The World where we Live

This is the time of afternoon. And also Friday. Free tomorrow. Saturday the best day. This is a beautiful day. No raining, no cloud in the sky, no scratching heat, no chilling cold. Temperature is moderate. Flowers are blooming and dragonflies are zooming. Girls on the street are beautiful in their tight jeans and boys look curious about the hidden paradise of the girls. A lame is smiling to the god for giving him a leg and a blind is cheering for his hearing. People on the street are getting everything right for their conscience. 

There were some cute faces in the morning with the hope of bright future. I taught them some stale stuff and forced them to grasp it. They were happy. I was happy. It was a situation. Many of them were 16. All having a dream to be a great person in the future. But they didn't know what to be a great is like. They were like confusing armies in the darkness. No doubt, I got the position to show them light, but the torch is outdated. It is my duty to smile. I get something to make a living in exchange of my smile.

An old man is walking along the edge of the road. A semi necked girl is crossing the road. Buses are farting and honking to show their presence on the street. A housewife, carrying a sack, heading towards the vegetable market. A boy about the age of 7 is carrying a heavy bag on his back. A dog is having sex with another dog. A cat mews.

A couple is walking along the road. Wife has a bulging belly. She might be carrying a future citizen. They are pacing faster. She seems a bit shy with her swelled stomach. An ice-cream man making a sound poo..poo...poo.childreni are pulling the petticoat of their mothers. A featherless bird is hopping in circle. A mice slides in to the bush. A woman in her red sari makes her pace faster towards the temple. She is carrying a basket with flowers and tikka. A priest appears as pathfinder to the heaven.

On the other side of the corner, there is a girl waiting her boy robbing her toe to the ground. Her fingers are fluttering on the keypad of her mobile. There are lines of sorrow on her faces and cloud on her face. She seems restless and tired. A boy about 17 passes through the girl without throwing his glance to catch her curious eyes. She stretched her arms and sighed. But no sigh of response. The boy puts his arm round the wrist of another pretty girl waiting in another corner of the road. Happy are they. Sad is the first and happy is the latter.

A boy of fifteen, riding on a motorbike flies in the air. A timid cyclist trembles and loses the grip of his handle. A woman drops her vegetable bag on the ground. A traffic police jerks his head. A little boy about five smiles seeing his future days. A leader passes through the cloud joining his both palms and opening his fouling cave to demonstrate how much paan parag he chewed.

I a pure onlooker get puzzled. This is what we call the world. This is the place where we are the architect of our future. Thanks god.

Ghamkiri

Ghamkiri. A featherlight butterfly. It may have some scientific name. But as a title of the novel, this is a mixture of Neyan Raj Pandey 's make believe world and the dream of the thousands of Rajus, Mukuls, Kailashs, Ratnas and so on. 

While I was reading the novel, I compared  it with Ular and LU. Both novels had given me a  kind portrayed of the writer as a realist and the naturalist. Both novels became able to hook my interest from beginning to the end. This might surprises you why I am giving this reference before talking my point of view on this novel. That is true. But it has a meaning. 

The book has a beautiful cover; a Ghamkiri flying over a golden circle on the white background but not free. It's tail is tied with rope dangling around the book. First, I thought this book might be on ecology or ecosystem since this issue has been a hot topic in literature and criticism.  Then I took a sip of tea and turned the first page. I saw two lines " Sabaile Bhane Prem Nagara, Maile Terina" . In English, everyone advised me not to fall in love, but I didn't obey. Then my speculation on the book changed. I thought, it was a real love story of the writer.

