taming a butterfly
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!!!
विचित्रका राजकुमारहरु
एकादेशमा एउटा खोला थियो। त्यो खोलाको रंग अरु बाँकि खोला भन्दा भिन्न थियो। त्यस खोलाको रंग गुलाबको फूल झै रातो थियो। भनिन्थ्यो धेरै बर्ष अगाडी “haemoglobin” नामको साधुको वरदानले गर्दा यो रातो हुन गएको हो। यस विचित्र रातो खोलामा एउटा छुट्टै संसार थियो। यस खोला मुनि छुट्टै एउटा राज्य थियो। शक्तिशाली, प्रतिभावान र दयालु हृदय भएको राजाले यस विचित्रको राज्यमा राज गर्थ्यो । राजाका तीन छोराहरु थिए जसलाई राजाले औधी माया गर्थ्यो। नगरोस् पनि किन? एक त आफ्नै सन्तान, अर्को ती राजकुमारहरु बाँकि जीवहरु भन्दा फरक थिए। “विचित्रको राज्यका विचित्रका राजकुमारहरु”। ती राजकुमारहरुको रूप मात्र नौलो होइन अद्भुत गुण पनि थियो।
जेठो छोराको नाम थियो राते – उसले आफ्नो शक्तिले जनतालाई चाहिने हावा, खानेकुराहरु, खनिज सबैको जोहो गर्थ्यो।
माइलोको नाम थियो सेते – ऊ चाँहि जेठो भन्दा अलि भिन्न थियो। सेते चाँहि राज्यको सैनिकको सेनापति थियो। राज्यमा कोहि वैदेशिक हस्तक्षेप भयो कि जाई लागि हाल्थ्यो। अनि जनताको साथै राज्यको सुरक्षा गर्थ्यो।
कान्छो छोराको नाम चाँहि खैरे थियो – खैरे भने त्यस राज्यको मात्र नभई सारा संसारको प्रख्यात वैद्य मानिन्थ्यो, कारण खैरेले जस्तो सुकै घाउलाई पनि जाती गरिदिन्थ्यो। कतै पनि नपाइने “fibrinogen” नामको दुर्लभ ओखती उसैलाई मात्र बनाउन आँउथ्यो। त्यसैको सहायताले खैरेले घाउलाई सुकाई दिन्थ्यो र केहि दिनमा नै ठिक बनाइदिन्थ्यो।
त्यस राज्यमा सबैजना खुसी थिए। परेको बेला एक अर्कालाई सहयोग गर्ने, हरेक काममा मद्दत गर्ने गर्थे। रिस, राग, इर्श्याको भावना कसैमा नि थिएन। त्यहाँ सधैँ खुसी र हाँसोमा दिन बिति राखेको थियो।
एक दिन अचानक त्यस राज्यलाई विपत आइपर्यो। राज्यमा बाहिरका शत्रुबाट हमला हुन गयो। सुखी त्यो संसारमा कसैले सोचेको थिएन कि उनीहरुले त्यस्तो डरलाग्दो दिन पनि देख्नु पर्छ भनेर। हमलाको सूचना पाउने बित्तिकै सेतेले आफ्ना सैनिकहरु भेला पारेर भने – “हेर सिपाही हो! आज हाम्रो राज्यलाई हाम्रो खाँचो छ। हामीले आफ्नो सर्वस्व लगाएर आफ्नो राज्य र जनताको हिफाजत गर्नु पर्छ। के सबै जना लड्न तयार छौ?”
“तयार छौँ !!!” सबै सैनिकहरुले एकै आवाजमा चिच्याए।
सेतेका सैनिकहरु बहादुर भएर लडे। शत्रुहरु एक दमै भयानक र सयौंको संख्यामा थिए। सेतेका सैनिकहरु धेरै नै घाइते भए। त्यस लगत्तै पुरै राज्य कम्जोर हुन थाल्यो। चारै तिर हाहाकार मच्चिन थाल्यो। खैरेले आफुले सके सम्म सबैको घाउहरु निको पार्न तिर लाग्यो। रातेले त्यसपछि एउटा उपाय सोच्यो। जे जसरी गरेर भए नि आफ्नो सैनिकहरुलाई बलियो बनाउनु थियो। त्यसैले उसले थप पोषिला खानेकुराहरुको जोहो गर्यो। जसले गर्दा सेतेका सैनिकहरुलाई तागत मिल्यो। विस्तारै सबै सैनिकहरु फुर्तिला हुन थाले।
भोलि पल्ट युद्धको मैदानमा सबैजनाले फुर्तिका साथ शत्रुको सामना गरे। कसैलाई लात हानेर भगाए, कसैलाई लौरै लौरोले थताए, कसैलाई भुइँमा मज्जाले पछारिदिए। शत्रुहरुको विजोग बनाएर राज्यबाट भगाइदिए।
जाँदा जाँदै तिनीहरु “अब यो राज्यमा झुक्केर नि पाइला टेक्दैँनौ” भन्दै भाग्न थाले।
एक एक जना गरि सबै जना शत्रुहरु भाग्दै सिमानाबाट हराए। राज्यका सबै मान्छेहरु हर्षो उत्साहका साथ जित मनाउन सडकमा उत्रिए।
विपतको बेलामा आफ्नो छोराहरुको पराक्रम देखेर राजा दङ्ग परे र सबैलाई स्यावासी दिए।
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.
