaye High School always showed latest release in Jay Nepal and Kumari Hall but now it’s the latest release in QFX Cinema. Back then it was Manisha Koirala with the cute smile in Pepsi Ye Dil Mage More but now its Katrina Kaif and her sexy lips in Mango Slice Rasile Aaap ki Swaad. Apart from the changes there are some addition, like Rajesh Hamal in Prime Life Insurance Sunnya wa Tin Bichar Garau ek chin, Rekha Thapa in UTL, and not to forget the big fish NCell with its latest scheme.

Considering about the success, I can’t say much because I’m not he lucky one. But after so many years my belief on Putalisadak has not decrease a bit. Many things have changed in last five years, my hair got less and brain grew bigger. I was the confused teen now I’m a clear headed guy. I know what I want. But one thing never changed for me and I hope for thousands of young brains who scale the street between Singha Durbar and Kamaladi everyday. It’s the belief in Putalisadak. No matter whether you are a good or bad cook, you never think twice about spending that 10 grand on the recipe the Putalisadak offer you.

The First Bicycle

The First Bicycle

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The secrete plan about buying a bicycle was hitting our evening study hours from last couple of weeks. My brothers used to count the money they had three four times every evening. I used to sat by them and watch their eager face. The total budget consists of the fixed deposit of my two brother’s last three Dashain total gross collection. I tried to buy the share with my gross collection of the last year’s Dashain but my proposal was rejected in unison from the two chief investors.

‘Sale tuke’ they both turned their head toward me. (By the way tuke(2k) was my pet name back then, how I got that is a different story)

‘You want the share huh?’

I nodded.

‘It’s no you fool’ that came at the same time from both mouths. ‘You’ll give your money now and later you’ll go and cry in front of mom’ said Sandai.

‘Mom, they took my money huuuuu huuuuu’ Thuldai rubbed his both eyes with his hands acting like me crying in front of mom. And both of them burst out into laughter. What more, I was like the reserve player sitting out in the bench and watching the match.

‘How can they buy the bicycle without telling mom dad?’ I used to be frightened imagining the reaction of mom and dad once they notice about it. But my elder brothers were bindas, they were not even thinking about it.

‘What if mom dad notice?’ I showed my fear.

‘How will they know? Will you tell them?’ Thuldai asked.

‘No, I won’t’

‘So’ they started counting the money again.

The answer didn’t settle my worries so I asked again.

‘But, they can see the bicycle once you bought it’

‘You stupid go to sleep else I will kick your ass’

And one more word was just the conformation of two feast one from Sandai and the other from Thuldai. So I pulled the Sirak and pretended sleeping. I piped from Sirak making small hole to watch them and breathed heavily acting as if I was asleep.

‘500, 600,700 annnnnnnnnd its ……… 780, we have 780 in total’ Thuldai said.

‘I think he will give it in 700, won’t he?’ Sandai was curious about the cost.

I think they used to talk about it all night. In the morning it was different, all busy with our own stuff.

It was holiday. They finished their errands and went out with the money. I tried to follow them but Sandai found out. ‘Don’t follow us else I will slap you’ he threatened me.

I paused for a little while and again I followed them. Second time it was Thuldai, he turned back.

‘Go home and don’t tell anyone, I’ll give you a ride after we are back’ he tried to bribe me and I got bribed.

‘Promise’ I was happy. He turned to the sun and said ‘God promise’ and what more you want than the biggest promise; god promise. My feet were in air with joy. I’m gonna ride a bicycle yeeeeaaahhh.

I returned home singing

‘साझा बसमा जो पानी चढ्दछ, किलिन्डरले २ रुपियाँको टिकट काट्दछ’

And I started waiting them. It was certainly the longest wait of my life. And finally they appeared in the road after an hour and a half. Thuldai was walking the nearly broken black Hero Ranger and Sandai was pushing it with his right hand and in the left he was carrying few pieces of metal. Later I realized they were the bicycle parts.

‘Why are you not riding it?’I asked them.

‘We will ride it after little maintenance’ Sandai told and let me push it.

I happily started pushing it.

‘But dai, who will mend it? Do you have money for the maintenance?’ I was thinking about investing some in the antic Hero Rangers.

‘No, we will mend it ourselves’ Thuldai said.

