After Many Days...

After many days, I am trying to get my words done but the stumbling blocks laid on my path since a period of time has anesthetised my mind-set to such a magnitude of obscurity that writing seems really impossible for me nowadays. Still, I can’t remain immune towards the significance of this day, the day that marks an important event in the calendar of my life, not because it’s a New Year eve (though it keeps some special place in my heart and have some beautiful memories to share with) but because of an encounter with the God of my belief.

      I remember this day last year, struggling in the hospital bed fighting with my woes and it hasn’t got any better still but this fateful day mesmerizes my nerve with bliss amidst all those hurdles and tribulations. The feeble mind of a man with broken limbs and hopes can never point it that way and never was it my aspiration either but the destiny finally had something good for me after all those brunts of bad shower. My agnostic school of thought was shaken by advent of the God of belief that I never believed in... my God of faith, my essence of living, my articulation of existence. A year has passed by; 31st December was no more than a day of celebration for me before that but now it’s a day of prayers. I thank my destiny for putting me into such big troubles only to let me understand the happiness of small things. This metamorphosis of convictions and conventions will truly give a new course to my hopes.

      HAPPY NEW YEAR to all!!!

Some Poetries-IV

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All troubles and miseries

Looking at you

Changes into happiness

Are into blackmagic?

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When earthquake of misfortune

Strikes the epicentre of fate

What remains only is hope.

The tremor of your leaving behind

Didn’t even spare my hopes

Drowning me into oblivion.

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A tiny bud

With its colourful innocence

Swinging along the breeze

And gently soaked with the fluid of energy

Is growing with sun to absorb its confrontation.

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What is the result of one plus one?

Everyone says its two but I say its one only.

For me, everything is single from the day

You left

And everything alone

Like my deserted heart. 

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बागबजार: एक पोट्रेट

बाटो छेउमा

राती फ्याँकेको वासी फोहोरको दुर्गन्धसँगै

बागबजारले बिहानीको आँखा खोल्छ ।

रातको नशा अझै बाँकी छ?

नाक छोप्दै कुनै स्लम बस्तीमा हिँडेका ‘मर्निङ वाकरहरू’

फोहोरको डङ्गुरमा

आफूले राती फ्याँकेको मोबाइलको चार्जर खोज्दैछन् ।

कलेज जाने उत्ताउला ठिटीहरुलाई

चुरोटको सर्को तान्दै जब जिस्काउँछन् उन्मत्त ठिटाहरू

हाँसोको फोहोराले कुनै ‘कमेडी फिल्म’को ‘सिक्वेन्स’ तयार गर्दै हुन्छ ।

फोहोरमा जिन्दगी खोज्दै बालकहरू

‘डेन्ड्राइट’को नशामा जब बाटो काट्छन्

सुरक्षाको ‌डण्डाले बिथोलिएका प्रदर्शनकारीजस्तै

चिल्ला गाडीका हरनले तितरबितर तिनीहरूको भीड

कुनै गाडीमा कुँदिएको छ- “बाल सरोकार केन्द्र” ।

‘सटर’हरू खुल्छन्- चिया पसलमा भीड

अखबारमा छापिएको हिमानीको ‘प्याराग्लाइडिङ्ग’ को दृष्यमा

शुरु हुन्छ पारसका कर्तुतहरूको बेलिबिस्तार

एन्जेलिना र ब्राड पीटको गफमा मस्त ‘प्लस टु जेनेरेसन’

सन्तानको बारेमा चिन्तित अभिभावक

तरकारी किनेर फकर्दै गरेकी गृहणी

कोही इराकमा मारिएका नेपालीहरूको बारेमा

कोही हिजो हेरेको सिनेमाको प्रसङ्ग जोड्छन् ।

पुरानो कोटमा सजिएको एउटा कवि बाटो काट्छ

“एउटा कविता पुर्याउनु छ, पत्रिकाको लागि”

स्कुल जाने विधार्थीहरूको हूलबाट

कन्डक्टरको एकोहोरो चिच्याइमा अफिस जानेहरू

बस भित्रको ठेलमठेलमा आफ्ना गन्तव्य खोज्दैछन् ।

Getting Started: A Literary Journey

It is not long before when I realised the truth that writing has an immense strength, a power to hold thousand hearts at a time like an apostle addressing a congregation, such a crave that no hungry belly gets relinquished even by foods, an apex of satisfaction that one gets only once in a life-time, an immortal sense of freedom though grinded hard in the everyday factory of life. A regression in quest of knowledge, a movement started within me the day I was not really prepared for what  I afterwards figured out, preparations were never needed. It was instant and natural like the sparkling of a thunderbolt, so much feelings encircled me that I came to know how Laxmi Prasad Devkota could have written Kunjani in a whole-night, a thunderbolt of mind-set. I could have written even more but the only difference was, those feelings were very raw, not even suitable to have been poured in a scrap with dirty inks. They were teasers, exciters to encourage the sleeping ‘next-me’ inside me and my mind was asking for food, a food of thoughts, a food of matured conscience to fill the so far empty brain dying of a never-ending hunger.

            Ten years have slipped by but the quest going through many ups and downs is still meandering around, the writing though looking bit matured comparatively in certain groups is still crude. I remember my first attempt, a literary-beginning when I used to read the English verses and translate them into Nepali and vice-versa. The instigation was whatever, but it helped an ample in learning rather than in writing. Many might have felt the complex of when they get started, I also underwent but it was late before I accepted the reality that shaping feelings in a paper was a very hard task.

            There was a time when my Nepali was very poor though I am not still good with it and this proved to be the greatest boon for me to enter into the world of literature. If I’d been an average going in Nepali, I would have never dealt the massive books but luckily, my weakness at this moment of life turned out to be the greatest help for me. Our Nepali Sir often used to tell me practise reading and writing, there were many times I got humiliated, demoralized in class only because of my ill-knowledge in Nepali. The course for me was so tough to be dealt with and I used to feel very helpless. It was that time I really took Nepali studying seriously, as a challenge and started a thorough reading and writing of Nepali language and literature. Within a short span of six months, improvement in the ignorant me could be clearly seen, as faint traces of maturity had sprouted in the writing. And about a year after, I must have started writing nicely that in the last days of my school, I got a big inspiring compliment from the same Sir and it was that he wanted to keep my note-copy with him for reference to the junior students.

            Incidently, ‘SATHI’ itself was the first magazine to publish my article, nearly eight years ago.