Thinking whenever, wherever

The golden moon was in its fullest glare on the canvas of the sky cushioned over the cotton looking clouds. In the day itself I had realized the temperature had dropped in the city and the winter was somewhere close by. I find travelling along the city forcing itself to stay awake in the neon light from early evening very fascinating. The day had been very tiresome and I could feel the aches in my muscles and a desperate desire to have some rest but sitting by the side of the window of the bus overlooking the moon took away all my tiredness. I didn’t require looking at the watch because from the chilly hint I had got in the day heralding the winter, I was sure that the clock had not stroke 7:00. With winter the days are shorter and from last few days I had realized that I had to switch on the lights early. As the bus slid in the road of the busy city preparing itself for the Dashain, the moon followed us or may be the bus was following the moon. I knew the city was inside the mist of the incomprehensible sounds of the people. When one speaks the other can understand what he/she is talking but when so many people speak the meaning is lost and the words become mere noise. The city was not quiet in the evening but noisier and in hurry. Paces of people longer than normal, their bags holding groceries, vegetables, cloths and so on. I watched a college girl who sat in the seat just before me and who moved her head almost like a sparrow incessantly, I saw she had placed her sweater roughly folded over her shoulder. Sweater was another hint that the winter had already made its presence felt. In spite of the mark on its face the moon still looked beautiful, and as thoughts started simmering inside my head the world that spread across me slept in silence, the men vanished. The silhouettes of buildings, few trees remained somehow as the cool breeze patted my cheek as if it were healing me from the tiredness I had collected during the process of survival of the day.
The inauguration of the website of the office that I had developed had gone well in spite of the trouble with database. The problem identified had already made my next day busy amid commitment to friends to have a meet. The part of year when I become busier than usual has come and this will last for few months. There will be so many things to be taken care of all at a once. Had it been possible to do these works throughout the year, passing time in office would not have been an ordeal. The works that need immediate concerns would not queue up but will jumble up all at once. It will give me a pride postponing personal interests, meetings citing business and pending work. It will make me appear important which I would not otherwise acknowledge. I didn’t know how the moon guessed what I was thinking and it smiled at me out of mockery and I blushed. There is nothing is regret though, what I felt could have been childish and I am proud that I am still childish. During the inauguration program I chatted with colleagues laughed with them made fun shared jokes which were hard to remember. The moon reminded me that my laughter was louder, I had talked most of the time and even that was part of my attempt to drag attention toward me though I don’t know for what. I am not going identity crisis however. After the inauguration when many colleagues of mine came to me congratulating me, wowing what I had done and how it was really something new I felt elated wanted to hop around like a child out of excitement. All of a sudden the feeling of ‘my’ work had taken its toll over me, I have been arrogant at times but I knew that was not arrogance, just an excitement behind the ‘my’ mania.
When the bus rolled around the ‘Ranipokhari’ (the huge pond in the heart of the city) I watched how fast the metal fence moved, I could see them individually through the speed of my bus. The top of the fence pointed and painted yellow. As I looked at the city through the yellow top of the fence the shops that lay on the other side of the pond looked yellowish almost like the moon in the sky.
A sudden jerk of the bus woke me up from my fantasies. The bus was already packed and the conductor was trying to make place for more people. I felt the bag that lay in my lap carrying a projector of my office. I could have left the projector in the venue itself and had it delivered the other day but to show the projector to the children at home excited me. I doubted if my mother had seen something like it (though she has been to movies more than myself she has never wondered how they show movies in those huge curtain). I was thrilled when I imagined the excitement, awe and happiness in the faces of children when I will show them a movie through the projector. I took a sigh and at next stop I got down, fifteen minutes later I was at home.