In the beginning pages, I couldn't track the lines of the plot. Without  talking much about background, the writer sails on the fantasy and myths. Ghamkiri seems as a metaphor of Yogmaya's life who gets married at age of five and her whole life has been tied as tightly as the tail of Ghamkiri. Then, a myth of the ancient king Bhatrihari and a story of Aghori Baba and an apple of the Eden add postmodern taste to the story. This is a love story of Raju and Padmini on surface; an experiment on fantasy and stream of consciousness. An adolescent boy Raju travels through fantasy, deception, poverty in search of his dream girl Padmini. On his journey, he encounters several obstacles like the hero of Milton's Redcross Knight in Faerie Queene to meet his dream girl. The narrator of the story not only narrates his love story but the stories of many couples whose stories have long been blown off. Myth of Maina Bhir, Kag Bhusundiko Katha prepares the background of the story. His plan of going to Mumbay, fantasy of fake kidnapping and his friendship with Salim add color his imagination. The billboards of Limka, Lux, and Bunvita are often used in the story which sometimes lack objective correlative. But these are the images of Padmini, the narrator's dream girl. Padmini is an actress of the film and also model of such advertisement. She lives in Mumbai and often appears in the make believe world of Raju. Chandra and his learning from Preamrog give comic sense to the story. But his death touches the heart of the reader.

As soon as arrives Lakhnow, he buys a t-shirt and a blue jeans thinking that he will were while meeting Padmini. Then at the station, a man asks him 100 rupees for confirming reservation to Delhi, but at the mean time a woman comes and informs him that the man is thug. He thanks the lady. But later the same lady takes 100 rupees and runs away. It shows the everyday reality of railway station. This is the story of millions of Nepali who work in India. It also reminds me African novel Cry the Beloved Country in which a Stephen Kumalo is deceived by another black boy at the station. When he arrives at Delhi station, he  sees the sea of people running everywhere as if something terribly important is missing. There he meets Raju, a tourist guide. He takes a letter for Rajiv Goshwami from Raju and travels to Mumbay. This letter later helps him to stay with Rajiv in the slums of Malad East, Mumbay. While travelling by the train, he takes his flight on fantasy. He thinks as if many people are waiting him at Central station to welcome him because he is the hero of Padmini, a celebrity of the Bollywood. But when awakes of his dream, he senses bitterness. Mumbay is such a place where thousand of people sleep at the station. 

When he has no way to survive in Mumbay, he forges the handwriting of Raju and adds a few words at the bottom of the letter telling his to keep Raju with him. 

The narrator goes to Andheri in search of Rajiv and afters rajiv's duty is over both of them go to Malad East, a large slum area. In a small slum, three boys live and now becomes four with Raju. The slum unfolds the stories of millions of Indians. In "Slumdog Millionaires" many activities of this slum are shown. It was also nominated for Oscar. The writer is able to describe the lives and predicament of slum people. Mulk Raj Anand, Arbind Adiga have already written the stories of Indian marginal groups and their miseries. However, they have not shown in relation to Nepal. Pandey has linked this as a black hole for Nepali as well. Jagat Bahadur is one of the representative character who has already forgotten what an honesty is being the product of Mumbay. 

Mukul and Shenha's love story and their death gives the taste of Muna and Madan. Friendship with Tinku and birthday party at the temple with smoke is a heart touching.

There are many Ratnas in the Slums of Malad, Khar, and Danda who are swimming in the pool of their tear. Rohit and his love with Charu, an ugly girl challenges today's love of flesh.  There are many Kailashs in Mumbay still who get their hands cut in the machine. The narrators fantasy of Palihill and Film city deviates the story line. When he realises that the dream of love and ticket of lottery are the same, he plans to return Nepalgang. 

After he comes to Delhi , he meets Raju with great difficulty. But Raju was in the hospital and as he tells him that he has sold his Kidney for 20000. This means that's are thousands of Rajus who are compelled to sell their kidney. There he stays with Pandit ji for sometime, but Pandit ji attempts sodomy with him. Later he works with his son at a tea shop. At day of his return to Nepal, he comes to know that Shivanath has been arrested by the police in a gang fight.

Finally, he enters the borders of Nepal distributing his shirts, pant, bag to the baggers and let's say the poor. He is like the narrator of James Jyoce's Araby. 

The novel gives voice to the voiceless breaking the tradition of writing novels only about the privileged groups. This trend of writing gives postmodern flavour. 

