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Sparkles and Night

I always fancied night sky full of stars… I don’t have to explain how pretty and rich they look. But I can never stare at them for too long, why? I am scared of the depth of night’s blackness and overwhelmed by the numbers of those shiny stones. Well, despite of this weird thoughts of mine I still love those glittery madness. You know how some kids have their ceilings jammed with neon stars and it turns into magic night sky when the light is turned out? I always wanted one. I had a few neon stars but not enough to imitate the mystical night sky. I used to imagine and picture what it might look when I laid down on my bed facing the dark nothing ceiling of mine. Now I want you to ask me why am I writing this out tonight. Please please ask me why? First let me tell you, I was all ready to sleep early tonight and then one thing made me write this. I was already wrapped in the warmth of my blanket with phone in my hand. The lights were turned out already (wait… don’t get your head thinking, I didn’t have neon stars glued in my ceiling), the only light was from my cell phone. Then I noticed the prettiest thing ever, my dream night sparkling next to me. Confused right? I will tell you in simple word. So, what actually happened was, the silica mirrors on my cemented wall were sparkling in the dark because of the light from my phone. Those little glittery chips were so beautifully glistening… giving me the night sky I always fancied of.

BOOK shop

I drag him to book shops (well, most of the times he volunteers and rest of the times you know how it works ). I am 23 and according to my age I am suppose to read “that” typeofbooks (you know what I mean right? Cause the correct word is so not in my head right now and I don’t mean 18+.) I thought I was a reader, but when I lay back and think about the books I read and the ones my eyes and mind repel, I am in high doubts. May be I am not understanding properly what a reader means or unknown to the degrees of a reader.There must be “Ka barga ko reader” “kha barga ko reader” and such according to the reading standards.

Haha, malai euta kura yaad ayo. Suppose “book” is a guy. I think I am in a relationship but maybe it is just a fling or an infatuation. Other case, may be ONLY I think it’s a relation but he does not. What makes more sense to me right now that I am thinking and writing is, it might be that I think that guy is right for me but he is not. (Still talking about books) I am too comfortable with the type of guy I think I can handle and staying away from better possibilities.Mmmm… well, I should really push my eyes and mind to try “that” typeofbooks.

I still love reading books with big handwriting and pretty colourful pictures.(I know most of us still do…remember Thumbelina, Cinderella,Pinochhio and etc etc :P). Sometimes (well, most of the times) I go to bookshops to buy books, I stroll in that section for some few good minutes and myan I don’t know how I end up in childrens’ book section (Oh great! So there IS magic… :D)

People around me talk about books and writers I have never heard of, they discuss on intelligent topics and all I do is ask “Who is the writer? Is it good?” pretending to be smart and as if I would read it like its the next thing I had to do. I don’t know if I should be thankful or shameful but my friends now say “oh let it be, its not the kind of book you read.”

Ah, there is other doubt as well, I don’t know if I should label myself as an avid book collector or not. Cause here is some confusions as well. I collect books; I buy books judging by its cover (I love ones with hard cover and double covers, how cool is that- book with its own designer coat) , then there are the books I borrow from friends that I don’t bother to return (oops! I have triggered few people’s mind and will be getting calls :P) , also I have books that I get gifted by my actual reader friends, some books that hold memories ( you know … books having notes scribbled on front pages ) and those that I inherit from my sister (hehe not inherit but trick her and keep it under my collection).

I know investing in books is the best thing to do but it’s like so expensive. Price of “That” typeofbooks = 3 times “my” type of books. In my head I will be like, I can get so many books instead of that single book (I know I am stupid and shallow, Sorry about that). One thing that I like about “that” typeofbook is the smell that the paper binds in it. Just like wine, the smell gets better as it gets old. Too bad that kind of satisfaction is not provided by pages of Cinderella. Another drawback would be its size; as a collector, thick books would look real good in my collection.

As I am running out of thoughts and you must be running out your patience. So, here is the end paragraph. What I believe is, the book should not just be judged by its cover but also should not judged by its size, content, story, writer, reader and what not. Simply, the book should not be judged and also the reader!!!