And my second attempt to buy a share again went in vain.

‘Is mom home?’ Sandai asked.

‘No, I’m alone’

‘If so let’s put it in the store room and we will work on it later’ Thuldai explained the plan on how to put the bicycle out of reach of our parents.

We put Rs. 700 worth Hero Rangers in the store room and hide it using straw mat (गून्द्री). We used to sneak into the store room whenever we got chance to mend it. When both of my brothers worked it I used to squat at the side and look eagerly. I used to dream sitting at the back of the bicycle with my big brothers riding it.

After two day when I was alone at the house. Mom found out our Hero Ranger. She was so furious.

‘Who brought this trash in the house?’ she came to me with her furious face and grabbed my arm.

‘How would I know, it’s not mine’ I tried to escape.

‘It’s not your, but you know it, tell me whose idea is this?’ she juggle me and that was enough for me to burst in tears, and there was no other option to get away from that trouble other than shading some tears.

‘Why are you scolding me, go and ask your son?’ I stared sobbing. ‘They won’t even let me touch it huuu huuuu’ I started rubbing my eyes.

‘I don’t wanna see it in my house, just go and return it before father comes home, else I’ll tell him’.

That was the real trouble so I ran to find the real owner of that trash. Mom put her hands in the forehead and sat at the front porch.

‘How can you guys spent money in such useless things?’

Later when dad was home, mom told him about the bicycle. Dad sat with both of them in our room the whole evening, I didn’t dare to go into the study so I walked with mom in and out the whole evening when she was doing her kitchen work. Later when it was time to sleep I tip towed into the room. Dad was not there and both of them were busy with their study.

‘Oie tuke, did you told mom?’ Sandai saw me first.

‘No, I didn’t, why would I?’ I climbed in my bed.

‘I think he told mom yar dai’ Sandai was skeptical on me.

‘I told you, mom found out herself’ tears started filling my eyes. ‘He’s just scolding me without the reason huuuu huuuu’ I burst into tears. Same old tricks to get away from the trouble, shade some drops of tears.

Thuldai hurried towards me and block my mouth with his palm.

‘I told you don’t scold this cry baby’ he whispered to Sandai.

‘Why is he crying?’ Dad heard me crying in the next room.

‘It’s nothing’ Thuldai replied. ‘He just tumbled with the table’.

‘Watch your step you dumb and stop crying’ Sandai tried to support Thuldai. That was their best trick to deal with my best one. Make something to put mom dad away from our room.

‘Shuuuuuuu, don’t cry, else I won’t let you touch that bicycle’ Thuldai pull his hand off me. Hearing about bicycle my tears stopped. I dried my eyes using the sleeve of my sweater and went to bed. As usual I popped from the sirak and asked ‘Do we have to return the bicycle tomorrow?’

‘No, we can keep it’ both investors opened their mouth at the same time. That night they just studied and didn’t talk about the bicycle. And I saw myself riding a bicycle in a dream.

14 Minutes

14 Minutes

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It was just another freaked out day for me. I heard the news of exam being postponed for 3 days and when I checked the university website last night there was the third notice with the same theme. So there was no real rush to start my study for the day. I woke up late had my lunch and started playing manager mode in FIFA11. ‘If university doesn’t want to take my exam why should I give it huh’, the consolation thought went through my mind this morning. And the common problem of Nepal, electricity went off and I wrap up my manger mode and there was nothing to do next. So I grabbed my photocopy took a chair and went out to enjoy nice and warm sunny day.

‘Welcome bro, nice to see you out of your room’ mumbled my boy next door the Rolpa Boy with toothpaste filled mouth. ‘I don’t see you often in the sun, how come you today?’ he thought that was funny.

‘Don’t start again man, I’m in no mood, my exam got postponed for 3 days and I’m really freaked out’ I showed my frustration.

He grinned at me. ‘And that is third time isn’t it?’ He spit the toothpaste out of his mouth and resumed his brushing.

‘Yep’ I nodded and put my chair by his side and opened the photocopy; Ethernet and IEEE 802.3 standards. Oh no, why do I have to read this Ethernet in every semester, is it so important? I started to flip the page to find something interesting but there was nothing. Subnetting, TCP/IP, OSPF, FAT, NTFS, DNS.... same shit again and again. I think there is nothing new in technology except these late 80’s and early 90’s discovery.