Using the names of renowned Nepali writers for a trivial subject matter lacks objective correlative in the novel. The repetition of Limka, Lux, and Bonvita  irritates the readers. There are also other repetitions which the writer should brush up in the days to come.

In conclusion, the piece of work is informative, entertaining and ejaculating.

Congratulation!  Nayan Raj Pandey .

Floating into my Memory -3

The Old Man and Badighat River
"Lets' go to the river for fishing",  said Pun Baaje clearing his throat instinctively. It was dark like vinegar outside since twilight had changed into night. He had a fishing net dangling over his soldier and a small basket made up of bamboo skin to carry fish hanging over his right hip. He was wearing a half pant and a netlike t-shirt just above it. It was summer and the climate was above 30 Degree. I and my brother were only in the house because other family members used to live in a village uphill. " It will be exciting to just follow him through thin water on the edges of the river and sometimes putting hands into the gap of the stones under the water to catch fishes" my brother smiled shrinking more than stretching his cracked lips.

We three walked through the paddy field like a pendulum with the help of a torch. As soon as we reached to the bank of the Budget River, we took off the clothes and made a bundle of it to carry with us. Pun Baaje started throwing the net overflowing water making splashing sound and we started searching fishes putting both hands under the stones in the river. When we felt cuddling on our palms, we would cry in joy and sometimes would jump out of the river. My brother caught a fish as big as my middle finger. He said that it was 'Asala' feeling proud of being a winner. I moved faster to go in front of them so that I could catch more fishes in silent water. Pun Baaje was invisible somewhere in the middle of the water. He was a skilled fisherman. But he hadn't caught any that day. 

Since I couldn't catch a single fish even a buduno, I went a bit farther than they. I could hear gargle of water and feel the rippling of the waves. I could also feel the grains of sands beneath my feet. The  Yelping of the wolves and the roaring of the river made us dumb towards other sounds. I had to speak loudly several times to know where they were. Sometimes I would slip onto the rocks hurting the legs. 

When I reached below the paddy field of Nandaram Thapa, I saw a flickering light near Kaaliraha. I thought it would be the light of some fisherman. I looked around through the darkness if I could see my brother and Pun Baaje. But I couldn't see them. I was still in the water and putting hands under the stones. Meanwhile, I felt quavering of a fish as spineless as a jellyfish. When I tried to bend the fingers to catch it through its gills gulls, it moved away as swift as an arrow. Then I came on the bank of the river. There was still light near Kaaliraha. After sometimes, Pun Baaje and the brother came nearby me. Pun Baaje had caught no fishes, and the brother was carrying a plastic bag into his teeth having three trots. I showed them the light. Pun Baaje said happily, " Lets' go there now. There is a man fishing from the opposite bank of the river. It can be a fat chance for us." I thought It could be a chance to catch a fish if I went there before them. I ran towards the light stumbling over rocks.  When I approached closer to it, I saw it on our side and different from our expectation. I saw a man sitting on a slab of stone and light on his hand. I stood there for a while waiting for them. As soon as Pun Baaje saw the man with lights, he asked us not to move ahead. I was curious though a bit coward too. I walked a few steps ahead of them. I noticed the lights of different color on his hand and the white hair and long beards just above the light. He was wriggling his head making movements of his lips. It was a scary ghost in the horror movies.

At the meantime, Pun Baaje asked us to go home silently without doing any mischievous activities. Then we turned back and climbed into the field. Secretly, I took a flake of stone and threw it towards the mysterious old man. No sooner had I thrown a bit of stone, than we saw the light exploding over. It made the whole landscape visible. Then the light scattered in different colorful clusters and flew upwards the hill. We ran to the house. Pun Baaje asked us not to tell this to anyone. Neither did we.

This is based on a real incident when I was only fourteen.

A Memoir

I was walking down the sloppy hill in a drizzling rain. The sky was dark with thick black cloud and earth was covered with fog. A bird was quaking in the bush. The needles of the pine trees covered the road. I had a bamboo stick to support my shaky legs while descending the hill. I tapped the road and flung the needles with the stick. A donkey brayed from the gulf below the road. I could hear the goats bleating and monkey chattering in the forest. There were no houses nearby.