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to be or not to be

In one of the episode of FRIENDS Rachel says to her father over phone,

 Daddy! Daddy listen to me! It’s like all my life everyone’s told me, “You’re a shoe! You’re a shoe! You’re a shoe!” Well, what if I don’t want to be a shoe? What if I wanna be a purse or a hat?”

This is all fine if you were told you were a shoe but you want to be a purse or a hat now. What and why I am confused and worried is what I want to become varies so much. I wish there was a shoe which could be used as a purse and turned into hat as well.But ofcourse you know that would be stupid thing to even think.

The problem with me here is, I want to do everything(well not everything everything but many things). I vividly remember my aim fluctuating from artist,teacher,computer engineer  (I have no idea why I wrote that in my school magazine in grade 10) while I was a teenager.

My bestfriend and I were so much into TLC ( Travel and Living channel which has amazing cooking shows) that we would talk about opening a diner,bakery and blah blah. Nigella, Donna Hay, Jamie, Bobby,Curtis, Kylie and others were our favorites. We could make all the recipes in our imagination and trust me it would taste great. I could explain more about our TLC craze but to sum it all up, we talked food a lot. My best friend wanted a diner which served simple yum food in big portions.Well, for me I wanted to own a cute little FANCY cake shop with all that FANCY cakes (she would do the baking and I would just decorate it, P.S. she makes yum cakes).So, here I end how I want to wear a apron and live in a kitchen happily ever after (well, that sounded like I could end up as a pretty house wife, that might be the case but I meant food business.)

There was time when I was so much into art (well, atleast I thought I was.This  reminded me of something; I supposed that “Arts” faculty was painting wala arts which turned out to be wrong, I hope I didn’t open my mouth and sounded stupid). I remember nagging my dad to buy me crayons, then pencil colors, then water colours,then paste color (paints that came in tubes); I would buy paint brushes,paletes. I was so into exploring my hobby; I would smear thick paints in the white sheet of paper with my bare hands instead of paint brushes to feel that artist in me (LOL), then there was my “black and white-no colors” phase where I would use only charcoal.I bought fancy charcoal pencils and sticks to draw, those charcoals were nasty and deep black but they gave my heart so much light. The most interesting thing you will hear next about how good I am as an artist would be a statement my best friend quoted “Your paintings are so bad but they look so damn good in photographs.So, you should paint and then sell the photographs.” My dad would be the first one to look at my paintings; he would hold it far from his eyes and look at them and say “ramro cha”. Well, I grew up hearing my sister say “tero painting haru tada bata herda matra ramro huncha, najik bata it looks dirty.” To defend myself here – they look good when framed and hanged in wall at good distance.

Computer engineering??? Lets end the story before even beginning.

Teacher. I was so much influenced by my teachers at school that may be I wanted to be one. I am a teacher right now and I love teaching. But I still am in doubt if it is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I know its crazy how in this time of chaos where we are living in a fear of aftershocks and unsure tomorrow, I am worried about what I want to be. I want to be an artist, have a café, be a teacher but I am not trained to be any of these. Ah! I don’t know how I missed one important thing I want to do; A WRITER!!! Yes I want to write some fancy stories or I don’t know what. I have another interesting story about my writing talent. I don’t know why but I got one poem published in school magazine which was written by my sister but but buttttt I had my name on it and I didn’t bother to alter even a single word.I had so much drama going in during my teenage that I wrote too much diaries, which must have pushed me to write.

I will never be able to end my blah blah…you will get trapped into my blah blahs.If I had to use one long sentence what all the above blah blah meant it would be “I want to be something like dough cause I don’t know if I want to be baked into bun or made into plain roti or puri ; even if I become bun or roti or puri at the end I will atleast be made of flour; if I become shoe I can never be a hat or purse (I know you will say “but they are also all made of leather” but that’s different ). I know this all sounds all crazy cause it is.