‘Where were you man? I searched you in the whole house’ Mr. Pop my brother like friend rolled up from nowhere. He used to be my neighbor several years back and we used to watch three four movies a day then. Those were the hell of days. And he was in Kathmandu for few days.

‘I’m here’ I just continued flipping photocopy.

‘Is there no electricity?’ he asked.

‘What you think, if there was would I be out here?’ I was getting unsettled with bad print in the photocopy. ‘This is Nepal man, don’t make yourself fool asking such an asshole question’.

He turned to the toilet and Rolpa boy got excited.

‘Why do Pop dai spent so long time in the toilet?’

‘How do I know? Ask him?’ I was offended with the question. ‘But he used to go to toilet every half hour few years back, now I’m unknown about his time of stay in the toilet’.

‘I’ll take a note of the time’ Rolpa boy took his mobile out of the pocket. ‘Its 11:27’ he looked at me with a big smile in his face.

‘That’s just stupid you know’ I took off my jacket and put in my head as the sun was really making roast out of me.

‘Its 2 min and I’m sure he is not there to pee’ His smile was getting bigger every time he turned toward me.

‘What’s so funny?’ his stupid act was getting in my nerve. ‘Why are you so concern whether he pee, defecate or fart huh?’

‘There is not a single drop of water in the toilet’ he laughed.

‘So what?’ I looked at him. He blinked me twice and that triggered my mind.

‘That means there is no water to clean his ass’ I started enjoying his bullshit act. ‘That’s little funny’. I blinked him back.

‘Its 11:35’ The Rolpa boy was watching every tick in his clock. He started counting his fingers. ‘It’s been 8 minutes bro’.

‘Leave him alone, don’t be so stupid’ I tried to comfort him to leave me. ‘Go and clean your mouths, your brushing is really irritating me’.

‘I’m counting Pop dai, if he comes out I go’. He was in no mood to give up his mission. So it was useless to try him.

Where RIP was used to work in small network OSPF was made to work in comparatively large network. I was through to the routing protocol after finishing subnetting.

‘It’s 11:38’ he again started counting his fingers.

‘And it’s been 11 Minutes’ I interrupted his counting.’And don’t ask me what do people do for 11 minutes inside a toilet’. He was paused and was in some dilemma. He was swapping his eyes between mobile screen and his fingers. ‘Yeh, you’re right it’s been 11 minutes’ he finished his counting.

I frowned at him so he just lowered his eyes from me.

‘Tube light’ I murmured.

The Rolpa boy got on his feet and walk past me. ‘Where are you going? Pop dai is not out’ I showed my concern.

‘He’s out’ he turned back and showed me the time. ’Full 14 minutes’ he symbol 14 by showing his right palm and closing it twice. He ran towards the toilet, opened the door and looked inside. Then he started to turn back in slow motion. He was thinking real hard. He closed the door of the toilet and walked slowly to me.

‘Why do people take 14 min to pee?’ he was asking me like an innocent child asking a teacher what an elephant is.

‘Hahaha’ I laughed. ‘Go and ask him’

The Rolpa boy went out of my sight. Pop bro didn’t notice anything out of track when he came back from the bathroom. And I was wondering ‘Why do people take 14 min to pee?’ when he started the conversation with me. ‘So what’s new with our Blogger?’

‘I’m writing new post titled 14 minutes tonight’ I smiled at him.

‘What’s it about? Are you trying to write something like 11 Minutes of Paulo Coelho?’ he asked.

‘More interesting than 11 Minutes, better read it first’ my smile got bigger every second I see his face.

The Mind War

The Mind War

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(Dedicated to all Mr. Too Much Thinkers out there)

Mr. Right inside me said ‘think about it man, think hard about it’ and the Mr. Who Cares inside me said ‘What the hell? Go and get it, now is the time so hit the nail in the head’. These two me (Mr. Right and Mr. who cares) are really hard to deal with. They never try to settle. When one says something the other always says ‘Fuck you’. And they are mutually exclusive like the light and the dark. That’s what I call ‘The Mind War’.

‘If not now then when?’ Mr. Who Cares asked.

‘I don’t know, but I think it’s wrong, what about the family, what about the society. No, I can’t do it’ Mr. Right replied.

