the black and white

the falling down of miniature roses

reminds me of how we have fallen apart

as i wrap it around my neck

i remember the warmth is no more

and the scarf is just a scarf

neatly folded inside a plastic bag

the white and black

the grays sprayed around

the falling down

of the miniature roses

i am not in a happy place right now

and i want to get out of here as soon as possible,

it is just that i manage to pull myself back

into the mirror of the past, that is all.

i was about to write about you

but i dont want to fall apart

kathmandau namak kachauro

this is kathmandau namak kachauro

here, i travel every day

satdobato to chabel, chabel to satdobato

in between comes gwarko, kotesor and gausala

while tha khanlaasi chants balkhu balkhu kalanki

this kathmandau namak kachauro

makes you eat away all the dust

in the make belief of clean city, green city

the only hariyo i see is in that shit hole of a gulf club

ra ek din yo kachauro ma pwal paro

a woman, not a lady, because a lady is poised and pretentious,

ho, a woman cried in the kachauro that was taking me home

a mobile in her right hand,

i could see the hariyo, raato pahelo bangals

this is shrawan-my birth month

cursed with the heat and sweat of sun and mud

the convoluted mixture that i can smell the sound of

pyalchyak pyalchyak pyalchyak

this woman is crying her heart out

unaware of the public humiliation brought down upon the travelers instead

un-nerving us all because

of course! no body expresses emotions in this kachauro this unabashedly

we are supposed to twitch, sneeze, cough, eta hera uta hera

but never, never stare!

she cried a tale of abandonment

her husband's affair with a woman in forrrein

her daughter who took side of a man she raised to be

she sobbed as well

it was not a wail of misery

her neon green kurta from the back disgusted me

i dont know why but it did

i hated her for what she was doing

making me uncomfortable publicly

her tears were pointing at me

bhandai thiyo

this girl is a fake

yo kachauro bhanaudo sahar ma

i am a fake

is an understatement

and an overstatement

na eta na uta

yo kachauro bhanaudo sahar ma

she was the only 'lady' who dared to unveil

the veil of vanity that we possess

moreover, like to carry it on like a badge

baula mancheko prahar

that i could tolerate

i did tolerate

i let him run away

or was it I who ran away?

the woman climbed off the micro

ra khanlaasi le bhanyo

"aaimi nai testai thyo hola"

ani ghin lagera aayo

yo kachauro bhadauno kathmandau prati

yo kathmandau bhanaudo kachauro prati

i am a drifter

somehow i have landed upon something that i am stuck to

i love this stability

but very soon, i am going to drift back

to being a drifter

i love this chaos

but there is an order to it that i cannot get the hang of

i have known for a long time

and maybe will never be able to erase it off

i am a drifter

uncomplicate me

if you think you can

for the lack of any better word: Bug

i have let myself drown into black and white pages of my course materials

it is far better than the turmoil of solitude

the manic depressive attacks after all the laughter

i can't tell why i am this way

this way that leads to nowhere

so i decided i will not give in to these 'episodes'

and not giving in meant not writing

not giving in meant not succumbing to emotions

i can't tell why i am this way

this way that leads to complete, stark naked gloom

and as i stopped writing

ranting

prancing around exposing my emotions

these 'episodes' started to disappear.

but today, a friend of mine sent me a link to my own blog

and flashes came about

in bouts

and i also realize how i have missed them

unnecessarily

how i have wanted to feed into it

and drown myself into the psychedelic pages of these ‘episodes’

maybe this is another one of those delirium

where i make myself believe

that these ‘episodes’ are real

and these ‘episodes’ are permanent

and these ‘episodes’ are absurdly mine

gutted inside out

for everyone of you to gawk at

circle II

and so you believe that i deserve to be

within what you call the 'art appreciating' crowd?

the word you used was 'circle'

you think i think the way they think?
you think i should make a space in my thinking

to accommodate what they are thinking

or do you think they are gracious enough to accommodate what i think?

stand in this post-modern isle of masterpieces

CREATED (not made or done) by an artist who is inspired by Van Gaugh?

participate in seminars about development and third world

listen to those who claim to know us? better than us?

attend parties where people appreciate the humanitarian, charitable acts they have CONTRIBUTED to the society

and agree in unison that it made a DIFFERENCE?