Disturbed by my own laughter

A colleague came by turning my computer towards her to see what I was doing. She was imitating me because every time I pass by her I do the same thing just with an evil intention to disturb her, today it was her turn. She saw my blog commenting who would read those lengthy posts if it were not in a printed form. I boasted her I had got comments from readers, some in my email and some in the blog itself. I said see the comments and she pouted in disbelief. I guffawed saying most of the comments were my own. I heard myself laugh the way I have never laughed though I knew it was not a planned chuckle. I was surprised at my boisterous laughter which made me silent soon after the realization that it was not my laughter. Had I forgotten the way I laughed just because I hadn’t laughed for a while now, however it does not mean I have been unhappy. I do admit something has been lost in the process, may be its my depression. A trivial thing it may sound but it disturbed me drowning me in deep introspect.
The city did not interest me as it usually do while I was walking toward the bus stand. I missed observing things, people, shops, curios, lamp-posts. When I was in the bus-stand, I was swept with the crowd; there was nothing that could not interest me. I was soon observing the people brought to the stand by purpose or without purpose. I observed the way people talked, the movement of their hands, twitching of their face, the fringes in their dress, latest fashion in the street. The laughter was still reverberating in my head, I knew I was busy observing my world just to avoid the laughter and it was a pretty successful attempt. All of a sudden I realized I haven’t seen the city beyond the route between my home and office, its been a real long time. I knew 8 years was not a long span of time at that instant when I was remembering my days in 11-12 class. Those were loony days of my life. Loneliness is not the absence of people around one, it’s the feeling that one is so away from rest of the world. Yes, I didn’t have many friends then still if numbers were to be spoken of, I have lesser number of friends these days, but I was lonely then, today I enjoy my aloofness. It was not so those days. Those days once in a while I used to take bus that followed a longer route than my regular buses, just because I loved watching the city. I loved the attempts of city to remain alive in the evening. That was my best time. I have rarely recalled those feats; today I wanted to do the same. The bus was empty and I was sitting next to the window, my head resting on my arms which themselves rested on the window of the bus. I am so inconsequential to the world, it does not care if I am watching it, studying it. Truth cannot be extracted from a case, a specimen if it is made aware that it is being observed. I loved watching the movements of lips of children of the crowd, I cannot see the words, their low sound is engulfed by the meaningless noise of the crowd and the meaning of their utterances only become the contribution to the noise. The crowd has no voice (unless it is a demonstration, a rally i.e. the crowd with common cause) still has many faces. It has no shape but it has its existence. People separate from the crowd like the glints from the fire, either they merge into another crowd or vanishes in their inconspicuous homes. I am just the part of the crowd, my guffaw which is not mine is lost in the mob. Yes, that very guffaw that though comes out from me is not mine, I have never heard myself laugh though. My laughter was theatrical. I imagine- I raise my head until I see the ceiling of my cabin, open my mouth wide and spurt the laughter that is not mine. There was nothing to pretend, I was only mocking myself, dismissing the fact that my work has been praised. Now I feel my own magnanimity, the fake enormity of my existence. Here in the crowd I just want to ascertain how trifling my existence is. How my preposterous laughter is meaningless? Why I do not exist for the world when I feel so significant to myself? Not even the dog that is following the crowd begging to be a part of the crowd, a contributor and a representative from his species, has a notion of my existence. Everyone wants to be part of the crowd, I realize somebody has taken the seat next to me. I look at him, he is busy in something I cannot fathom. I keep looking at me observing his small ear, neatly combed hair, birthmark in his cheek, his blue jacket, his smoothly ironed pant, his clean boots, a small spot of dry mud in his left shoe, his long nails, his restless fingers playing among themselves. He becomes aware of my observation, pulls his jacket, looks at me, his small black eyes look irritated and angry. I turn toward the window and smile back. With this smile I have recovered my originality, the fake guffaw has left me.