‘Hell with family, hell with society, it’s about you man not about some freaking society’ Mr. who cares tried to convince.

‘Hell yes, you’re damn right man, hell with family, hell with society….. I’m gonna do it’ Mr. Right acted like he is convinced. But after the little pause. ‘No, no, no..…what if something went wrong?’ Mr. Right bounced back.

‘Fuck you man’ Mr. Who Cares got angry. And Mr. Right starts to think again.

The above conversations are the part of the play that is hitting my brain’s theater ever since I started to think for myself. And I call the play ‘The Mind War’. And my Mind War is doing great business in my brain then DDLJ did in Bollywood.

What is more interesting about it is that Mr. Too Much Thinker like me has screened The Mind War in their theater in many circumstances. It might be while bunking classes for the first time or handling first glass of alcohol or first stick of cigarette in the hand or dancing for the first time in a disco or proposing a girl for a date. But Mr. Too Much Thinkers are born to think but not to do. Sooner you realize the happier you will be.

‘It’s all set man, why don’t you give a shot’ said my friend making his face like a shit. I felt terrible seeing that face and more than that I felt pity with my own guts.

‘Don’t tell me these as if I don’t know anything, I’m not a child anymore’ I replied him.

‘If you are not child then act like a man, at least be a man once in your life’ he hit right in the nail’s head.

That was enough to mute me. And again the screen of my brain started its favorite show The Mind War.

And I stocked in the infinite loop of question answer between Mr. Right and Mr. Who Cares infestation of myself.

The above conversation took place between me and my friend, when I was thinking about doing a thing that Mr. Too Much Thinkers thinks about. Any guess what the outcome was? Its simple my Mind War never ended and I didn’t do it. I heard ‘war are easy to start, hard to fight and impossible to stop’ and I think it’s just damn right. The hardest part is to fight and that’s what I’m doing now and it is not even thinking about stopping.

I would like to share the conversation between me and another Mr. Too Much Thinker of my circles that took few weeks ago. I was busy with my work when he entered my room; I just fulfilled the formality to welcome him and went with my stuff. He moved around the room twice as if he was trying to tell something.

‘It’s killing me man’, he spited it out of his mouth.

‘What is killing you?’ I knew what he was talking about but I acted as if I don’t know anything.

‘You know…’ He felt shy to express it. I lifted my head and scanned his face; it was really a melancholy face so I made it simple for him.

‘I think something is burning, see the smoke’ I pointed at him. He was confused.

‘Gottcha Romeo, haha, so it’s the love in the air’ I was excited to hear how he feels about his girl. ‘So, how’s it going, mmh mmh’ I asked him.

‘It’s killing me man, I can’t even read, I know I’m gonna screw this exam’.

‘Haha, the same classical love story, no sleep, no appetite, no thirst…. Good going man’ I was enjoying all of it. ‘Why don’t you tell her?’ I asked.

‘It’s not that simple, what if ………………..’

He went through dozens of what if and I sat there just listening all those what if clauses. No word came out of mouth because he was also another Mr. Too much thinker like me and it’s not strange his mind was screening ‘The Mind War’ staring Mr. Right and Mr. Who Cares.

Last month in a wedding party I ran into another Mr. Too Much Thinker. He is a guy from my workplace and we were attending a weeding of a Newar friend. Born in a typical Brahmin family he is a hell of a thinker. We sat for the dinner and they started serving Baji set on our Tapari(plate made of leaf), one by one they started serving dished, and 90% of them were Buff items and don’t forget that there was no liquor except Yela and Chayang. Guess what, my Brahmin Mr. thinker had to eat only beaten rice in the wedding party when everyone were enjoying Yela and Chayang with Choyala and Sekuwa. I went to him and said ‘Come on man eat something’. He nodded and watched me from above his spectacle. ‘How can I? It’s all buff items’ he was freaked out. ‘So what? Everyone is eating, don’t think too much man, just eat’ he looked me with dissatisfaction. I know what his mind was going through at that time. His brain was screening ‘The Mind War’ and Mr. Right and Mr. Who Cares inside him going through all those what if clauses. I can imagine him cooking in his kitchen after midnight. That was just another infestation of Mr. Too Much Thinker.

And to conclude, I have a say “The mind war is injurious to health and life, stay away from it”.