I had a black umbrella of my father. The storm sometimes flung it to the opposite direction making its ribs visible. My father would shout at me if he saw the broken ribs of the umbrella. I walked down and down ,then finally reached  to a shed at the top of a cornfield. It was empty like an accursed house. Lightening and thundering was pushing up my heartbeats. At the mean time, I heard a mouse squeaking behind the wood on which I was resting my soaked hips. I stood suddenly and looked around. At the corner of the shed I saw a snake slithering towards a hole. I lifted my bag and put it on the back  and moved out. 

The sky was still cloudy and rain was falling lightly in very small drops. The wind was blowing gently through the bough of sal and pine trees.

After walking for half an hour, I reached at the top of a rocky mountain. Fog dispersed and rain stopped. The whistling of wind still could be heard around. The nature lifted its veil like a bride after completing the wedding rituals. The sun was in the west lowering its wing to rest in the perch. Its golden colour smeared the trees, grasses of the hill and whole landscape of the mountain.

The gurgling of water through the streams and the prattling of a brook made me a poet. Rainbow was in the sky which remained me William Wordsworth's " My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold". I danced in the air with the pattering of rain and jingling of coins in the pocket. I was dumbstruck. The sun dipped half into the hills of the west. Cloud was disheveled and scattered around with its silver and golden colour. And finally, I saw a moon in the east. 

I stepped down along the narrow lane a bit faster than earlier. Twilight began its course. I heard the hoot of the owls in a bush near the road. I lowered my hands to the ground and picked some stones and threw towards the bush. The growling of the tiger made my goose pimple straight. I rushed down in a single breath through the midway of the paddy field. In a moment, I saw a few houses at the sides of the road. Mewing of a cat and croaking of the frogs were telling me that night was falling soon. 'Run boy! faster, run.'

Now, I could see the roof of my house. I had to walk fifteen minutes more. The road was mud-gravy. I could be slipped at any moment of my carelessness. Moonlight made the road visible with some scary images of the ghosts. Several times I sprang out like a projectile. I wrangled off and on the road. No sooner had I reached to the bottom of the hill thanI smelled of roasted maize and fried pakoras from every rooftops. I entered into my house and sighed . My mom came with a bowl of popcorn and a glass of milk. 

Love you mom, i am coming home.

Love

Love is natural and spontaneous . Mind doesn't realise the love but the heart. Many bloody wars were fought for love and the epics were written on love. Not only the poets and story writers write about love, but the king, emperor, doctor, moralist, spiritual leaders write and give speech on love. Yet, it has been remained mysterious what love really is. 

Vladimir Nabokov  wrote Lolita presenting love as  outrage and  hallucination , madness and transformation. People of the age commented " the only convincing love story of our century." However, it was highly controversial novel. How could there be love between ageing character Humbert Humbert, an old obsessed of passion person and beautiful under aged nymphet? Our great poet laureate Laxmi Prashd Devkota wrote "Munamadan" showing the pure love between Muna and Madan. Madan who leaves his newly wed Muda at home and goes to Lasha for trade. Unfortunately, he becomes ill on the way and dies remembering Muna. Here at home, Muna dies due to the shock of Madan's death. John Milton, a blind English poet wrote  "faerie Queene" on the love between Red Cross Night and Una. Shakespeare wrote 154 sonnets on love addressing the dark lady. These are some examples of great love. But presentation of love and its psychology is vary. Can love demand sacrifice like the death of Romeo and Juliet? Why lovers become blind in love and couldn't see anything beyond their world of love? Why separation leads many of them towards suicide? We see people in the history converting the pain of separation into the creative force. Taj Mahal was built in the memory of Mumtaj by the king Sarjaha, Rani Mahal was built in the memory of Tejkumari by Khadka Samsher, Naran Gopal sang many songs after his separation with  Aiswarya Rajya Laxmi. And there are thousands of such examples. 