Anna Karenina

Just a few minutes back I finished Leo Tolstoy’s ‘Anna Karenina’. I read the book after reading ‘War and Peace’ and after reading that Tolstoy considered Anna Karenina as the only novel he wrote obviously because he liked it. Though both his books ‘war and peace’ and ‘Anna Karenina’ are very popular, I liked the former. After reading ‘Anna Karenina’ I wondered why the book was titled thus when Anna’s account is lesser as compared to Levin. Like in ‘War and Peace’ there is elaborate description of parties that used to take place in Tsarian Russia, but I found the book rather dull in the beginning. I loved it towards the end when Anna starts loosing her sanity, she starts living in a fear that Vronsky, the man for whom she left her husband, her son and became a subject of despise to the society has stopped loving her. She puts question and answers the questions on behalf of Vronsky herself. It is such a wonderfully written. One cannot remain without feeling pity for the woman. It’s obviously the story of love if Anna is to be considered but as in War and Peace, Tolstoy ends up with his philosophy about life, religion and the whole world.
While reading ‘War and Peace’, I thought the author is sharing so many things, sufferings of his own through his character Pierre. I was so surprised that what I thought happened to be true. It is written that Pierre is a portrait of Tolstoy himself along with his alter-ego Prince Andrew. Now after reading ‘Anna Karenina’, I am again thinking the character Levin might share resemblances with the author. Even I could associate myself with Levin, the way he thought about death, about religion, about his doubtfulness of his own position if he could change the world.
When Anna leaves her husband, I wondered if that was right thing to do. Isn’t that a cheating, infidelity? Has anyone right to ruin others life. May be it depends upon the circumstances. The instincts of man surprise himself at times owing to the fact that we are selfish by nature. To observe things as a spectator is completely different than actually experiencing the arduous circumstances. It was a pity for Anna who saves the matrimony of her brother in the beginning of the book ruins her own married life and eventually ruining herself. At one end her husband and her son suffers while at others Vronsky suffers for loving her, for fighting the world with might which turns completely against him. Anna a self-confident, lively woman all of a sudden is pushed into never ending suffering.
I have read many books, watched many movies I have thoroughly enjoyed in the beginning but have been let down at the end. When we read a book or watch a movie, we want the zeal to be on the rise. I feel I found many good books insipid because of the way they ended, while there are books that have been dull towards the beginning but highly engaging as it approaches its end. Personally I like books that engages me from its very beginning till its end however if such books are not available I would go for books that might be a little dull in the beginning but progresses eventually. Many people dump a book after reading few pages because they don’t find the book interesting, I on the other hand rarely dump a book once I get hold of it, so for me I like the books which progresses as one turns pages. Anna Karenina is one of such book. The last few pages that deal with Anna’s confusion, restlessness makes the book exquisite.
Though a wonderful tale, I found it dull at times and it was not something I would have repented for not reading.

And its my 100th post

I had a brief notice of it in the morning while coming to office. The sun was high and the atmosphere was the one I have been well acquainted with it. September has just started and there is the herald of winter, the hints of approaching Dashain the biggest festival of Nepalese. I love the atmosphere, as I a child I associated it with colorful kites, dry sky with white smiling clouds and beneath them serene blue like that of a grandfather’s eyes peeping into the world, new clothes, holidays and yummy foods. The hays are ripe, the rice plants ready to be cut and thrashed, the mills busy whistling and its chimney puffing smoke, swings constructed in homes and in open, children running and playing, and bazaars in full life its such a wonderful time of the year. After months of hard work, the farmers are freed and its time their labor yields result. The plants of rice swaying with the air spilling life all over, what a propitious time for festival. Far in the local streets reflections of familiar faces approaching with a smile and with baggage of gifts. What a rejuvenating time, thanks to those who started the culture of celebrating Dashain. Religiously Goddess Durga liberated the world from the evils of demon Mahisasura and lord Ram reclaimed his wife mother Sita by killing Ravana. The muds have dried, everything is beaming in happiness, a new life has come and there’s the sign of a new year, a sign of celebration. The hay smells fresh in the country, and this elates the spirit of the cattle, merry time for them as well.
The dog with its lower teeth protruding to reach its nose, is strolling freely. Its tiny feet are dancing, one after another; as if it were trying to create music with the tap of its padded feet. It looks up in the sky and I wonder if it has just come out watching the happy Pluto in the Disney’s channel. Its eyes smile at me, a bluish spot inside the circular black in its eyes. I cannot be drunk, in my whole life I have tasted wine just twice and there is no way, I come out tipsy; then why is it that everyone looks so happy. What is it in the earth? May be it’s the reflection of my heart, the happiness simmers inside me what I see outside is only its reflection. Its bright, its heyday.
The beggars are there, and a street hawker walks by in dirty pants with holes in it. He searches his pockets, first in his shirt and then his pants finally a coin shines between two fingers of his left hand. I see the coin drop in the begging-bowl of the beggars though I cannot here the sound of its cinkling. What does it make that man to donate his hard earned money, I never do. The beggar has a toddler in her arm, that does not arouse sympathy in me. I loathe people who give birth to children when they are not in a position to sustain themselves. The hawker does not inspire me, I walk past apathetically. The beggar watches me with scorn, I can read her eyes saying in despise ‘See a hawker who won’t earn more than hundred rupees even if he is lucky gives me the only coin with him but you being someone who earn much more are such a miser’. Why would they offend me? Sorry woman I am immune to scorn and despises today. Even in other days your look has no affect on me. I feel for your child, I wish I could do something to children like him wish I was in such a position. If there is really something like sin, then you are a sinner before me at this moment. That is when my toothy dog with his tusks pointing upward comes by my side. He seems to understand, his eyes are so welcoming. He agrees with me, but its not the return of the parathas, and chowmein which I offer to him in the open lunch joint and which he never eats, yet his eyes are appealing. The soldiers standing at the gate of American Embassy seem to be smiling at me. I know they have always stood there, I only do not remember their face, even as I write this, I cannot recognize them. But their smiles look helpless, possibly it is the impact of the SLRs (Self Loading Rifles) they are carrying. They scare my toothy dog, stomping their foot on the ground which makes him wince and they laugh. The dog understand this and wags his tail but now he has come to other side of mine. I feel so happy to have won the trust of the dog. Just before the open lunch joint, he departs. We exchange looks and I smile knowing he cannot read the smile of lips, he is apt at reading only eyes. Hopefully we shall meet in the day but he is a bohemian, a wanderer.

