tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51005532062154041742024-03-19T10:11:30.597+05:30My thoughts wide openMy blogs to a greater lengths are journals. But inside these journals I wander around my own thoughts, sometime foray into alien territories. They might reflect my way of life, my bringing up etc. but they certainly represent my thoughts; me as myself.
My blogs might look like excerpts from so many things. It may start with a leaf on a street & it might end up with things on money, it might start with money when it will deal with Moon.Lastly sorry for the irrelevant titles if you find any.restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-14506676187792692662024-03-19T10:10:00.002+05:302024-03-19T10:10:33.253+05:30Vipassana<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Technically this was my second Vipassana
course, but as per the rules this was my first. This so happened that in the
year 2019, I registered for a 10 days course. Whatever the ups and downs there
were I was on the 9<sup>th</sup> day. I was excited and happy that the treacherous
journey was coming to an end, and here and there I thought I experienced
something different, and spent some time like a monk. So I have split this
write-up into parts, first time and second time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">First Time<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Early morning after our breakfast, I was just
strolling, examining myself, trying not to entangled in the excitement of
finally meeting my family and sharing my experiences with friends and family.
This was exactly what we were trying to learn, to understand everything is
transitory, clinging to these impermanent thing is the root cause of
unhappiness. The emergency alarm bell rang incessantly and everyone hurried to
the meditation hall. We were told that lockdown had been announced in Victoria,
and the course had to be called off, noble silence ceased with that
announcement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">On the 8<sup>th</sup> day I had a fleeting
thought that the course was ending, and a wish lighted, I wished there were few
more days. Only from 7<sup>th</sup> day I had actually started liking it. I was
settled down, think past the pain in the body or should I say rest my mind once
in a while and loose a sense of space and time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">So on 9<sup>th</sup> day we returned home with
a very brief closure. As I look back the ego had already taken over, I was
elated, excited and what not. This happiness unfortunately was not for the experience,
not for learning new thing, not for discovering something in me of which I was
unaware. Reflections now tell me, I had neither learnt new thing, discovered
nothing new about myself or had a taste of any nectar. I returned home happy
and calm. This calmness was again not because I had discovered anything but
just hangover of 9 days of complete silence, strict routine, and lack of
interaction. There was no new version of me. That was reality and I will try to
get into some details. But this is about me, my observations of people, of
things and my interpretation so simply put my truth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Before I move on to my latest 10 days course, I
should still elaborate on my first experience. I was excited and I had
expectations too. At that time, I had become health conscious, I was running
every morning, kept a track of what I was eating and was in a very positive
state of mind having lost 10+ kg in a mere 2 months. Vipassana was another
milestone. I had heard about Vipassana for a long time, back home I was in
Nepal. Once even enquired the possibility of registering but that for some
reason didn’t materialize. The impetus this time were the books I was reading, I
had completed all three books by Yuval Noah Harari and was impressed. He had
dedicated one of his books to S.N. Goenka who set into motion the long lost
Vipassana technique. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Though any sort of exercise is prohibited,
walking was allowed and since I didn’t want to give up my running journey, I
would always be walking briskly between the breaks, stretching my body or
perhaps doing Surya-Namaskar and all. On the third day the manager told me
gently that with those activities I might not grab the full benefits of
Vipassana, and that is when I stopped those regiment. I would still walk but
this time with mindfulness and awareness. This gave me time to introspect, look
at things and remove some weeds from my sub-conscious, revisit and revise my
perspectives, it was really nice. That continued for the entire stay. While
these reflections outside the meditation sessions were nice, they were also
interfering with the meditation. These introspections brought so many things in
forefront and my mind will be busy with those, it was overwhelming to deal with
the flux of memories. Even during meditation settings my mind won’t calm. This
led to frustration and all, eventually on 7<sup>th</sup> day I was at peace. During
the breaks when I used to walk, I would rather focus on what was in front of
me, looked at the milieu, the grass I was walking on, the birds, the rabbits,
insects rather than anything personal. I would be back indulging in self reflections
but as soon as I realized I would divert my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">When I looked at other people I couldn’t help
but judge them. They looked so sad and many of them looked like addicts, mental
patients. They were expressionless, I wouldn’t say calm but I realized it was
error of judgement as I was comparing them and their visible attributes with
the excitement, happiness that was within myself. es with the excitement,
happiness that was within myself. I was happy <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I was happy <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when I was not in the meditation hall. In the
meditation hall it was boring, the mind was flying like a kite whose thread had
been broken and there was no one controlling it. It will move with the wind, no
direction of its own. A minute looked like an hour and I would be desperately
waiting for the gong to go off. Strangely I was however able to maintain a
stable posture throughout the sessions. It was very funny when those who sat
around me told me on the 9<sup>th</sup> day that I seemed to be the only one
who was reaping the benefits of meditation and always at trance. I was able to
fake it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">1<sup>st</sup> day passed almost without much
notice, I was simply excited for the experience that awaited (which never
came), the boredom started to pick from 2<sup>nd</sup> day. The anapana thing still
made sense but it was boring, I had already getting the proper sensations where
I was expected, repeating it was loathsome. 3<sup>rd</sup> day I was
questioning my decision, I was convinced this technique made no sense. The only
thing I was convinced will help me was getting off the grid i.e. the digital
detoxication and the silence. The meditation and the discourse were the real
illusion rather than those SN Goenka was talking about in his discourse. I didn’t
go to the meditation hall in one of the sessions when the teacher won’t be
there. I basically slept in my dorm. I told myself let me wait till 5<sup>th</sup>
day as Vipassana was yet to start and that might have different experience.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">4<sup>th</sup> day afternoon Vipassana started.
That morning also I had not attended the morning session the one before the
breakfast. Vipassana was a new thing so 4<sup>th</sup> day passed easily but
during the discourse I was back with my doubts. But I told myself that I will
give it a fair try on 5<sup>th</sup> day. There were many students who had
already taken the course, so I argued with myself if they had not found
anything beneficial why would they come again. When I looked at my fellow
meditators they seemed to be enjoying it. It was only me, the impatient me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">5<sup>th</sup> day was a little bit of change,
it was not so boring and I would still wait for the gong to go off but unlike
previous days I wouldn’t be desperate. But that remained just for half of the
day, it was becoming unbearable, and the body ache was making it worse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The worst was the 6<sup>th</sup> day. I was
agitated, with myself for making such a blunder. I was sitting there doing
nothing, I was not able to concentrate, struggling to calm my mind and to bring
it in control or alternatively simply not care what my mind was doing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">What was the point I was asking, I could have
rather stayed home, that would have been more relaxing. Shun my mobile,
internet at home and just read books, spend time with my daughter and wife it
would have been more meaningful and yet I had put myself through this torture.
Now I was determined during the lunch I will tell the co-ordinator that I
wanted to go. While having lunch my ego was hurt, what would my friends say, my
relatives say. They will laugh at me, after all that hullabaloo I had given up.
The ego supressed everything and the second round of determination took over.
This determination was to save my ego and nothing else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Day 7, at 4:30 AM I was in the hall, in a lotus
posture upright and resolute. Perhaps was sleeping through that session too. I
didn’t think much about it during the breakfast, washed some cloth that didn’t
even need washing just to save myself from indulging in silly thoughts and dive
into memories web. Strangely the 8:00-9:00 session was much easier to the
extent that I thought I had experienced something different, and this was what
I was meant to experience. The experience must have been for 5 minutes or even
less but I thought it was worth it. Now when I remember it, it could have been a
small moment of peace, happiness or tranquil after so many days of confusion,
irritation. As soon as I experienced it and it had been swept into the
memories, I retrieved it immediately sugar-coated it. The experience that was a
simple happy moment was now the promised joy, the nectar, the bliss and the
connection to the universe. This was simply the mind playing the game, and I
was enjoying it. Perhaps that was enough for me give up on the idea of
quitting. I was telling myself, oh the bliss is true, I can’t quit now. I have
to taste it again, this will be liberation, the joy. Basically I was happy to
just assume to break the new shackles and chain myself with new one. Oh human conditions.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">8<sup>th</sup> day I was already worried that
the course was ending, only two days were left. Then on 9<sup>th</sup> we had to
leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">On my way home I was glad I made it, I had
stories of my experiences to tell, I was overflowing with excitement. That 5
minutes of good feeling had washed away 6 days of pain, irritation and doubt.