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letter

Dear J,

I watch the leaves of the tree standing by the roadside everyday I go to school; I see them change the hue of themselves- light fresh green to orangish yellow to “that” shade of red.(Ofcourse you haven’t seen that beauty, in your words “gaun ma basney le matra bujcha yo kura, ktm ma basney le bujhdaina” ). As I sat with my laptop to write something for you , this thing just clicked my mind and I believe this will make perfect sense as this is something my fresh early morning mind came up with and not the tired worn out evening mind messed up with all the worthless thinking. Okay! So, as I was telling you about the autumn leaves changing their colours, you might get the idea of where I am going with this.

We started out as familiar known strangers, we’ve seen each other every year (may be everyday as well ) since I was grade one and you in grade two. We came across each other’s way while I was playing around mero mamaghar tira and you returning or walking with your sister towards tuition centre (NERDDD!!! Actually oversmart would be appropriate for your kind who needs not tuition but wants it Hehehe…).Then we became friends (that would be the fresh light green) after almost fifteeeeeeeeen years .After that we became that-friends-hangingout-together-all-the-time but not dating (orangish yellow). We stayed in that colour for pretty long time.Then finally, “that” shade of RED!!!;the shade that makes me so beautiful and perfect. The RED that I need to adore all the time, all the seconds, ever day and every occasion.The RED that is the color of my warm heart that you fell in love with.

Ever yours,

Me!

the milk van.(dudh ko gadhi)

If anything was shining bright today, it would have to be my smile. Why? Because I was so happy that I was coming back home after (almost )two weeks. I had missed ktm so so so much. So, I carry my bag, wave goodbye to the kids and then get ready for the downhill walk to ride bus. Everything seemed so bright and beautiful to me today.I checked time in my phone…12 o’clock! (exact). I was like “#$#%” why did it have to be so exact! (cause mom always forbids me to get out of house at 12 saying it was a bad omen). But I ignored the bad omen and waited for a while.

As I was about to start walking, I was told that the milk van (dudh ko gadhi, I have no idea why it is called dudh ko gadhi…it sounds weird)would be arriving soon. My few fellow friends have been so much talking about this dudh ko gadhi that I was excited to experience “the”first  ride in it. I was hoping for a seat in front but turned out that the milk van was there to pick up a sick lady.I inquired who she was and found that she was a 30-35 year old lady who had chowmein shop near our school.She was carried into the front seat. I got a glimpse of her…her fair skin was all red, like her blood was boiling badly from inside; people said she suddenly got sick the previous night. There had been no health attendance or what so ever to make her better.

I climbed the trunk of the truck and hold onto the bars tightly as possible. I was excited,nervous and worried all at once.As i stood up in that back trunk and held on to those bars ,i pictured those hindi movies’ scene where riding like that looks so romantic with all those greens on side and fresh air blowing your hair right across your face(but in my case the hair part was making my face irritated and i couldn’t leave my hands to adjust it).The road was so freaking bumpy and bad that I had to grab those bars so tight my fingers were exhausted and my head was like “Oh my, why did I not just walk on my own amazing feet.” Just as I was having all these thoughts the van stopped. I just lowered my head and looked into the driver’s seat to see what had happened. Driver dai was splashing(not simply sprinkling) water to the patient’s face; the another lady was just calling her out and rubbing her hands. I was like “What the hell is happening? “.Bad possibilities were crossing my mind seeing how she kept on fainting on and off.I asked if there was no any health post in the village and the answer was “NO”.She was being taken all the way to Bahunepati hospital which was pretty far for emergency cases. I thought how unfair it was to the people leaving in this part of the country. There was no even an ambulance; the patient was carried in a dudh ko gadhi.(I was having trouble with all that rocky ride and I couldn’t dare what the patient was going through to add up to her burning fever)

I went to village to work on the injustice in quality education but I found myself witnessing so many things that were unfair and injustice to human life that I most of the times wish I didn’t know about them and could simply ignore the very existence of the problem.

