Tag Archives: change

Perfect imperfect

How imperfect I was and how trying to be perfect did me no good.

I still remember the pictures that I drew as I was growing up. They were nothing but imperfect. They had smudges of paints, some amended but most of them not. I didn’t care about it but only thing that mattered was that I was happy in my heart. I would run to my dad and  would show him the drawings that I had made. He always smiled that smile. He would hold it in his hand and put it far away and examine; never did he complain. “Baa:lah baa:lah” – he said.

I had picked charcoal sticks for my still life when I was may be 13 or 14, I don’t think I was good with even pencils. I knew the proportions of the shape of my subjects were right (they were blown out of proportions I guess). It didn’t make sense nor I cared where the light source was and where it fell on the object. I went with my instinct of where should I erase the blackness so as to give more realistic touch to the still life. I still remember me making still life arts like I was some awesome artist. I still remember few; there was one time where I went to roof of my aunt’s house and drew the temple standing in the courtyard, I still remember the moment when I was adding the brick tiles on the roof of the temple.Just seeing black smudges on my fingers and palms would make me feel so artisty.

I made what made me happy. I wrote about little things that mattered to me, drew things that mattered, painted colors my brushes picked. Now that I think of, I am quite not sure what made people happy- Was it my paintings and drawings that made people happy or my excitement?

So if you are wondering where all this jibberness is coming from. I just watched a TED talk and it just changed my whole life I guess(Revolution in my life you can say). It was about how the fact that we want to be perfect hinders what we want to do. For me, I like to write and paint. I used to write but I stopped it. I thought I got the writer’s block (myan, this sounds fancy I know but I wanted to use it for so long). I always hesitate to paint. I feel like I need to give people awesome piece to read or an amazing beautiful picture to see. I forget always to remember about me. The joy I feel deep in my heart like a serene calm sea with little waves slapping the shore. (Not making up but I really feel butterflies in my heart when I am painting or writing, actually I am having them right now as well while I write, with my heart beating to the groovy beats I am listening to.)

My friends and people I know through only face book enjoys what I paint and write (not boasting). They don’t judge me but its sad that I am the greatest judge of me. I don’t write often and I don’t paint much. I say “small things are big things” but did I really have faith in it? NO!!!

Guess What? I am gonna write more now and paint more. More, I am firing the judge in me. So… I hope I will write more and paint moreeeee and have all the fun my heart deserves.


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”.

IMG_20141110_141639 IMG_20140918_165823The little gifts that they bestow on us…padhaudai garda she would call me up and then take out kakro(cucumber) and offer

IMG_20140609_142546…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)…IMG_20140613_142926

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…