This I thought was what keeps us living. We might be pessimistic at conscious
level but at the subconscious level we still have expectations of reward or
perhaps its simply the fear of death that we keep living.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I told my wife and daughter about my
experiences, poured my memories to my friends. Everything good was said yet not
forgetting to telling again and again it was painful and how the survival is
difficult. I was basically telling them how I was tough, I was someone who didn’t
give up, I went through adversity and triumphed. After fanning my ego, I still
had to reconcile with the reality, those 9 days were like dreams and we live in
reality not in dreams. Next morning I woke up little disconnected. It felt
empty, I felt out-of-place. I was not stopping yesterday and yet today I didn’t
know what to speak about. I felt that was not the reality or was confused what
reality actually was. All my life my priorities had been that of a common man,
I loved my family, I enjoyed sensual pleasures, I relished in good food, I was elated
on success and felt worthless on failures, my own value was the value the
society gave me. That was my reality in the last 9 days I was told that was old
thought pattern and the reason of misery. Rather than experiencer we should simply
be observer and always be aware that everything is impermanent. So reconciling
was difficult. A seemingly reasonable self of mine was telling me this was
reality, 9 days were dream, I live in society and with my family, if I falter
my family will suffer. I cannot simply give-up things and become a monk, even
the course did not want me to do that. But how do I practice impermanence and
equanimity in this life where I have to pay mortgage, I have people who depend
on me, I have to earn to live, participating in competition is not a choice,
the rat race is not a choice and on top of that I am an average man, risk
averse, with worldly attachments.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">At work it felt same, people seem to be
speaking through me, seeing through me at times. I could not concentrate, and
could not pick from where I had left. Many things seemed new, vague. It was not
peace, it was more chaos. It took me few more days to get back in real, but I
was back.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Many others seemed to have felt the same. To
satisfy my ego I can say the course changed me, I started looking at things
objectively. I can say I am less effective by events, by glory and by gloom but
I would be lying. Many a time to validate what we did we make things up, we
hype the experience, we sugarcoat events and people. I have done that, that is
just our intrinsic nature, we can’t change it and it is not our fault. We have
been made so by thousand and thousands years of evolution, mutation it can’t
change easily in 10 days. Small changes here and there might come but we have
to be conscious every time on every action of ours. How many times do we do
things knowing it is not the right thing even when we are actually doing it? We
might have yelled at our Children, just realizing this is not right when we are
actually yelling. It seems helpless. It is very difficult but I think I am
convinced that there is no free will yet in day to day life I blame myself and
others as if they did it on volition.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Second time<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I wanted to complete the course and I had
missed it by a day. We were told we had actually completed the course, and we
can do the same thing at home that we had done on the 8<sup>th</sup> day. Again
the ego was not satisfied so I had registered for the course. I was on the
waiting list and as the days got closer and closer, I had started becoming
indifferent on whether I will be accepted or not. My wife didn’t want me to go
this time as we needed to change many things specially around our daughter.
Perhaps that was one of the reasons why I was indifferent to the acceptance
this time around. Eventually I got the confirmation, and that didn’t trigger
any excitement or sadness. Either I knew in my subconscious that I will be
accepted or may be I actually didn’t want to be accepted so the acceptance didn’t
bring any excitement. I was not sad either.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Unlike last time I didn’t do any preparation,
didn’t buy anything new, didn’t do any packing before an hour, and also went
lighter than last time. Two trousers, three tees, 3 under-wears, bodywash,
tooth-brush, tooth paste, an alarm clock, a pair of slipper, few pairs of socks
and a shorts. On my way I talked to my parents, my wife and my daughter. The
ask was to reach the meditation centre at 4:00 PM but I knew from the last time
that people arrived much later as well. I reached there at 3:45 PM. Called my
wife one last time before switching off and handing over the mobile phone to
the manager. It felt lighter, we have become slaves of technology. It took half
a million year for the human race to arrive at the age of Industrial Revolution
as if we had been slowly preparing ourselves for it. However in last two
centuries, we made so much progress that it might have been difficult to our
mind and to our body to adapt to it. Specially our mind, such that there is
always a conflict. When we settled for agriculture 10000 years back, we also
freed ourselves from always being at alert for food, for hunt, for protection.
Mind was not developed to be free, it always had to be at work, so when we
became free the mind started jumping between past and future. It got time to
compare, to wish, to crave, to cling and the predicament of human was
determined. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The course claims to have been developed by
Siddhartha Gotama himself, the Buddha, 2500 years ago. The course is about
mind, so even 2500 years earlier as well man was worried about mind or should I
say mind worried man. Perhaps their major concern that time was what they did
daily didn’t align with what was there in scripture. Despite knowing they were
not doing it the way their scripture wanted or their Gurus wanted they couldn’t
help themselves. They could not get rid of greed, lies, sexual misconduct,
hatred, violence, something kept pulling them to these defilements. Morality
was mostly guided by scriptures back then, men thought less independently. Now
with almost 8 billion human in Earth, struggling for resource among themselves
and with the nature the problem has simply multiplied. As consumerism keeps
growing, as celebrity culture keeps growing and the desire to show I am not any
less keeps growing the problems of mind keeps growing too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">This time I didn’t have any expectations and no
excitement. I knew from my previous experience that it was going to be
difficult but at the same time I knew I won’t be quitting. I was not looking for
any enlightenment or awakening because I no longer believed in those. I had
planned what I will do though. I thought away from the rest of the world, I
will introspect. This time I had assured myself, I won’t feel guilty for not being
able to concentrate and for loosing myself in memories. Basically I didn’t
carry any mental baggage. At the same time, I also promised that I will be more
serious in the process and give it a fair chance. Practice mindfulness as much
as possible when not in meditation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">One thing I didn’t want to do was to talk to
anyone on the day of arrival. We are social by instinct, we seek for others
like us, if I talk to anyone on the day 0, the chances of me looking for them
would be higher. No new connections. That went for a toss when I sat in my
assigned place for the dinner (On first day and the last day dinner is given).
Four of us sat around the same table and we introduced ourselves. Then there
was a brief orientation and shortly noble silence started. The only people I
could talk to was the manager and the teacher.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I was assigned a room and it was decent,
afterall I would only sleep in this room or take brief rest. I didn’t want to
meditate in the room because for me meditation in the room meant sleeping. My
alarm was set at 3:45 AM, though the gong will go off at 4:00 AM, I wanted to
wake up earlier and take a bath.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I didn’t have a good sleep and the alarm woke
me up at 3:45 AM. I was already in my room by 4:10 AM. The Gong went off at
4:00 AM, then again at 4:20 AM asking us to be at the meditation hall. I went
to the meditation hall. We started with “ana-pana” and it was easy to follow instruction
and I was finding sensations here and there. During “Ana-pana” the participants
are asked to try to feel the breathing or sensations it produces between the region
above the upper-lips and little above the nostrils. Though I could feel
sensations I was confused whether they were real sensations or I was simply
making those up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The other thing that hit me hard was, I was no
longer able to sit in the same position with folded legs for more than 15
minutes. I had knee pain, numbness and all. I was getting older at faster rate.
It was irritating. Day 1 ended with no drama and nothing new. During intervals
I was walking slowly, mindfully and like a very weak person who had just
started walking. I didn’t spend anytime in introspection. I fell asleep
quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Day 2 was not any different, at 6:30 we had
breakfast, as usual there was Porridge, yoghurt, cereals, fruits, soup made
from lemon, plum and peach. Then there were bread of various types jams, marmalade,
peanut butter, vegemite, butter etc along with tea, coffee, milk and so on. “Ana-pana”
continued, I kept struggling to keep myself still. I was still getting confused
on the sensations as there were too many and nothing consistent, but that is
what happens and expected as well, yet I was looking for a consistent sensation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Just after first session past lunch, I sat
again for another round of “Ana-pana”, this time the sensation was same, the
location was same but I managed to think the experience was different. Ana-pana
is not supposed to bring you any experience but to help you concentrate and
prepare you for vipassana. It was momentary less than a minute but for some
unknown reason I liked it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Day 3 was day 2 on repeat except that I didn’t
have any pleasant experience, and I was already getting bored. The worst thing
was my shoulder blades were in lot of pain. This pain was not letting me concentrate,
I stacked cushions, rested my hands and none seemed to help. Though I had no
feeling of leaving but I thought may be this is again a futile tryst. I then
asked myself what was I expecting, I didn’t have any expectations but that didn’t
mean I had anticipated this pain, I wasn’t expecting this pain either. My
introspection began after that, I was flying the kites of my memories higher
and higher. At times I was digging my memories harder and faster. There were
treasures of course, treasures of my childhood, of people, of heartbreaks. I
tried to remember so many things, so many events, so many people and followed
them wherever they led. There were immediate past and there were farther past.