fine china
I put the water to boil on the stove to make a cup of tea for me… then I picked up a china cup, opened the water tap and swirled the white china with gush of water.( ahiley samma nothing had occurred in my mind, it was just making a cup of tea for me)…then my eyes caught the sight of the same cup I was holding ,only that it was handicapped, without its handle…then thoughts started to swirl into my head softly. Those neatly shining china were so delicate. I remember how mom had kept her china cup sets away from us when we were little. She had saved her wedding gift from breaking up. Me and my sister used to be so amused by those cups which we rarely got to hold. She had kept those babies safely so that they wouldnot break, in this process she hardly used them.
So, now let me narrate what really was playing in my head and what might actually make some sense. One year of fellowship I spent whinning “I know and am aware I can do amazing things, I have so many ideas in my head but why “oh sweet why” am I not being able to do any of those things.” What came to my mind was, I was keeping those ideas to me safely in a cupboard just like those fragile china worrying and getting scared if it might break apart (more like scared of failures).
What I was missing was the delight of drinking in that fine cup made of those finest clay with white glowing glaze, decorated with beautiful strokes of brushes in fear of breaking it.
FEAR
Fear sipped in my heart,
Like monsoon inside earth’s bed.
Spreads like a wildfire,
Burning all soul’s desire.
Creeps in my dream,
Shouts with a silent scream.
Follows my shadow,
In the day light I try to hide.
Stitch a smile hoping it would die,
Feeble it would lie.
The year.
I still remember me counting months all over again and again… days counted numerous times like a kid trying to memorize seven days of the week… sometimes I would do the maths dotting the three lines on my fingers when I would be alone and for the times I was not, I would get it done in my head. Oh sorry, you must be wondering about the relation here of week days, months and numbers. 😛 Well, I kept track of the number of months that passed by and of those that were to be passed to complete a year. Sometimes it would be the days left for a fat vacation ahead (trust me days would just not pass, I would just count the days on my fingers and yet the thumb would just stop at the same stop every hour of the day :P). And now look! A year passed by just like that.
My year teased all my tastebuds with sweet, sour, bitter, tangy moments. Just like people say “life is not just white or just black, it is grey”. Likewise all the days were not just bitter and sweet, it tasted different every day (sorry, I know not the names of all tastes). If you ask me how was it? If you are a stranger, I would surely say you the good parts of it. If you are better than a stranger I would tell you about all the burnt tastes as well.
The heat! Whether it be due to those walks on sunny mornings uphill or reaction when your class goes all crazy or that one student pulls up your nerves. I have lost my temper and been a mean person occasionally; I get furious and throw my temper at the students but then I feel myself shiver getting all nervous and worried if the student might hate me. They curse me for being too strict during exams. They get mad at me if they don’t get things their way.
The frustration! What did I do? Do I matter? Is me being there instead of some other person makes any difference? Why am I so lazy? Why do I have to get back home every week? Why do I feel this unnecessary guilt and worry myself? Should I really be here? What would life be if I were not here? What after two year? Why did they not study at home for exam? Why are you not remembering “Na” is Sodium and not “So”? Why are you asking me questions?
The learning! “Yay!” for me. I got the most out of this year. I must have learnt the same quantity as to totalling all my life (approximately). First thing, my vocab for nepali words have swollen like crazy. I actually taught “bigyan”. I still remember when grade ten waited for the moments I would take a long pause translate English to nepali, they would just have a wicked grin on their face. Man, they intimidated me good. The most important lesson was understanding people and life in village. One thing is for sure, you learn the most when you live your life as a teacher.
The love! ‘Miiiiiiiss’ little kids call you out and I answer back “hajuuuuuuur”. This has been my routine. I love being “miss”.
The little gifts that they bestow on us…padhaudai garda she would call me up and then take out kakro(cucumber) and offer
…that enormous green mango she gave me all wrapped in her handkerchief…those tiny sweets presented in those wee little palms(which probably they needed more than me)…
ah!and those bunch of prettiest orchids that she gave me and I wore on my hair that induced giggles amongst the girls… And all that satires that screamed love…gleam of joy in those eyes when the story ended with a happy note (that joy encourages me to be a better storyteller).
The year was all about the love that I got to relive, the love that I gave my teachers when I was a student…
Seasons
The bones in my body must have all melted up that I am being so lazy to even stand up or even sit straight without surrendering my whole weight to any support. I don’t know how I am even finding any energy to get my laptop from the room and begin typing and mostly do the thinking (even though thinking comes to me so naturally…it comes to me even in my sleep :P) .