Living Your Dream

Living Your Dream

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I had heard too much about Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist so I bought it and finished it in one stands. That was few years back when I started exploring foreign literature. My love for foreign literature was marked by the overwhelming love for Tolstoy’s War and Peace and Gorki’s Mother. Thanks to my family background for inspiring me in Russian Literature. As I went through the Alchemist, frankly saying it didn’t swept me like Tolstoy and Gorki but one thing I certainly learnt i.e. Living Your Dream. Ever since then I’m trying to know what my dream is. And the answer; I was still searching until today. But the status shared by friend gave me my answer. It was about Bryan Adams taking million dollars from Nepal and the charity concert for the fund raising of Kumar Kancha collecting just 34 thousands rupees. And the answer I got was ‘My dream is to be me’.

I came to watch a youtube video posted by my brother. It was the interview of Nepali Fashion Designer Mr. Prabal Gurung in CNN. He told ‘Competition you feel it … in term you are not living in a vacuum so I’m trying to compete to myself to bring very best out of me’ when asked about how he feels about the competition. And he helped me to conclude to my answer. Also today I came to read this blog in Nagariknews.com and the part of it inspired me a lot. I think it taught me why I should be me? So I would like to quote that part here:

‘तिमीलाई मेरो अनुरोध छ– कृपया एकैछिन उभिएर आफैंभित्र हेर। यो पद, यो पैसा, यो जागिर, यो भिसा, यो हतार। त्यसपछि अर्को पद, अरू पैसा, अर्को जागिर, अर्को भिसा, उही हतार। पद, पैसा, प्रतिष्ठा र व्यस्तताले तिमीलाई कति खालि बनाएको छ? एकैछिन रोकिएर आफ्नै सास हेर– त्यसमा कुनै हार्दिकता, कुनै शान्ति वा कुनै विश्राम छ?गाउँबाट आयौ, काठमान्डुमा घर बनायौ। अब अमेरिका जाँदैछौ। त्यसपछि? के चन्द्रमा जान टिकट खुलिसकेको छ? म आफू बाँचेको प्रकृतिमा प्रेम महसुस गर्छु। काठमान्डुका सडकलाई प्रेम गर्छु। कृपया खाल्टैखाल्टा सडकमा बिस्तारै मोटर कुदाऊ।रत्नपार्कका भत्किएका बारहरू। भृकुटीमण्डपछेउ थुपारिएको फोहोर। वायुसेवा निगम कार्यालयअघि पिच्चपिच्च थुकका टाटाहरू। सभागृहमा चुँडिएका फूल।सुन्धाराबाट त्रिपुरेश्वर जाने सडकको देब्रे पेटीमा सैनिक क्लबछेवैको प्रतीक्षालयमा लडिरहेको युवक। गौशालामा खुट्टाभरि घाउ भएका र पुरानो मैलो सर्ट लगाएका घसि्रँदै गरेका वृद्ध। न्युरोडमा मैलो अनुहार र त्योभन्दा धेरै मैलो हाफप्यान्ट लगाएर मागिरहेको बालक। काठमान्डुमा प्रेमातुर पात्र र ठाउँहरूको कुनै कमी छ? काठमान्डुमा प्रेमका लागि कुनै स्पेस अभाव छ?काठमान्डुको गरिबी, दुःख, फोहोरमैला सबै हाम्रै अप्रेमको कारण होइन?’

After all these years being the active member of social networking, time and often I used to regret being addicted to it. But today I really loved it. Because a reply in the link about Kumar Kancha that I shared really helped me to draw my conclusion. It was from my friend Kshitz Pandey.He quoted ‘The burden of originality is one that most people don't want to accept. They'd rather sit in front of the TV and let that tell them what they're supposed to like, what they're supposed to buy, and what they're supposed to laugh at.’ and that was enough for me to differentiate me from Santiago in The Alchemist. Why should I travel all the way from Spain crossing the deadly Sahara Desert to Egypt to live my dreams? Unlike Santiago I can be just me, I need no Alchemy. And when all these thought were skimming in my minds I remember my teacher from school who used to tell us ‘at least learn a thing every day and you will be a successful man’ and today I learnt a thing ‘Living My Dream’ and in return I don’t need to be successful man but I just want to be me.