This journey was not completed in a day, this journey continued over the period
of time perhaps till day 9.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Dreams were vivid, the characters came out of
any combination, they had no shame, no shyness, they were brute, they were
meaningless or they spoke or illustrated in signs and actions that were very
difficult to decipher. One day I saw a snake slithering over my chest, black,
spotted snake. I woke up frightened and then it took me a while to go back to
sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Day 4 was just another day, except that the
vipassana session started after lunch. It was a very hot day, and it was dry.
The sky looked cruel, the hillocks on the other side seemed to be asking for
help. It was nasty. I also realised that I had been doing vipassana wrong all
the way from the first time. I felt like a fool. I was trying to follow the
sensations throughout my body and then scanning it with my eyes closed just
like the gatekeeper at the airport scans you with their instruments.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">4<sup>th</sup> day was eventless in the sense
that I didn’t experience anything nor did I had any doubts on my decision to
join vipassana. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">5<sup>th</sup> day was hotter, I didn’t even
want to open my eyes, everything looked so bright, so bright that it seemed
like burning. That day I missed home, I was sweating everywhere. After lunch I
sneaked into my room and turned the fan and sat there. The gong went off, and I
had to be hall. Its not the meditation that I didn’t want this time, the idea I
had to walk almost 2 minutes to the hall amidst the Sun scared me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I was there in the hall with closed eyes and
with determination that had come out of nowhere. And when I opened my eyes
later I had memories of loosing the sense of space and time, as if floating. I
was not asleep and I knew that, where was I in that period and how long was
that period. My mind had played game is what I think. For sometime after that I
felt I could feel my neurons firing, there were sensations abundant of them. It
took a while for the gong to go off so I guess the moment was brief. This time
I didn’t want to get up, open my eyes, I wanted to sit as is. My shoulder
blades were in pain yet I could neglect that. I remained there for a while. My
brain was playing it big, then I realised it must be the sweat, the itchiness
and the stickiness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">That was one-off experience and never felt
anything similar. I was asking myself brain and mind are cause and effect. Mind
is created by brain, brain takes the inputs from senses and depending on the
action potential triggers so many things that might trigger an action, a
thought and thus the mind. In the meditation we were observing our sensations,
and our minds but then who is it that observes. Who puts an effort to observe
whats going on? So that’s consciousness. Now what is consciousness was my
question and I had two possibilities. One its just another effect of brain, so
the brain spawns two active workers one is the consciousness and the other is
mind. The consciousness is the superior worker, it’s the manager and it keeps a
check on mind, it also perhaps keeps a check on senses but ultimately reports
everything to brain. It is living while mind is just a slave. “Self” is then
combination of brain and this consciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">The other possibility is this consciousness is perhaps
a living and aware entity that the brain doesn’t have control over. When we are
alert, and living based on the livefeed from our surroundings putting the
memories on the back-seat we are living with consciousness and that is when we
can probably take the reigns in our hand. In this case, “self” is this
conscious entity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Then what are we, mind or consciousness? It varies
moment after moment. For example, my daughter often comes to me for help with
her assignments, when I am working my response is more to get her off my back,
when I am free I look at her questions carefully perhaps even re-read it,
understand it and try to give her the solution. In the first case I am my mind
while in the later I am my consciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I think most of us and certainly me are our
minds. From my example above living as a consciousness is more appealing, but I
can’t be sure because I believe almost all of us have always lived in our minds
and with our minds. We have survived and evolved as the most superior being in
the planet. Or is it that those negligible human who have lived on
consciousness or those negligible moments where we were consciousness made us
who we are and when we live on the mercy of our minds we are simply herds.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">When do we live on consciousness then, when we
are in life threatening moment, when we are deeply engrossed in the sport we
are playing or the work we are doing etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Can we live on consciousness every moment? I am
not sure of this either it would be very resource (energy) intensive living or
may be we can train our mind. Does meditation do that? They say it does, I don’t
believe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6<sup>th</sup>
day was relatively cooler in terms of weather but was the most miserable among
the days I spent this time around. I had played so much with the thoughts that
my mind was too excited like a child who had got a new toy. It was jumping with
joy and I couldn’t hold it still. I had all my energy wasted while my mind was
going wild, it was on steroids.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">Remaining days were ok, there were some good
moments but mostly they were boring. I hated the morning chants so on 7<sup>th</sup>
and 9<sup>th</sup> I sneaked to my room and slept just to be awaken by the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>breakfast call at 6:30.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">As far as discourses and instructions are
concerned the former can be entertaining a little informative as well (I am
refraining from using the term knowledge) but the later is certainly monotonous
and irritating.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I would also like to comment on the secular
nature of the course. Everyday during the discourse it is stressed that the
course is secular. The course certainly doesn’t ask you to be a Buddhist and
the teacher himself (S.N. Goenka) is Hindu but it talks about Buddha’s teaching
and how he was the only one to offer this experience etc. so I would say you
can call it biased. The stories are from Jatakas and are popular among the
buddhist community but like many religious stories most of them does not seem
logical.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">After the mornings “Addithana” sitting on the
10<sup>th</sup> day the noble silence was lifted outside the meditation hall and
immediately the silent environment burst in laughter and chattering. Everyone
was sharing information with another. Everyone I talked to with exceptions of
the ones who had done the courses 5 times, 10 times or 25 times were sharing
how much peace they felt, and how they felt different etc. It reminded me of my
first course. I had to validate my decision and make it look meaningful and
fruitful, I was blowing up my experience. It was not intentional and I realized
it only after few weeks of practicing, I had not changed and I had not
experienced anything different. The only new thing I had was a technique to do
meditation, I had more information.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">I have no doubt that the movement was put on
motion by Goenka with selflessness and to help others because it had helped
him, his mother and he had seen it help others. I am myself not very spiritual
person and I need to have logical explanation of things. I can’t follow others for
what they simply say. The thing that I enjoy in Vipassana is the detachment
from the World for few days, it gives me ample amount of time to introspect and
maybe unknowingly brings change in my behaviour due to this introspection. As
far as meditation itself is concerned, everyone is different, I haven’t been
able to believe that it can connect one with the truth and make realize there
is something beyond you that is omnipotent or anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-AU;">If one needs meditation to be compassionate, to
be humble then I think that person can never be compassionate and humble. We
are however human and we misunderstand things, make wrong judgments so introspection
and analysis can make one realise their mistake and look at the larger picture.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-50987914037634444252020-04-04T03:10:00.001+05:302020-04-04T03:11:36.496+05:30Ah you...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I know you are coming</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">for I have been happy</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">for I have been happy for many days</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">the house brightens with my unreasonable giggles</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />and the unjustified laughter<br />nothing that I have gained<br />nothing that has been bestowed upon me<br />I have just been happy and wild<br />and I know you are coming<br />for I have been mocking life<br />just like the way you mock me<br />I wish I was peaceful and calm<br />rather than happy and unruly<br />may be your eyes fail you<br />but your ears are sharp<br />you can't see me smile<br />but you can hear me laugh<br />awake you are from your slumber<br />and ferocious you are<br />you want to trample me<br />crumble me and tear me<br />your madness sends me vibes<br />and long before you come<br />I can hear your pace<br />pace toward me<br />I think you will have victims all your way<br />and your hatred will explode<br />I don't know what have I done to you<br />I never knew you were there<br />I didn't know your name<br />but now I fear you<br />I fear your faceless existence<br />I fear your relentlessness<br />I fear your hatred<br />Yes I am equally to be blamed<br />I could have smiled and not howl<br />I could have been gentle<br />I could have been calm<br />Why I had to be rogue<br />why, why I had to to exult<br />you come like hurricane<br />fierce and wild<br />your intentions are evil<br />and they would have spilled like volcano<br />if you had eyes<br />my gut churns<br />my desires are nipped<br />listless become days<br />as my heart gallops in fear<br />and they ask what is it that you fear<br />for you have everything one would want<br />like a calf attached to a butcher<br />I am attached to you<br />You violate me, drain me<br />yet I can't get you off me<br />I look and introspect<br />what is the link so strong between you and me<br />inability to find makes me more restless<br />if you had a face, you would have a cynical laughter<br />for you love my helplessness<br />for you love to see me panic<br />my entirety goes numb with my existence<br />I want to pull the curtain to the world<br />and the world come poking to me<br />I fail to understand<br />if its you that is more atrocious or is it the world<br />When you are a hurricane<br />I know you will be gone soon<br />but then sometimes you are like<br />a lava oozing out in anger<br />you refuse to cool<br />the hot air burns my lungs<br />and I feel you are enjoying it<br />you are in no hurry to leave<br />you explode here today<br />and just before recovery starts<br />you explode there in vengeance<br />every-time I promise I will be calm now<br />every time I promise I will smile and not howl<br />but you leave a timer in me<br />it will set again,<br />call you back with its shrill noise<br />and its that timer that I have to find<br />once you are gone after you have feasted in my happiness<br />I have attempted to make peace with you<br />all in vain, your vengeance never dies<br />its the timer I think I have to find<br />before your last strike will have me grind</span></div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-78039846983121431222019-11-28T10:45:00.001+05:302019-11-28T10:45:46.805+05:30And again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes again I saw you in a dream. This time I was telling you how much I loved you and how it was becoming so difficult to live without you in my life. I have no clue how the brain functions, how the memories are layered. I was back in time, I was not married and you were not married. The life I have now didn't exist in that dream. You were indifferent to my plea. There were other people I didn't know as if it was a function. My dream broke and opened my eyes in a dimly lit dawn. My hands grabbed my phone, I looked for you in the internet. You had posted a new photo with your husband. You looked the same, you had a serious smile as they always had been. I scrolled through few pictures and then I came across your family photo, your mum-dad, husband, son, sisters, neices and nephews. I tried to get back to sleep because my conscious mind knew whatever I was doing was meaningless.<br />