Standards

I am always very happy when its time to return home. When the office is over I want to be at home as soon as possible. If I didn’t need to earn may be I will never get out of my room. In one of my primary school classes, a teacher had told us story about a witch, her adoption of Hansel and Gretel. In between she told that in earlier days, in the remote areas and in the tribe people who do not come out of their home, shun the world was thought to be practicing black magic. I am pretty sure if one of the tribe men came to our home seeing me shut in my room always with book, uncombed hair, bulging eyes, will be afraid of me considering me as a practitioner of black magic.
As always on my way to home, I came across children playing in the heap of sand in the open ground. They were imitating a dance program that comes in TV. These unprivileged kids could not manage better seats for the judges who sat on the heap of sand, their legs crossed. The judges were relatively older kids while the young with running nose, dribbles were putting on some performance in the stage. The stage was the area inside a rectangle they had drawn with a stone on the ground. I couldn’t help stopping to watch them. A girl, with the flounce of her skirt torn at places and a dirty vest visible danced to a song which she sang herself. She finished the act and the other girl who was playing the anchor of the show asked the judges for their opinion. It was such an innocent and yet very real game. The first judge knitted the skin on her nose, giving her verdict, ‘it was good but not best, the lifting of the foot so high during the act was not needed’ since I had watched the dance of this girl from the beginning I knew she had no moves where she lifted her feet. She was not a good dancer and rarely shifted her position as if her foot were buried in the earth and how come the complain of her foot movement. May be the judges in the TV had commented thus. The stick that represented the mike was transferred to the other judge who was a clever looking fellow. He said the feet were really high because he could see the knickers of the dancer on which everyone laughed including the dancer. The third judge who looked intelligent said the performance could have been better if she had brought expression on her face. She got twenty marks in total. She bowed to the judges and the anchor replaced her while I walked on with a smile. I had seen the anchor blush finding I was watching them.
I wondered how even these little kids learn about standards. They say the hand movement should have been thus, the foot movement was preposterous, the facial expression was lacking. I know in their real life they struggle to be mould in the social standards. The rules, customs will chain them. In some way growing up is a process of getting accustomed with these standards and shaping oneself, one’s behavior on the basis of these norms. They will find these judges everywhere, who take special pleasure in directing others conduct, chiding them when they drift from the standards. They assume they are the standards themselves and they govern things to be done this way rather than that way, rebellion is unexpected, more likely rebel will be crushed. Standards have always existed, probably they define the state of civilization. A society is put against standards to measure its rank in the scale of civilization. Everyone has to abide by these standards. The judges take a great pleasure in deciding the fate of these performers. Most of them being so arrogant and proud that they assume themselves to be some sort of demigod. Standards are either what a majority believes or what a person in power can exercise. Once these standards are in conceived they are destined to be laid on the track of evolution. Darwin’s survival of fittest holds. There are social police who keep everyone under scrutiny to ensure the standards are being followed. There are standards everywhere in art, in music, in tradition, in society, in life. People take pride for possessing the power to ruin and glorify others fate, they are the epitome of standards. Whether its Van Gogh, Aristotle, Galileo everyone is tested against these standards and deviation is scorned. It feels so helpless that one has to live on the mercy of others but what can we do. I take pity on these standards, rather loathe them when they try to bind anyone within its periphery. I do not scorn every rules, every standards but I want leniency in creativity and fertility to differences. Listen to the rebels, convince them, exercise your logics do not take extreme measures at once. Throw your whips and come out of your images of demi-gods. Be lenient to revise the standards.