i am a mere dot

that makes no difference

that begins and ends at the same moment

i do not contribute

i do not create

i do not matter

i am a mere dot

but a circle is made of infinite such dots

that bear no significance

that bear no sign of valor

that bear no sign of pompousness

i am a mere dot

i end where i begin

and begin where i end

circle

i would like to title this poem 'circle'

circle because it is endless

circle because it is in abundance

circle because it is beneath my imagination

or is that 'above' my imagination

circle because there are no other shapes that can symbolize universe

because

square is bounded

triangle is opinionated towards a peak

pentagon i have never thought of as a geometric shape

rectangle is just another elongated square

hexagon, decagon extensions of pentagon

but circle is infinite

circle never ceases to recreate itself

circle is the universe

universe is the circle

black rubber shoes

after a long day's search, i settled for those black rubber shoes

that squeaked its price out

yelped and shouted "it is monsoon"

my muddy feet

after the makkai field excursion in the morning

reminded me of my desperation

at finding myself in the midst of all that soil that smelled a farmer's delight

but oh, it was the desperation that i remember

at finding myself in the midst of all that soil

i could not turn back

nor could i go ahead

my feet were trapped in the mud concoction

of soil, cow dung and monsoon rain

and many more feet that went about their ways

i could trace out different sizes and shapes of human intrusion

mine lost in the hilo

i took a pause

looked back at what i had crossed so far....a long distance away from the pitched road

a long distance away from home

and i turned back again

to know that my destination was not far away

what stood between was nature at its own course

and i took a long breath

pulled my trousers up

took a last glance at my kapada ko chappal

cursing myself for wasting ten rupees to glue them back

and i took that one leap

that would only end up being one of those many steps away from the broken wall

the broken wall that i would have to climb up

to get away

only to find myself

amidst blaring horns and shooting smoke

amidst robots with clean feet and trendy shoes

in the middle of the brazen road that knew nothing of

the green

the brown

hues of nature that i had trodden upon recently

and nothing comes out of it,

i thought the photo would be self explanatory

but then i feel the need to explain

i feel laughed at

i feel a practical joke has been played on me

there is this uncanny calm

and i dared to call my mundane day wondrous

i cared to communicate

only to feel my fear violated with the poised romanticism

and all i could do was laugh

all i could do what sympathize with TIME

oh TIME! i did not realize how much a pressure had been put on you

do not feel responsible for me

do not feel responsible for what i am going through

or what i am putting myself through

because i have long forgiven your infinite insanity

how ceaselessly you have been cursed to move

oh how, how can anyone even think that you,

of all the magical elements,

you would be able to HEAL

ah, But i Know.

I know because i have pierced you through and through

left you jarred with my experiences

my emotions

left you crippled with no power to heal

my sufferings have brought onto you

the incapacity to mend

ah, But it is I who know

not of the insurmountable capacity you have to contain

to bear

to tolerate

to surrender

to wait...

there is a silence that i have crawled into

amidst all the rain pattering, toad croaking and dogs barking

i have settled down for the mundane

for the days that pass by insignificantly

for the nights that turn into days shamelessly

i miss being a student, roaming through the library racks

romanticizing about some anonymous letter that i might stumble upon

i found friends in the characters

my world was defined by theirs

it was a lie that i wanted to believe in

i wanted desperately to write

but i knew i was never born to be a writer

i would be among those who could appreciate ones who could

and therefore i hid behind the shadows

i listened to him

i came my futile comments and praises

i showered them upon him

i knew he would appreciate the writer in me

the poet in me

now i have turned into a zombie-student

i fuck words

and they fuck me

i babble about discourses and dialectics

i ramble about conflicts and constitution making

i manipulate my ways around

because i know everyone else will be convinced

because everyone wants desperately to believe

if this rain were to stop right now

they would hear me

crying out loud

and that is why i love this rain

it drowns away the sound of silence that i have crawled into

sometimes when the constant sound of toads croaking fails to cease

and the dripping raindrops make that terrible noise in tin ko chhana

i make myself believe

the next morning is going to be wonderful

fits of energies are going to bounce off my room's walls

pink with textures

the unburnt dhoop is going to make more sense to me

with the old path and white clouds beside

the crystals, dumped in the four corners are going cast shadows

of positive energy

and my mobile will lay lifeless-no calls, no messages, nothing.

and my internet moden will lay lifeless-no signals, no link, nothing.

and my laptop will lay lifeless-no windows default welcome sound, no virus alerts, nothing.

and my earmuffs are going to remind me of my friends S and S

of those possibilities

meeting in snow capped mountains of Mustang.

and the fairy card is going to remind me of my kindergarten friend.

whom i will never possibly meet again in my life.