But why these dreams? Why do they recur? I don't say I see you in every dream or I see you in dream every day or every week or every month, but yes the dreams recur. Is it some sense of defeat that I have hidded deep inside, is it my male-ego. I don't think of you everyday, I would say I am happy with my family, I love my wife, love my daughter. I want to know the reason I keep seeing you in dream and why that dream creeps into my day, why the sadness lingers.<br />
When I thought we loved each other neither you nor I had confessed anything. We used to have long chats in the phone yet we never talked at school. I would often find you looking at me. May be I was mistaken. But not being with you, perhaps in a way being rejected by you hurt me a lot. The roots of my restlessness, fear of losing is loss of you.<br />
Whatever it is, I wish I had confessed, I wish I had told you. May be the dreams would stop then, may be I will be at peace. Sometime when I wander in the area of mystic, I think if spirit really existed, I would linger around just because a desire of mine to confess remained even after I died.<br />
Yes I could confess you by sending you email, in case you use the same email-id or message you in social media, but no I have to tell you in person. Few days back I was determined and perhaps would have told you by any chance if we could talk, but I am not sure these days.<br />
I am happy with what I have, I don't want you, I don't love you now but I want to tell you once I did, I did with all my heart. I suffered for years when our communications started to wane. </div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-45461786339667125112016-06-06T05:40:00.001+05:302016-06-06T05:40:46.232+05:30A dayoff from work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Its a cold day here in Melbourne and the constant wind makes it still colder. I have taken a day off from work after the episode of acute pancreatitis. Yet the life has to go on. Went to the grocery with wife and remembered I had to pay the driving instructor, so went to the ATM and withdraw the money. On the way back home, I looked at the people in the street, most of them old people, in-fact almost all of them. Humped, bent, supported with stick or walker. It didn't look good at all as if life has left the world, the world seemed to have been sluggish. Few exceptions were women probably in their maternal leave. The church looked empty too. Its good to be God, you have to work two days a week, Saturdays and Sundays and rest of the day is your weekend, nobody bothers you. The worry was the fact that at 35, I was among those who were in their retirement and unlike me probably none of them had any responsibilities.<br />
Its a difficult world for an unhealthy person, as the world gets faster every day, the chances of you being left behind is really high. As the family size has shrunk and the community interaction almost non-existent, your well-being is also the well-being of your family. Being ill is not something one can afford. Being ill is being pushed behind and its not only you who is pushed behind but your entire family. And it worries me.</div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-35702769379294618202014-09-06T18:28:00.002+05:302014-09-06T18:28:50.776+05:30Sky, kites and.......<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The sun is faint, the clouds are roaring but the roar is not threatening, when the air brush me off I feel water I feel rain. Sky is cloudy, further south the blue sky peeps into the busy earth but the clouds rush to fill the gap. As they try to fill the gap, the whole part looks like an eye, deep blue eye. Few kites browse the far sky and one soars freely in the sky above me. I wonder how it feels to be free I am not saying the kite is free it is attached with a string, somebody down there is flying it at his will, he pulls the string and let's it loose. Perhaps he is tasting what it likes to fly free, what it likes to rise. The kite rises and dances forgetting its string and the hands that hold it but just a pull makes it realise the freedom is just an illusion. Similar fate is shared by the one who holds its string, he does not think about it as he flies the kite. As if his life has stopped for a while as if it is he who is flying as if he has the control on what he wants to do.<br />
At this time the cloud do not look mightier, they struggle to pull the curtain beneath the Sun, they seem to have been able to do it but the sun tears it apart and I just imagine it as a laughing teenager over a weak troublemaker.</div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-46544971962555930792014-08-21T19:11:00.001+05:302014-08-21T19:11:26.997+05:30Kittens in the neighbourhood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Two kittens are wandering in the yard of our neighbours. Both of them are thin clearly indicating they have not had enough food. These stray creatures roam around the neighbourhood in search of food, they are still small for hunting. Though I don't know whether the kittens of their size hunt or not I have never seen them hunting. They were born in this neighbourhood and are around three months. One of them is black and white, other silver and the third one is black in color. The third one is not seen in the group and the other two seem to share a good camaraderie. When it was summer their favorite place used to be our yard and often they basked in the sun in our verandah, their mischief used to be hosted at neighbors at the right. Their play enchanting, joyful and innocent. Their only concern was food as shelter was not a problem as their are no dogs in the neighborhood and our dog is a timid creature who gets scared by the cats, even the mice. Only it's with cockroaches his gallantry will come into exhibition.<br />
Today these kittens are in no mood for playing, probably they are hungry or they are missing the sun in this cloudy morning. The nature has made cats an ostentatious creature. The black and white cat is clearly frail but it has not lost its majestic walk, the cat-walk as they call it. It places it's foot with great cautiousness very much aware that it might loose the grace as it forgets to walk in its way. It climbs up the sack and licks itself, it cares a lot about cleanliness. It doesn't know about fragrances and perfumes otherwise it would also use it. Probably the scent of flowers amuses it but it doesn't know how to get it. When I see it playing with flowers I assume it might be trying to get the fragrance or probably asking the flower for tips to look graceful. I however feel flowers are beautiful, grace is characteristic of cats. The local kids tease them, try to shoo them away but inside the fence of the yard they know nobody will be able to move an inch of their hair. They look stoically at the mischievous kids, narrow their eyes and gather their body to make a circular demeanour, their tails stretched and almost restless. They look unappeased by the happenings around them, as if they are saints who have renounced the earthly thing and are in trance of their high meditation.<br />
These creatures are less timid, even when a human passes nearby they just ignore the presence of the mortal as if they underestimate the prowess of a man. In their trance they might be thinking death is unavoidable and the maximum this mortal can do is kill me, later he will suffer his karma. Sometime when I pass close to them, they widen their green eyes not afraid a little as if just to check who it is and close their eyes returning to their meditation. It an make any one feel inferior, even the most notorious of the megalomaniacs will at least doubt at their might with this negligence of ones existence by these mundane creature.<br />
You might kick at it but you know it fights back, that is the part of its majestic existence. Their brothers at the jungle are the most ruthless of the beings with no fear of what-so-ever and these tiny creature might have that instinct of majesty.<br />
They roam from here to there as if some sort of imperialist, do not have herd as they are mighty enough to take care of themselves. Weaks require herds the gallants do not. Where they step that is their terrain? They even seem least concerned for food as if it is there just for asking. </div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-74251827611476969922013-12-30T07:10:00.003+05:302013-12-30T07:10:41.611+05:30Keep sipping........<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
As the heat of the tea was trying to get away from the cup,
I was trying to warm my hands. The winter has been more trying this year,
perhaps it was similar last year as well but who has time to remember the
mercury levels. Nothing significant had happened last winter to make it worth
remembering. The Sun was warm, the crows and pigeons had crowded the few trees
in the premises of the temple where I was sipping tea. The tea usually tastes
good at that place but today the Sun was the reason to bring me there. At a
distant some women were busy sipping their tea, they must be the employees from
the bank I thought. I couldn’t hear them speak but I could tell that one of
them had better things to say or atleast she was speaking most of the time. I
could say this from the movement of her hand. So many things were making rounds
in my aching head but I enjoyed those movements of hands. I was restless today and so were the hands,
those hands restless out of excitement my out of headache. I didn’t know how
the woman looked, I could have seen her but I didn’t want, her hands seemed to
be dancing and I was enjoying it. I cannot remember when did I stop watching
those hands or if the women left place, I was already running wild in my
thoughts. The tea had become cold. I tried to get as much heat out of it by
covering the entire cup with my hands, it was warm. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Yes the tea was good. It was not strong just fine, the way
it should have been, the way I would have preferred and the way I have been
most of the time. Some coffee had also been added, probably to make it tastier,
there was a small lump of coffee that had not dissolved properly. I tried to
dissolve it by stirring the tea (or coffee). It dissolved but not properly
leaving a part of the surface of tea tainted. I thought that taint was my
headache. I took a gulp of the tea, I wish I could add sugar. I wanted to add
sugar today into the day, my day. One of the birds tried to stretch its wings
but closed it back fast. I could see it shake perhaps it was very cold for it
as well. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The tea was fine inside its cup, I was fine in that
isolation no desire to be with my colleagues. I didn’t want to speak, the tea
looked sad. I didn’t remember the last sip but this sip was tasteless, spoiled
my taste buds. I had paid for it, I swallowed it as if it was some insipid
medicine. Life was similar, cannot spit because its not tasteful. A whiff of
air tried to shake me up. Very little tea was remaining, I gulped it in one go.