Falling prey to TV crew

At this moment as I sit before my laptop, an unprecedented friend recently I am overwhelmed with so many things. The confusions, thoughts are hovering at random just like the cloud I see through the edge of my window. Sun and shade are playing game while from a distant I can hear the music celebrating the biggest festival of woman the Teej, where they fast for a whole day without even sipping a drop of water, the married fasts for the well-being of their husbands and the unweds fast in order to have a good husband. They sing and dance the whole day taking their energy from God knows where. The fast will be broken tomorrow after a brief worship.
As a part of a routine these days, I feel lazy and have headache most of the day. I know I am being haunted by a new bout of depression but its been less severe this time. I hope it does not aggravate. After clicking different sites at random in office, I had just drawn my rack to find a book when a colleague announced that he was going in the volley-ball competition at the head office. As a celebration of office-day toward the middle of September, different events are organized. Thanks to the organizers I sneaked out of the office telling my seniors that our team needed spectators so I was going to cheer them up. I came to home with guilt consciousness. It probably was not a propitious time when I left my office, as I was walking on my way home, a TV crew caught me up for an opinion on the state of women in the country and the significance of ‘Teej’. On the day of women nothing but my ill luck had conspired that the TV people hunted me down. The first thing that came to my mind was my colleagues might watch it, after all they broadcast it in the prime time news. It was so disgusting. Sometime I used to wonder while these TV people catch up so many invalid people why don’t they found me. Many times I have missed opportunities like these by the inch of a hair. For not being someone who tries to jump in the crowd of mob just to be in the frame of camera. I have many times despised intelligent looking people for giving flaccid replies before the camera and have thought I would have replied better. Yes I used to want to be caught by television crew but now in situation like today. The lady with the microphone was just in front of me and there was no way I could hide my face or do something silly to avoid being interviewed. Her question ‘Are you going home?’ was a hard blow, I was so confused that I said ‘Rubbish’, I must have looked agitated. ‘I am going to a place on work and I am in a hurry’ was what I said after repossessing myself. She had just began, ‘What do you think..’ and I interrupted citing the urgency of my work. Without waiting for her response I slid away. I was so worried that they might telecast it at the time while my seniors would be sitting at their drawing rooms to watch the news. However since I had not said anything they might edit my part because in none of their opinion poll section I have seen people embarrassed like me. Then I looked back at the crew, at their van which was the intelligent thing I did. The van was painted with a logo of a channel that is only in the process of testing its transmission and very few people know that there is news-channel like that. It was a great relief. Then I thought how silly I had been because even if they had telecasted everything they do not say the time at which the opinion was sought. Since the sun was behind the clouds I would have said upon inquiry by my colleagues that while I was returning home after the game, they had caught me. I felt so foolish for acting like a child. May be I could have boasted before my colleagues that I was interviewed and asked if they saw me in TV. However there was one good thing because I could not say about the state of women and significance of the festival. I am sure I would have told, the whole festival, the idea of keeping a woman hungry just for the sake of her husband was not justified. It was against the whole concept of women emancipation that is being discussed every day in political meetings. I would have definitely said it is a different form of torture and slavery. It was an attempt to make women believe that their destiny, happiness lies in their husband because they cannot do anything on their own to buy them happiness. I know how much I despise these ideas. My comments would have been against the belief of thousands of women who were standing in the queue of 5 to 10 kilometers just to worship the phallus of Lord Shiva in the temple of Pashupatinath. The idea of phallus worship drifted my thoughts to some other territories. I looked back, the TV crew had caught somebody else, and from a little distant I could see an embarrassed smile at the face of their new prey. I walked on.