Actually, I thought I needed some fresh air (must be wondering needing fresh air gaun ma ni) so I came out of my hiding and resting den. I sat on the chair and then stayed; just stayed quietly. Then I hear and see something and then something hits my mind. I hear a noisy but quiet soothing sound that was being produced. I look up and then I see strong stiff green leaves move like a tail of rattling snake making that tshook tshook tshook tshook… sound. Now that they stopped, I hear the river downhill, chattering and quarrelling with rocks, stones, own current and may be fishes. At distance I hear birds and insects make those noises with different frequencies.
But what lays in front my eyes disappoints me a bit. The green hill has pretty much dried up with just little bit of greenness just for the sake of it. Most of the earth tiers are left to rest, not touched by the farmers until another season. Contrasting this, the fields surrounding the river are back to their business… warming up for the plantation, some all happy and yellow, some green with barley and some hiding the potatoes inside them. Well, all the trees seem to be dusty (may be its because of the light mist coming along with the darkness). Its sad that I cant see those bright bridal red simal trees and some orange creamy simal trees from here.
It’s been almost a year I have been staying at this place. It was hot summer day I was here. I got some hailstones with rain, I scared myself to death with the monstrous lightning, I breathe the most delicious cool wind in hot summer evenings, I walked through the thickest morning fogs I had ever seen, I am living the confused autumn weather these days.
I practically understood the season of here. 🙂
The Miner
There is no day that I question my being here; by “here” I refer the village where I work, the word “teach” would be more appropriate cause I don’t refer what I am doing as work or any job whatsoever. I applied,I gave series of interviews,I got selected, I spent six weeks in learning institute (again that was not a training centre) and then I was placed here in Giranchaur gabisa(now its nagarpalika)in melamchi.I started this chapter of my life with a bitter note, complaining,regretting over my decision, worrying, crying,thinking way too much.
The first fact that consoled my scared heart and terrorized mind was the simple realization that I could always come back home.I didn’t have to be trapped there for eternity; there would always be “ama hyolmo” or “helambu” to carry me back to ktm nomatter if I had to stand all the way or get so little space to even stand and the smell(well, the smell doesn’t even bother me anymore).
My students have been counting the number of Saturdays I spent here in village (the numbers fit right in your one hand I suppose). My dears even have a pet name for me, “jani, jailey ni ktm janey”(btw nija ko ulto is jani). They would be surprised if I am not seen with my big black bag on Fridays and red jacket on.
I signed in to this with a plan, a hope, a dream that I would make a difference.I believed in me, more I believed in my soul that trusted what I was about to do would bring peace to me but that rarely happened to me after I came here. My sweet scented dreams that guided me turned into sour and dark nightmares that haunted me and crushed my heart.
Now that I think of, all these months I have been teaching in school, nothing much has really happened; then there are some moments, few minutes of time that I have experienced pure joy that I would have never seen if I was not here doing what I do. What I am doing is much similar to a miner digging mines endlessly just to come across finding his treasure in rare occasions. Yes, I am pretty much like the digger, I stand between the blackboard and my students every day, I teach, I shout at top of my lungs, I hurt my throat ,I cover my jacket with white fine layer of chalk powder, I stand and stare at the busy talkers hoping they see I got their attention, I narrow my eyebrows-disappointed.(Well, the digger obviously does none of the above mentioned acts but you know what I am trying to tell here).I do all these every single day just for the greed of that pure joy.
If I am lucky I get that joy the next day as well but sometimes it takes week and sometimes even months to get that lucky. He calls me every two minutes to make sure he is going on right getting his numeric problem’s answer right, he shows up in class regularly for three days after missing four classes in a row, she says “I didn’t cheat this time, just want to see how much I can do on my own”, six girls and a boy of grade nine show up in grade seven class as a mentor and teach, two out of those seven is still stubborn and hoping these juniors learn to find “chetrafal and ayatan”, he comes in proper school pants after months of nagging, she says she wants to study more and discusses future, she says “you must be tired of teaching all time, you should rest.”, they murmur “chitra banauna khatra hunuhuncha” when I turn my back to draw figures in board, he calls “nija miss”,their eyes show that it matters me being there, they love me and more they trust me. These are my fragments of tiny gold, my treasure.
I don’t know if I will be able to feel this feeling of being here later in my life but I am sure I will never come across any feeling as strong as of here even though I am keeping the number of months left, desperately wanting to be in city all days of weeks for whole year.
I see myself in one of the girls in grade nine. She is similar to me in so many ways. I want to see her chasing after her dreams and be there to witness her conquering it. Not just she but I want that for every other student of mine. I know they are no less than any other person and deserve so much more. I am sure even after I leave from here; I will always remember every face, worrying about them.
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!