There was sugar at the bottom, I tried to drink every drop. The Sun was in its
full glare, the life will be back, there is sugar at the bottom, one has to
just keep sipping.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-12980784159132940672013-12-28T14:45:00.002+05:302013-12-28T14:45:22.541+05:30Weather and my mood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I left my bed late today not because it was cold because
when you are inside the comfort of your room tucked in warm clothes how would
you know if the weather is cold or warm. I lied on the bed because sleep had
left me early. It has been leaving early for past few days. Though it had not
had impact on my mood on other day, I woke up tired today. After coming out of
the bed I realized the weather was quite in harmony with my mood. The
somberness in my mood had painted the weather in gloom and vice versa, though I
do not claim to have such a power over nature. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When greeted by the fog I wondered what the pigeon which was
very reluctant to leave a path for my scotty yesterday, just to feel the sun, was
doing today. I am sure it is not in its nest lying lazily as I. It must have
been pecking things somewhere near Pashupati, gram seeds, maize among others.
It cannot afford to be lazy unlike me who was hidden foot to head in the
blanket. I also thought about the Himalayas that seemed to have been painted
crimson yesterday thanks to the Sun who had risen early. Then I remembered the
girl pulling the sleeves of her sweater to hide her fingers, she seemed like a
secret agent only eyes visible to be vigilant. Probably her college is off
today as it is a weekend. I soon found myself on the terrace amazed that the
villages in Gothatar not visible not even the runway very clear. Were they my
thoughts, do they really exists? Many times inside this bowl of valley I doubt
if there is world outside the hills. I answer myself, there is of course the
world outside these hills I have been to that world not very far away but far
enough to prove the world exists behind these mighty hills. I would also think
there must be something inside the clouds. I thought heaven existed inside
later somebody had told me heaven is inside the earth though I couldn’t fathom
it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was flying for the first time out of curiosity I had
tried to look about the sky as my plane got inside the clouds but my attempts
were futile, even the stretched distance provided me no hints. Then why would
nature allow me to see its mystery if there really was any.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun and the thick clouds were fighting throughout the
early day. I was trying to feel good by thinking good to pacify my irate mood.
Neither the Sun nor I was successful in our attempts. Little later the Sun was
smiling amid the clouds as the earth celebrated its glimpse but my mood was still
hesitant to reconcile with my intention. Little sleep and silly dreams had
strained my eyes. I was soon found with a book turning pages but grasping
nothing. Late I was able to reconcile to
an extent with my mood but by that time the sun was dim, low and intimidated by
the clouds which seemed much stronger.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-9569939400341288602013-12-24T06:01:00.001+05:302013-12-24T06:01:08.621+05:30A morning walk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sleep is such a mystery. When I was waking up early, I was hallucinated to believe I was back in school fearing for the assignments. As I was trying to come to consciousness I was confused at the state of mind, something not right. I realized schools and colleges were past and it was just yesterday I was working in office somewhere deep down convinced I was among few lucky of my generation to be in possession of a good job, but it was all taken for granted. Soon I was full awake with all my prejudices and stereotypes, an individual programmed to be autonomous when awake. It was early morning just half past four and I was in hold of the mood to visit the mighty world, silent and in rest early morning. Walking alone also gives time for introspection and there I was on the endless road talking to myself. At moments I would feel very energetic and jump down the stone stairs on my way to the serpent god, the Pashupatinath from Guheshwari. I could realize the more I pushed the flat stones the more they pushed me back. I remembered Newton and back again it was either school/college. Soon that was broken by guffaw of a sadhu sipping his tea and laughing to a fellow human that it was very cold today. He was barely half-clothed, his hair reminding Bob Marley but this Bob Marley was not consoling a woman not to cry but he was mocking the very thing that had made me clad layers of clothes one after another. I was a while also thinking of my family now I was thinking if detachment really brings bliss and if misery really lies in indulgence. I remembered Gita the Bhagvad Gita which I read/heard time after time just ending up being critical halfway and stopping there upon. As I descended to Pashupati, a pyre of human body on the bank of ailing Bagmati, it was laughing at me. It seemed to say, walk as much as you want ultimately you'll end up here and this is how I shall burn you as well. This is how I shall burn your arrogance, your prejudices, your knowledge. Knowledge as well, I was perturbed. Yes indeed, knowledge is only what a majority accepts as true and time and again generations have falsified the so called knowledge of their previous generations. The men that stood beside the pyre were all solemn more worried that they shall be here as well. I was returning home and the closer I came to home closer I was worried about the day, meetings, work, students, family. </div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-43985843657966680462013-06-28T17:22:00.002+05:302013-06-28T17:24:46.141+05:30Who does that digging: dreams brought from hospital<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="GingerNoCheckStart"></span>A silhouette digging a porous land, he digs deep, his spade rises high and pierces the land striking with a tenacity. It gets a large heap of clay and still makes a very very small pit, very small pit. The heap contains <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="ec8af3a7-d98d-4166-8caa-d28a97aab2ae" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="9f373ad1-2891-4126-9ade-a615833eea39" grcontextid="torn:0">torn</span> pictures, rusted pins, rotten fruits, entangled chains, bits of paper folded till possible, invoices, broken mirrors, bottles of tried medicine, rotting <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="19abf2ff-96de-4870-ae43-4107af7eb944" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="9f373ad1-2891-4126-9ade-a615833eea39" grcontextid="straws:1">straws</span>. History or soil? I am only a thought in between, no physical existence <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="1df279bf-2db5-4802-a7ea-39a43499f2d8" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="6599d3a5-ead3-4bec-8a82-b4a18da2ab85" grcontextid="support:0">support</span> me, I am an observer with an eye I cannot see.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Human heart or piece of land? The striking mighty spade or the heart ripped apart, done upside down in solitude to look for things that is important very important but has gone missing. The brute force of spade raised high attempting to dig deep and as it comes close to ground turns into unwillingness and apprehension for the love of <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="547f2869-af55-4b2e-b4b3-50a14cafbce8" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="7d64eff0-a303-4682-a0b2-abc2d6dcdae0" grcontextid="land:0">land</span> that shall be wounded. The digging does not stop however only becomes restless, and desperate and fast. I <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="126b76b0-1450-4f82-ac97-c292524831ad" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="be6c880a-89ec-4afa-8f96-eee928d96be6" grcontextid="only fail:0">only fail</span> to understand if the spade is being hurt, the land being ripped apart or the person digging is inflicting pain on himself.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The folded papers as if a <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="066edf12-0fd5-475f-9d3a-4091c06e08e4" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="5d54fee7-8030-4810-9cb9-87e62e8dfac0" grcontextid="representation:0">representation</span> of a sin or a love away from <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="bc60bd4d-60c1-45c0-9770-5ba227da1053" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="5d54fee7-8030-4810-9cb9-87e62e8dfac0" grcontextid="reasons:1">reasons</span>, secrecy not to be revealed. The bits of fruits look like sweet relations chewed to bones till it had sweetness. The rusted nails look like layers, of compilations of misunderstandings, of apprehension to claim back a friend lost to meaningless egos, or are they <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="9bc96e7d-d244-4d3b-959d-baed23f0ef00" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="5f55cd23-a4b7-4a2e-8643-c4b70d2147c9" grcontextid="cherised:0">cherised</span> belongings <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="376aaabc-13d6-4330-aaba-752b0f4571e3" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="5f55cd23-a4b7-4a2e-8643-c4b70d2147c9" grcontextid="foresaken:1">foresaken</span> for people who mean less, who mean so little but continue to out power, continue to make decisions on behalfs. Are those entangled chains or complicated relations a father confused how to react when a friend kisses his moaning son. He