Adventure in darkness

The summer is slowly fading. The days are gentle while mornings are cooler. I have given up morning walks, cant get out of bed early and the first thing that comes to mind is books, and one is always lying by my side. I cannot deny it and one can find me with a book still tucked in to the bed, my face looking sleepy and lazy.
I went home feeling lazy, dizzy, tired etc.etc. Had just lied flat in my beloved bed with a book. Night was creeping and I could see the tints of darkness all over the earth, the clouds looked gloomy and peaceful. There was no sign of rain though the moon was hiding somewhere behind the clouds. The ground where kids play was empty which made me assume the kids had returned home after being shooed by the falling dark. The neon light was already lightening my room. I must say the ambience was romantic unluckily I was not, I was just indifferent. I could see a shadow in the curtain of my neighbor; someone was reading rather mugging notes, probably my neighbor’s son preparing for exam. He was moving from left to right and back. I could see the shadow of a notebook. I still have reminiscent of my college days and the treacherous exams. I felt sorry for the boy, but the movement of his shadow was disturbing me and I turned to other side. I could see the road gleaming in the street light. I had left my book on the table just to greet the evening but it held me by its unseen hands. I was trying to read the stories of the day brought to me by the smooth breeze. All of a sudden everything went dark. I was inside the pitch darkness. The damn power cuts. I hear we will have it fourteen hours a day. I realized my damnation of the darkness was not very harsh. I felt as if I was standing alone as some mystery was to unfold. I could see nothing only hear meaningless sounds coming from all sides, time and again the howl of the dogs tried to bring meaning. The empty road was nowhere to be seen and I could only guess where it could be. I raised my hand but I couldn’t see it. I had seen a candle in my table but I dismissed it. I was enjoying darkness. Helpless candles and electrical gadgets were already flickering in pride for being able to come to the aid of their masters. Man is falling slave to his own inventions. I had to move with greater precision not to collide with anything, not to fell the things in the table and not to hurt myself. It was such a helpless state still I was cynically enjoying it. My mobile shrieked and from its light I could track where it was. A distant cousin had called as he had been invited for a dinner which obviously I had forgotten. He hadn’t seen our home and wanted me to fetch him from a crossroad where he was strangled. These days I exist in my own home without the notice of my own people. Mummy complains that I see her only on my way to office or in the dining table and I dismiss that in a guffaw. I shout at my mum that I am going to fetch the cousin. I step out of my home without a torch despite the pressings of my mother. I enjoyed the thrill that I might stumble upon anything, fall into ditches still I wanted to avoid that. Sometime its such an adventure to test one’s own instincts. I only had to get to the main road because it won’t be difficult afterward and there was no way to carry on my experiment when my cousin and his newly wed would be accompanying me. I have a torch in my mobile, I dismissed it as well. Afterall I had felt pity on the mankind for falling slave to his own inventions, if I used my torch that would be hypocrisy and for that instant I didn’t want to be a hypocrite.
As I walked along the dark track, I assumed as if someone has spilled black ink all over the earth. The thick clouds were assisting in my experiment by barring the moon from peeping the earth. I thanked them and raised every steps with care, extending my hand just to ensure I do not hammer on wall or pole with my nose. As I walked I assumed myself to be the cavemen who dwelled in Stone Age. They would have done the same thing if they were lost in middle of the night.
I was walking like a blind and that thought washed away all my excitements. My experiment of a short span was a reality of life for so many people. In my childhood when I used to imitate lame, blind, deaf and dumb people mummy used to tell me that one who mocks at helpless become helpless themselves. If I were to imitate a lame man I will be lame eventually. Recollection of those memories scared me to death. I slipped my hands into my pocket briskly and soon I was walking in the light of my mobile’s torch. I had only few steps to get into the main road but I was happy I had light and I could see.