of infinite possibilities

and indefinite circumstances

of infinite energies

and indefinite glances

into one of those adventures that we call life

I

i sat under the sky that buddha did

i fed onto that illusion for a while because it was a beautiful illusion

that would create melodies if it were to shatter into million pieces of buddhas

and each buddha whispered into my heart

this unrest and uncalm

this noise that constantly hummed inside my head

this meek voice

that told me to let go of myself

be strong

this voice that told me that i was wavering, i was losing my insanity

this voice that told me to think to not think

clear my head like my yoga instructor had told me to do so some nine years ago

i remembered his beard and yellow draper

and how his eyes looked evil

and how his voice echoed in that secluded hall of ours

like as if yoga was a thing of luxury that some 14 years olds were indulging on

fascinated by the long walk that i had to take to reach that hall

i remember each and every session

and how my friend had once lost herself while meditating

and we all woke up to find her peacefully asleep

tonight was different

i noticed each and every movement

i noticed that i was conscious of gazes quizzing my presence, still one

i noticed how excruciatingly i noticed being noticed

tonight was different

because i meditated after nine years

nine years of chaos

the need for clarity was driving me insane

but insanity is like a treasure map to sanity

finding sanctity into that will leave those buddhas breathing

and then i realized how futile this attempt was

to meditate

to focus on my breathing

letting in air and letting out air

like as if i owned air

and owning the air made me boastful

like i was controlling the air

by controlling my breathing

but the air was controlling me

i read about white elephants and kush grass,

i read about suffering and ailing the sufferers

i read about the vanity of princesses and queens

on thinking their comforting glances compensated their positions

i read about Siddhartha who sat under the rose-apple tree before he was the Buddha

i read about the Vedas

and i realized

that feet are pure.

i can let my book rest on my feet like i stand on them

purity lies not within your heart because your feet labors

and it labors without expectations

your heart desires

but your feet do not.

tonight

i remembered that my heart is healing

and maybe my healing heart is enraged and disappointed

but it is healing

i saw shadows,

and i saw the red light flash on and off

i tried competing with it

i thought my eyes could blink faster than it

but soon, i gave up

i closed them and opened them and i still caught a little bit of a red flash

eight go on and go off

i am competitive

i am manipulative

i am vain

i am humorous

i am angry

i expect

i do not think i meditated

i contemplated

i breathed

thoughts running through like a buzzing traffic,

honking to seek attention

i picked on a delicious one

devoured it

distilled it into intoxication

i do not think i meditated

but maybe i did try to negotiate with the night

on one more nanosecond of that addiction

and then i yawned

letting out all the venom in my heart

i yawned.

i want to be the biggest fake in the world.

i want to be that breeze that came about and destroyed the world.

i want to be the rain drops that burnt your heart.

i want to be the sunshine that is doomed to eternity.

i want to be the purposeless traveler who found death

i want to be the essenseless flower full spot

i want to be the angry bird, her wings broken comma twisted

i want to be the seasonless tree, ready to fall down

yes

i want to be the biggest fake in the world full spot

last time i checked

i was crying my soul out.

yesterday i could not watch Castle.

but i did see one on my way to my aunt's place

a castle only rich kids could afford...

and it's called a Kindergarten

some rich in law made it for a pathetic daughter in law

the castle with its majestic gate

i felt like pissing on it.

a castle only rich kids could afford

today i am at my aunts

and the morning is passing by

it is unbearable

because

last time i checked

i was crying my soul out

an attempt at not writing a poem

torrential rain outside

how submissively it transformed into a drizzle

and slowly there will only be left puddles

of what happened

or what could have happened if it had not stopped

my friend said it will stop in ten minutes

i did not want to believe him

i love the bright shadows on the round table

empty spaces (haha....this phrase fits everywhere somehow)

:P

random thoughts have stopped coming to me.
the need to organize drives me crazy
but more than that, the nightly hours of fart-smell is killing me.
oh did i tell you , i have started sharing my room with my grandmother.

it just happened and no one realized how smoothly she fits into the routine,
she glides like a lost soul who has lost the sense of world.
i can't help but wonder what happened to the grandmother i knew six-years-ago
she complains that she is not feeling well,
keeps forgetting details that aren't important anyway.
dont ask me if i miss the old granny or the new one: both remind me of youth long lost.

i may sound harsh right now
and the need to justify is not worth it all
her presence has in no way violated my privacy
as i was scribbling away my due reflection paper at the wake of night
she woke up once. she saw me typing. she slept back.
mum was trying to wake me up early today and she told her that i hadn't slept properly.
i smiled
now someone actually understands why i simply cant wake up early.

but that thing aside.
most of the time, i am concerned.
it has been a long while and her sudden appearance comes with mixed feelings.
i hope it won't end up like the last time.

she wanders around our home,
looking lost most of the time.
her lean bones not giving up...

deadlines

Foucault and Habermas readings still left untouched.

A card to deliver.

One pending reflection paper.

Paper assignments that i have not even started to count.

One English essay due i dont know when but pretty soon.

Research work due this week.

Zero sleep.

stolen lines from Skype-Part II

the still image

the abandoned strings

reflection of my life

crumbling down the wall

one step at a time

you disappear

in the stillness

of the movement

the red into black

the black into blue

all jumbled hue