liked it because somebody loved his son or he disliked it because his society wants him to dislike. Beads allowed to let go or the beads that couldn't be kept together. Rotting straws or Nests brought down after the capable dwellers left behind the elderlies promising them to return but never to return. The land was porous by nature or by the constant tear poured on it. Shattered glass or shattered hopes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Bang!!! <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="e524af67-a23e-456c-a525-42ea58613d3c" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="5e62f636-1324-4d98-bc9c-0abf86e2f550" grcontextid="an:0">an</span> attempted suicide <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="5ed10680-81bd-4036-b0df-3244d5e2f02a" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="5e62f636-1324-4d98-bc9c-0abf86e2f550" grcontextid="a:1">a</span> 22 years old jumps down from the fourth floor. Wakes up in dark to realize the pain he wanted to get rid of was laughing at him, on the tin. Tries to pierce his bony body with rods to no avail, clings on to live wire and yet caught by people. Unhurt he returns to his bed to be mocked the next day, a story for everyone to talk about for <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="ee339804-0b65-43e7-910d-79432a83ade5" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="8d6a99f4-b498-466c-9893-7257ef8d964a" grcontextid="few days:0">few days</span>. My mother can't pay the bills, I prefer to die his dry yet red eyes roared. I thought her mother must be somebody who looked pitiful, helpless, she was scary (my perception, I avoided exchanging <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="e3b559f6-e4fd-4491-951c-fc3501a0c837" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="7aeaa839-3291-465d-b402-86f6faa0eda5" grcontextid="glance:0">glance</span> when I did I felt cold). She had made no complaints just few inquiries and <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="3d895899-421c-47c5-be44-13d26447f098" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="04bbcb00-1945-495e-a972-5bdc21e1744d" grcontextid="thats:0">thats</span> it. I am sure she must have been torn apart but didn't want to trouble her son more else why would somebody attempt a suicide because he loved his mother.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Back to dreams again, a tiger killed. When being chased it was <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="0043b5b9-1391-4e37-9dce-50595f86d850" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="f38aca9b-8159-43a2-8861-53fa4d58549e" grcontextid="horse:0">horse</span> when it came to fight it was a tiger. What is so precious about <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="4c9f4907-5f38-4dbe-b6e6-f2dad740aa52" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="881e4f78-8329-4fd7-be3b-391473cbffe6" grcontextid="living:0">living</span> the boy who had attempted suicide yesterday would have asked. I had not allowed him to enter my dreams. My entry at dreams read in large "TRESPASSERS PERSECUTED", the term borrowed from a story of my 3rd standard textbook. The final bullet makes the tiger motionless after the first two shots in <span class="GINGER_SOFATWARE_correct" ginger_sofatware_markguid="5ed3e63e-6450-4367-90c9-7c0fd7e19c2c" ginger_sofatware_uiphraseguid="0c313a62-413d-4650-85cc-7aba91cc7efc" grcontextid="air:0">air</span>.</div>
<span class="GingerNoCheckEnd"></span></div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-84185568228060850302012-11-10T09:19:00.002+05:302012-11-10T09:20:05.461+05:30DV (Diversity Visa) lottery<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a headache, probably the transition of season is to
blame. Bibesh had called me since we hadn’t seen each other for a long time. He
had also called Sukrat. When we were in college we were best of friends and we
remained so for a long time, but as we moved on with our life we had little
time for communication. We all lost that energy, had we visited ourselves
during our college years our college alter-ego would have called us boring,
lifeless losers. I didn’t want to go and I had called home informing I will be
on time. I was returning home but I didn’t realize that I had turned to the
road that would take me to our junction. I still had nausea and I knew I will
only be a listener. I was pissed off with my work, with indecision and
extravagance in my office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was on my way to Chitwan I had noticed a banner which
yelled “Don’t miss it, only 8 days left.
Ensure prosperity in your life. DV lottery 2014 !!!” I had told myself this
time I won’t miss it. This would be my first time and this time I really wish I
am selected. Just a day after returning
from Chitwan, I was filling the form and I placed myself in a hoard of millions
of people with clichéd “American Dreams”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyways they were already there in their usual unshaven,
loser look, we exchanged smile. A stool was empty indifferent to whoever that
would occupy it, man or a mug. They didn’t ask me to sit but I sat down. They
were talking and I joined them just like the cup of tea brought by the little
daughter of the tea stall. I wondered if the smile that I assumed was for me
when I had joined them was really for me or for somebody else. We meet and most
of our meetings are as dull as today’s. I asked the girl, I don’t need a tea.
Bibesh and Sukrat didn’t notice it, they seemed equally frustrated. They only
wanted to spit out the frustration, I would have joined them but the headache
held me back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bibesh: Few days back I was consoling a colleague that “probably
events, results are planned in advance, destiny really exists”. My expressions
were reaction to his frustration on the appointment of a person who we have
known as one of the biggest morally corrupt person, someone who showed no
commitment to work, someone who was a puppet. In tenure of 6 years he had come
to office in time not more than 10 days. He never stayed in office full time;
there were always meetings for him. Many days he would not come to office yet
he was always present in the attendance register; attendance register was
always on his table. His style of work opaque, his model of management laissez
faire, his ideas obsolete, his leadership non-existent and yet he sat at the
top of our heads worshipped by sycophants.
Now he has moved on to take a bigger role, to put in track the
establishment of new organization. The foundation is laid on weak grounds. For
those who know him will probably take his appointment as endorsement of a
belief – the country has lost its recognition for people with caliber. On the
other note I wonder if the current environment had clipped his wings and
perhaps he will be a different man altogether in a different setting. People
lined up in a queue to congratulate him but they all knew he had given nothing
to the organization, he had abused his authority. In our setting with bigger
position accountability becomes lesser and responsibilities drop. But then
there were good things about him, he never lost his cool, he listened to his
hardest critics with no sign of anger. Few people are courageous enough to
shake hands with you with a smile even after you have done nothing less than
spitting on his face. He showed no remorse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a small café I was sitting sipping a cup of tea that
smelled like potash. It has always smelled so in that café but still I go there
for the fact that it is close by. Two
people were talking how they had gone to meet Mr. Prime Minister for a favor
and how he asked them to talk with “vauju” or Sister-in-law (his wife). He said
the PM is no more a clean person; he encourages what goes behind his back. He
knows everything that is illegal, immoral and outright wrong doings his wife
carries out. Previously he ignored it now he supports it. I do not know if what
they were talking about was true but everybody talks about it in dreaded tone.
She moves people to better position
after getting some token of respect. Though there have been no words on the
token of respect that the person indicated in the previous paragraph has paid
and the chances are little but the rumors are rife that he had the blessing of
“vauju”. They say he was summoned to the
Office of PM in the morning on the day he was picked up for the coveted
position. After his appointment with his head held high he said, truth wins. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The turn of events had frustrated me, I had felt the urge to
vomit and the nausea remained for some time. After completing his tenure
“successfully” (top position holders are never unsuccessful) he will be back to
reign our organization. Rules have been bent to serve the interests of the rule
makers or if it doesn’t suit them they will change it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bibesh talked without break, usually opinionated Sukrat
chose to remain mum, perhaps he had a headache too. His body language was
similar to most of the people I see these days, helpless and indifferent. He
had spread himself on the chair. If somebody was looking at us from distant
they could have assumed a person was talking to two dead bodies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had read in a newspaper today that the Vice Chancellor of
a reputed University had resigned amid pressure from the political parties. He
had a reputation of someone who had been able to keep politics away from
university, somebody who would not give up to political pressure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After almost 20 minutes, Bibesh thought it was now my turn.