pineapple ko katha ma mero betha! :P

I love eating pineapple, more than that I love the peculiar and strong scent of the fruit.On my way back to home I saw a cart with those pineapple with high ponytail leaves all arranged neatly. I so wanted to have some so I asked the vendor “euta ko kati ho ?” and he says “140” … I had to bargain, but the vendor was so freaking full of attitude that he got stuck with the price.(may be cause he saw how desperate I was in buying it…yes that was it!) So, I select a big headed pineapple and say “jun liye ni ek saya challis nai ho?”  “Ho!”. So, I select a healthy looking pineapple and hand it over to the vendor(i felt i was being cunning); right then another vendor comes and says, “yo hoina yo linu yo…ma chanera dinchu ni ramro tapai lai…ei yo wala ramro cha…khayera hernus”. I had no other option than to have faith on his wisdom on fruit cause I had no freaking idea how I was supposed to know which one would be better (man I am not a freak fruit doctor or any kind).I smell the fruit and agree that it was a goodone. The guy starts treaming the hard scales from the fruit body…he them makes cuts all over the juicy fruit meat. I said to my friend in amusement “kya fancy style parnu parney hai tesari katera.” Then my friend replies “that’s cause those eye things are pretty tough and not proper to eat.” Then I was like “Ahhhh!!!”

So my pineapple story doesn’t end here. It just begins now… I reach home , get all excited about the pineapple . I go to kitchen, lay my eye on the fruit and then I see that it was oooover ripe at places.I was like “arghhhh…”. In fear that my mom would complain and remind me how stupid I was I just sliced the pineapple into pieces and before serving to every one, I ate the bad pieces.It tasted so horrible.(now that I think of I could have just thrown away and not torture and taint my love for pineapple).

That’s pretty much all of it. I hope I get to eat fresh healthy watery juicy lovely pieces of the pineapple meat soon.images

My White pair of SHOES!

Plain white Tees! (Ok you must be wondering why the title says White pair of shoes and then why I start blabbering about Tshirts). I have always fancied wearing (not just having them in my closet)White Tshirts or any other white tops. I see a pretty white t-shirt on display at the window of the stores and then I get all these bubbles popping out of my head imagining the tshirt with my blue jeans folded twice, big black bag, black converse (dyamn the shoe! )…I make my grand entrance inside the store…I try and then I look into the mirror and guess what I see- An Wugly person; just as I see my self in that “White Tshirt–that-i-will-never-take-home” all the bubbles go “pOp-PoP-POP!!!”.Those freaking white things never suite my pretty dark complexion wala face! Dyamn it!!!Then I get out the store like with a frowny face. After some point I was so disappointed with them that I would always skip the colour white for my options while shopping.I would be like “Dd aru color chaina?”(well, I would say this even though the thing is unwhite  :P).

Now,let me get to the point. Couple of months back I went for a movie in some mall and on the verge of passing time…me and my friends switched on to windowshopping mode. So, we came across a shoe store with a big “SALE” star banner. We just went inside and started scanning the shoes…Vans,Converse, Everlast and blah blah…The “SALE”sign was just a trap!!! Dyamn the man…there was 20-25 percent discounts…tyo pani on selected ones…I saw a white not so flattering white Everlast ballerina shoes with lace tied into tiny cute little bows on the side. The price was not that high but the only problem being it “WHITE”. I didn’t forget to ask “Dai, aru color ma chaina?” I had my doubts that the white shoe would get dirty and blah blah…after too many to and fros of “I will buy it” and “I will not buy it”, the decision got stuck on “I will buy it”. So, I bought the shoe though I was not sure of owning a white thing.(You must be trying to understand or guess the end of the story i.e the moral of the story 😛 few more lines and you will be able to get back to your important jobs (if you have any) )

I have been walking in that “White shoe” for almost a year now and trust me I loveeeeeeeee that shoe. Not just me but even my feet loveeeeeeee them. They are comfortable and looks lovely with my blue pair of jeans.(Teeshirt nahi to jutey hi sahi :P) . So, what I am trying to say is if I had let my complexities of “malai white suhaudaina” I would never have the chance to know how good that shoe feels and how pretty it looks.