Today, we hear the news of suicide by the teenagers due to separation or, fail in love relation. Krishnamurti says such love is illusion. Sometimes it make me think about the culture we are learning from our seniors. We watch movies, we read books on love stories and so on. For me, these stuff impart wrong information to the public. When the hero of a story commits suicide at separation, it has been practiced in real by those who can't distinguish between fiction and reality. Why we are selling such harmful stuff misguiding the  youths. Separation gives pain and kills the hope of living at the moment. But, if it can be taken as a  natural process and unavoidable, it gives us power to survive. Plants sprout out at the place of landslides after a few days. Every wounds can be healed. But committing suicide is stupidity. It can't give justice to love.

There are two ways of separation. One is due to the failure of love relation. One party breaks up the relation and choose another. It's not a love. It's deception, infatuation and blinding passion. Another is due to death of one party. The latter is really painful situation. However, we all know death is powerful and we can't alter it. Then, why we fail to understand it and do injustice to our love. Here, I insert a short morel.

One time a beloved died and went to the heaven. The lover cried a lot. His dear didn't stop for a long period. One day he was watching stars in the sky, he saw seven girls carrying candles on their hands. Among them he saw his girl, but her candle was not lit. But other six candles were burning brightly. Then he asked her a question why her candle wasn't lit. In his question, she answered, " each time I lit, your tears fall on it". The moral of this story is "our tears darkens the path of the lost loved one's in the heaven."

Love is holy. It has no demand and expectation. But, today's society has commodified it. People rationalise love. Despite the union between two hearts, love is done with the union of two minds. In fact, mind always betrays the heart. Ask your heart if you're in love not to the mind. 

A Lady at the Tap

She was taking a bath wrapping petticoat round her breast giving it a proper shape. There were no walls to hide her youth. The flow of water was running through the curve line between the swelled hips. Sun beams was shining on her skin and making it moon skin. She was touching her each parts up and down with her slender fingers. She looked like a nymph Menaka who was sent to Bishowmitra, a great sage, to break his meditation by Indra. She was rubbing inside slightly bending her back and putting her right hand under her petticoat. I could see her modest smile and passionate eye through the disheveled wet hair. She was stealing my gaze. 

I sat next to the road observing nature with her dancing shape in my head. I couldn't control my sight. Sometimes, my sight paused at the volleyball just beneath her chin. I didn't know why I was mad for a single glance. The chirping sound of the birds didn't hook my interest towards nature. I could see her lifting petticoat up to the knee and playfully massaging her thigh. It was white like snow. A man past by my site flinging my shirt. A bird flew from a bough of mango tree to a bamboo bush.  

She took a white bottle printed on the surface and poured some white stuff in her hand. Then, she massaged her hair playfully. Her hands were full of shop suds and ring was on her head. The sky was cloudy. I grabbed the mobile and pretended as if I was busy in some important call. My mind was with her and eyes were snapping each movements of her. She took a soap and pressed over her bosom. I felt a tug under my pant. I sighed. I lifted a chunk of paper from the ground and folded. I didn't know what I did with it. When I was conscious, there was a piece of stick and I was poking the ground absentmindedly. 

She stood in the flow of water letting it touch every part of her body. Her hades, busy hands moving in and out and up and down. She rubbed her privy part for a long time. Finally, she moved a bit away from the fountain and took a towel. She put it at the top and removed skinny petticoat demonstrating the whole landscape of her creamy parts. During this course she glanced me several times. So did I, too.

I felt a mouse sneaking into my pant. I caught at my hand and pressed hardly. In front of me, she changed top to bottom fitting each cloths to the right places. I was a single viewer of he xx movie.

My heart thumped a lot. I made the pant wet. I was afraid how I could walk in the public with the damp at the front of my pant. 

I awoke. Saw around. Grabbed the mobile from the side of the bed. I looked at the time. It was just 1.30 am. I ran to the bathroom regrading the dream.