He asked “ So, how are you, what’s going on.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I replied “same and usual. I have a headache, I am going
home” as I got up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My exit was as mundane to them as my entry was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stopped at a temple on the way and prayed, “God please get
me selected for the Green Card.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-75370503337365980652012-09-21T08:30:00.000+05:302012-09-21T11:14:42.588+05:30Barfi- Movie Review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
If one asked me what was the
story all about, I might be confused but I would still say the flick was worth
watching, for the impeccable acting of the protagonists. It is simple and
probably that makes it appealing. At many scenes the theater would roar in
laughter and at others one will hear sobbing of people. The movie does not make
any statement as such but it is far away from the hushes and rushes of the
modern world where larger than life “hero” takes in charge to make everything
perfect and fine. It could be you and me but fortunately (someone might think
unfortunately after watching the simplicity of poorly developed brain) most of
us are able-bodied. Again the story is around three characters, tender moments
of joys holds the audience into the movie and the incidents that happens make
you feel sorry for the generous souls. In the first scene of Priyanka when she
pronounces “Baaa-r-Fi” with indifference of autistic person she makes her
presence felt. Whatever she does is a treat to watch whether its her attempt to
sing, her anger when kids laugh at her, at moments when she cautiously holds
Ranbir’s little finger. Ranbir’s character is witty and the wittiness has been
delivered in action without the help of a single word. His innocent acts to
make Priyanka happy definitely make him look better and selfless than most of
us. When most of literate, conscious and clever people miss the real love of
life, a deaf and dumb character sees it and claims it. Priyanka has never
hidden her fondness for Shahrukh Khan and I was fearfully wondering if she
tries to do anything similar to the loud, too artificial act of Khan in the
movie titled “My name is Khan”. Thanks to the director Anurag Kashyap he has
made Priyanka genuinely autistic. Ranbir Kapoor who creates such mess and
carries out mischief in the small hill station of Darjeeling finds solace on
the belly of his father which he uses as pillow. The movement of his head with
the breathing action of his father is well shot and these are the small things
in the movie that leaves an impression. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The shots have been brilliantly
shot by the maverick director. When the camera catches the ear-ring of
Priyanka, her shoes, the way she relates Ranbir’s character with the upward
throw of shoes, the knee length undergarment wow what a treat to watch. The way
Jhilmil’s (Priyanka) character gets irritated when mud sticks to her shoes are
so well acted that you really fall in love with the character. In Bhandarkar’s
Fashion one would despise Priyanka’s character when she makes mistakes but her
its her mistakes that makes the audience fall in love with her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Ranbir has a way to go and audience
will leave the theatre already waiting for his next release. Ileana D’cruz is
the able-bodied protagonist, she fall prey to time because being of sound mind
she looks for logics. Her work is commendable, her acting skills are good and
we can hope she will get other assignments to prove it further. She is
portrayed as a modern, kind girl of her time i.e. late 70s. She is innocent
enough to fall in love with a mute character yet chooses what looks rational
just to realize rationality does not always bring the most desirable results. He tests of persons honesty and belief is simple yet charming still highly effective, though I won't carry out similar tests on my friend not only because there are no wooden lamp posts to cut but I fear few friends that I have might just leave my hand when the lamp falls. His interpretation is simple, those who leave his hand when the lamp post falls won't stay with him through the thick and thin of his life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Few things do look contradictory
because in one situation Ranbir’s character is shown instructing his friend to
write a letter and at another he and his same friend cuts pieces of letters
from newspaper to write a letter but the audience can let go of it thinking the
character did so, fearing the recognition of the handwriting. The elderly
portrayal of Ileana’s character looked unconvincing to me but that is entirely
my evaluation yet that is not the fault of Ileana. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
One should watch the movie to
watch for Kashyap, Priyanka and Ranbir. Unfortunately this is not a movie for
those who love genres of action, sci-fi, run off the mill kind of love story.
It is just a portrayal of one shade of life with no “masala” no running around
the tree songs.</div>
</div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-82269369776739016182012-09-04T16:30:00.000+05:302012-09-04T16:30:57.752+05:30A challenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Blurred image of my mother’s face, washed in tears was the only thing that was visible amid white abstract visions. The background was noisy, I could only hear “son the doctor says you can’t be treated here.” I was blinded once again, the shots of anesthesia had left very little consciousness. What came to my mind was the picture of my then 8 months daughter’s laughter. They say one can see picture of god, here I stand as a proof, I saw god. I saw god in my child, in that smiling image, I felt the delicate gouch of the brightest skin, saw a glimpse of life in those sparkling eyes. She extended her hands and in my subconscious I leapt forward and it was dark again. I opened my eyes in an obscure environment, my tears gathered disturbing sounds, noises, I was in another hospital, in the emergency ward. The pain that had made me wish death was not there or probably I was not in a state to realize that. I looked for the image again, I tried to make that image, it was more blurred, I could only make a guess of my god. I could remember what my mother had said earlier “son the doctor says you can’t be treated here”, I thought I was dying or may be I was already dead. When I would try to open my eyes, the bright light from the fluorescent bulb irritated me. So many things ran across my eyes, some of them real perhaps and some of them hallucinations.
Yesterday I filed a complaint at my office citing my dissent on the way promotion had been granted a month back. A month had elapsed and the turbulence had torn me apart. Some nights I slept and some nights passed awake. I would woke up with headache, with hopelessness with confidence that was fading everyday. I would look at my daughter’s eyes in apathy. She would leap forward to play with me, I ignored her. The decision to file complaint was not easy, putting my career at stake was not easy, the uneasiness at workplace was predictable. I knew and I had convinced myself that they will leave me to rot in the same position without any increment, without any motivation till uncertainty. With rampant abuse of authority and lack of transparency in the decision making process, I would be tagged as someone who had challenged the unchallengeable management, to bow before their altar. With rules made to be broken to leave room for them to do whatever they want they will try to wring the neck of my career. Then once again in memory I found myself in the subconscious state in the hospital. I remembered what I saw in the reverie. When at the point, when I thought I was dying I didn’t think of anything but my daughter what is there for me is to loose. Death is universal, I skipped it then but I won’t be able to skip it forever. I know if I had to die this very moment I won’t again remember my job, I won’t regret promotion, so what is there to worry about it so much.
Then, if I had to remember one thing I could be proud of I would have nothing. The gold medals won, the rewards received, the certificates of appreciation they won’t make me proud then. I remember once I was walking with mum, I was peeling off an orange but a small girl, a beggar extended her hand not much younger than me. I don’t know why but I had a strong urge to give that orange to that girl and I just gave the orange to the little child. She took away with a fulfilling expression. I was probably not even 10 at that time. That was only moment in my entire life of which I can feel proud.
At the age of 30 I have just one moment of pride, one moment of glory, what a waste of life. In the life once lived there is just a single incidence of glory, what a pity?
I suffered in indecision, should I fight against what I think of as injustice. No, at the death bed I do not think of job and what is there to regret even if I loose it, at least I will add another incidence of glory. The result is not important but what is important is the fact that I fought for what I think is right. The notion of right or wrong is just interpretation, what I interpret as right can be interpreted as wrong by another. Sticking to an idea despite knowing it is wrong is a bad idea but sticking to it with belief that you are right is courage, for this I have decided I will fight.