All my life I have let my complexities be the excuses of not trying so many things and now I am sure I won’t miss out on them. (I had to buy a White Shoe to make me realize this!  )

when

When should I have stopped loving you?

This is the question I still ask myself

When should I have stopped loving you ?

Sometimes the tense confuses me

Should I be using past tense or present?

Would I be telling the truth

When I say “have stopped” and not just plain “stop”

 

 

 

mess

The wrong feelings that always seem right and the right ones that always (always) seem wrong. It is because of this concluding statement in which my life is based on that my life is one hell of a mess right now. It is so freaking messy (messier than a kid trying to eat a plate full of red saucy spaghetti- strands of noodle hanging from the rim of the plate and all around the plate… red tomato gravy making stubborn stains all over the clean white table cloth). After explaining this I pretty much explained all I am right now and how I feel.

I was watching this movie and the girl says – “Life is a mess and that is what’s beautiful about it.” This particular line just grabs my wandering attention (I cant even concentrate while watching a movie these days) and i replay the line again and listen again so that i can memorize the line.I feel “connected” and then feel “WOW” , its OK to have a messy life! Now that i am quoting a stupid line (that often feels enlightening to me somehow) from some actor in a movie i feel pathetic. Yes! I feel how sad my life is. Every now and then people around me quotes famous important people such as Gandhi, Steve Jobs, Martin  Luther King (Oh wait, even i quote Martin; if using the line “I have a dream.” counts). Sometimes, no actually every time they quote those lines I wonder how they manage to memorize word by words and also remember the quotes just to match the context at the right time. (At the back of my head I then tell myself I will as well read few quotes).

See, this is what i was talking about. I was telling you how messy my life is then i get tangled with the quotes and important people. The spaghetti noodles must be less tangled than I am.Those creamy white strands must be easy to untangle but my messy life is so beautifully tangled that i don’t know from where do i begin to solve it. The noodley mess is easy and tasty to clean- you take a big pointy fork, shove it into the plate, twist it and then eat it! your plate is clean. But the messy life i created is so not disappearing with an ordinary metal fork; I will be needing a magical fork!!!pasta-on-fork-001

the box

There in a closet, in the darkest corner I hid the box. I hid it proper so that even I would forget about the box. “The box”! Yes, the box with all your pictures – you smiling, your side face, you with your favorite glasses, you with that funny disgusting hat (sorry I said I lost it but I dumped it for your good :P), you with your face covered with your hand, you enjoying the majestic view at Mustang, you with your mouth stuffed with chicken, you drinking tea in that mug I love so much, you this and you that!

If only I had loved you slow, I wouldn’t have to hide that box in the dark. I loved you more than much all at once, scared there would be no next minute with you. I loved you in hurry, missed you even when I was with you , staring at your eyes, I missed you more when you were right in front of me. Even when you would be sitting right in front of me, I could see you slowly disappearing, slowly but disappearing. I felt you and I disappearing in the pitch darkness, the blackness of that lovely evening finally hid us both like I hid that box.

“The box”! Do you know what is strange? The box! The box with your pictures captured in it. I guess that box is haunted by your memories. Sometimes, only sometimes the soul of those pictures rises from rest, passes through the thick walls of the box and sneaks out of the closet; it dances in my room, those picture souls… like they are moving to the slow song we used to dance together. Then they find me, circling me round and round singing in the voice only I can hear. Those picture souls then stop right in front of my eyes; they make me see you – you smiling, your side face, you with your favourite glasses, you with that funny disgusting hat(sorry again for that), you with your face covered with your hand, you enjoying the majestic view at Mustang, you with your mouth stuffed with chicken, you drinking tea in that mug I love so much, you this and you that.

My eyes sees nothing but my heart remembers them all, each picture souls grip my heart tight and my eyes cry instead.