<br /></div>
restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-51470101517046423882012-05-12T17:54:00.001+05:302012-05-12T17:54:43.633+05:30Ah...now I can't even collect myself to write<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
This whiff of air cannot extinguish the fear, flame and uncertainty in the atmosphere I am breathing, it can make it more disturbing, wild and deadly. The turbulence is there in the street that is mysteriously ending into dark homes and leading to places more agitated. Unfortunately the fire inside me roars no more, it does not intend to rise about to reach that sun in the sky. It has extinguished only the warmth of the ashes can be felt. That desire to be part of the change, to stand tough on ideas has become feeble.<br />
People in the street are fighting for either individual identity or for the identity of the group while I carry this burden of my own identity. A part of me laughs in my one and half years toddler. A part of me try to imprint the footsteps in this land as she jumps and dances. She sings and I moan in pain. My pain part physical and most mental. No-one knows what the future has in its store but we expect it to be turn out in a certain way, we are either exhilarated for that future or just do not want to be the part of the future and sometimes we just can’t decide. I am in the state of indecision.<br />
Now the whiff of the air has become a whirlpool not inside me but outside. It is probably trying to uproot the existence of the shatters but the stern looking structure stand still, tough. The trees are wavering with the flags of the school in my neighborhood. I cannot count the number of leaves that has fallen off but I can see the flag torn in middle. Its symbolic at this time when the country stands at the door of restructuring assignment. I have fear of tomorrow but I would rather prefer to use the term “apathetic” to describe my state. I cannot think of my identity in the restructured country, I am confused with my identity in my own life in my own world. I can’t shed my identity, I can’t choose. I could have chosen had I any option just pulling it, pulling it till I can.<br />
<div>
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</div>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-48798249085506470072011-10-15T17:51:00.001+05:302011-10-15T17:52:52.196+05:30Murmurs<p class="MsoNormal">I want to go to that place sit on the grass on that hillock, look at the expanse field that would end on a village spread like a length of a cloth, a muffler and wonder it that village really existed. I want to wonder on what kind of people lived in that village and think someday I would walk across that field past a small rivulet and reach that village. I never did, I never will. Probably I was not older than 10 years then, I loved sitting on the hillock in the evenings when me and my family went to Jhapa on Dashain holidays to celebrate the festival with my paternal relatives. We used to make a fan out of the dry layer of the bamboo, put it at the end of a handle (stick) and run to see it rotate. Those were the small things that made me happy, perhaps many kids still run with those “Firfire” and boast their fan rotated faster than others. I want to watch the people who returned home on those evenings from the small tracks in the fields. Those were no tracks for real but as people walked up and down through those field linings, the grasses would die underneath the footsteps of the passersby and a track used to be ready. Those tracks were small but they would lead to market faster, they would lead to destination faster. Human nature does not change as of these days we look for faster tracks to destination. Anyways I have no intention to discuss human nature, they are beyond my capacity. Many of those passersby might have been mixed with clay and if rebirth really happens many of them might be in their teen age, who knows many of them might have died again and taken another birth. I want to feel the whiff of air on my face like splash of water. I want to make futile attempts to hold those dry clay on my hand, I want to listen to the whistle of the bamboos. I want to say if I knew growing up wouldn’t have been fun I wouldn’t have grown up but that is not possible. Growing up is not something one does by choice, we just grow up. Mundane life… </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I want to smell the smoke of the firewood that burnt to cook food for people in our village, I want to smell the wet paddy in the mills. Look for fish in that small stream in front of our house. I want to visit the garden and look at the parrots. I want to be surprised to see people climb those tall coconut trees and wonder at how the tender looking banana tree could hold such large number of bananas each facing downward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have only been a witness to that life never a participant, someone brought up in the city but never learned to adapt to the so called city life. My 10 month old perhaps wouldn’t even be a witness to those thing. Not every long back on the trip to Dhangadi when I visited a marsh and walked past the village I wanted to embrace the life out there, be part of it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Those who went to see in Dashain holidays are no longer in this world or should I say in the firm and feature that I would recognize and hence no visits to that place in memory. The layers of rust in memories are thicker and I can recollect very few things. I can’t say for sure if I have a soft corner for that place though I can say for sure I am indifferent to my relatives who still make their living there. Just today out of nowhere I remembered that village, those evenings. When I touch my cheeks with my palm today there are no remains of soft clay blown by those whiffs but unfortunately those are not the same cheeks as well. They are rough not tender. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I want to hear the bells tied around the necks of cows that would ring as the herds of cattle returned to their shed guided by their shepherd after grazing the whole day in the jungle. I know the bells were tied so that the cattle would not go missing in the jungle and the shepherd could always track them but when the bells rang in rhythm it seemed they were tied to create a music. I want to look into the big eyes of those returning cows, into their fed bellies and look at the calves that would suckle the milk as if they have been hungry for years.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Life is not easy there, had it been no one from there would dream of coming to this city that I have not liked much. Life is not easy here, it is not easy there, it will never be.</p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-323968500870385422010-09-11T18:54:00.000+05:302010-09-11T18:55:50.881+05:30From my death bed...<div style="text-align: justify;">There were few months and now there are very few days and who knows its just the next moment, that I will get away from you, forever. This time this is not going to be few days of separation, yes its forever. I am leaving you with memories and what I am taking… I don’t know. Last 32 years of togetherness passed through high and low but what a journey it was. I am rejecting you today because it is more painful to remember that I am leaving you than to think that I am dying. I have been bed-ridden for a week now. I had six months, then five, then four, three, two, one and now just few days. I want to think of other things but what I end of thinking about you. I start from my childhood, remember the friends that I have had but slowly I slip into your memories. Only after wandering into your memories for a long time I remember I had made up my mind to forget you, to give up your thoughts. I turned my face away from you just a moment back when you were away because you are making it difficult for me to leave. My throat chokes when I see you, when I see the fear in your eyes for loosing me, I see the reflections of those days we have been through in your eyes. I knew I was dying soon and the first thing I did was put all your photos away, had those framed pictures of yours slip into the drawers. I saw the picture we took just after the rituals of our wedding completed and we were at home. I looked happy and so did you. You looked a perfect bride and I remember the first footstep you took into my home as my wife. I remember the very next day I had woke up early and you were still asleep beside me. I looked at your innocent face they reflected faith that you had upon me with which you left your parents home just to start a new life with me. The vermillion had fallen into your face and it had made you look prettier. That morning I had made a promise to myself that I am going to make this woman happier as much as I can. I had kissed you on the forehead and I can still feel that kiss. You moved a bit and looked at me, that look hounds my dreams as if my life stopped there. You were there all the way, when I failed you encouraged me, when I got something, you were happier than me, you advised me. From smallest choirs of making my bed, making my dresses ready to raising our kids you had been a great wife, a great partner. I have rejected you, dismissed your presence but it is you all the way, all in my thoughts. I don’t want you to see me the way I am today, I don’t want you to see me helpless and I don’t want to see the loneliness that awaits you. When you try to bring that fake smile I die millions of times. Day-before-yesterday I wanted to move my hands on your grey hair, to embrace you, to kiss you in your forehead and only I know how much pain I inflicted upon myself when I refused to look at you when you came to our room which has been “my” room for last three days. I have asked you not to come to me, not to come to the room because that makes it difficult for me to die. Somewhere its your thoughts that are holding me back. I cried holding the shawl I had given you on the day of our wedding. I want to see you in the same red saree, with same cheerful eyes, and same shyness. I visit to you such so many times in my dreams. When I am awake I am worried if you have eaten well, if you have slept well and in my dreams I see myself watching you sleep, watching you laugh, watching you working in the kitchen with your Kurta’s shawl tied back to prevent it from falling. I am worried if you are well but I can’t ask, I am withdrawing. If God listens to the last wish of a dying man, I ask him your happiness. I love you…………….and that is the only thing I remember at this last moment of my life.</div>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-14642923033660099972010-03-23T11:44:00.000+05:302010-03-23T11:45:51.992+05:30Post demise of Girija Prasad Koirala<div style="text-align: justify;">I woke up today to newspapers that were all filled with articles, news, analysis and condolences offered to late leader Girija Prasad Koirala. I among many others have been the one who frequently felt GPK was responsible in one or other ways in the turmoil that is prevalent in the country. Opinions were also building up that no change will take place until GPK relinquishes power and his position as a center of power was broken. GPK on the other hand was far from giving chance for other to rise may be out of fear that his position will be overshadowed or probably he thought no one was capable enough. Whenever anyone tried to raise hood, their political career suffered examples of Saileja Acharya, Krishna Pd. Bhattarai, Sher Bd. Deuba suggest the same thing. Many times he was cursed but he never deterred from whatever he decided. All of us have heard people becoming critical of him, sometimes even cursing him to death. But not many of them felt sad when he left. I wonder how many of us had thought so many people would participate in his last journey. It would be unwise to say all of them had participated because the loved the late leader. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Media now is putting in efforts in creating hopelessness and pessimism as if with the demise of GPK hopes have shattered and doomsday will be soon here. Unfortunately this is the same media that had become so critical of him in recent times. Nothing and no one can be so much of opportunist like media. It is leading bandwagon to portrait the leader as evangelical, someone who only had capacity to take the country out of turmoil, same things that they presented as his stubbornness now has become his confidence, and his nepotism has now become his ability to see right people. The country was in shock to learn that the elderly leader had passed away, catching on the sentiment media led the bandwagon of identifying him as messiah, an emancipator. Minutes later they came up with creative nicknames like “man of the soil”, “man of the nation”, “true leader”, “great leader”, “great human”. I am surprised how creative and enterprising media can be. I am also surprised at the reason they felt he should be portrayed thus. They didn’t look at what the Nepalese felt and had to say about the leader but they took a hint from who was coming to offer respect to him from India. If Indian ministers are coming no doubt he was a great leader. India was first to be grieved to have learnt the demise of the person who they believed was entire Nepal or who knows from whom they could do things they wanted to do here. One of the Indian leaders even went on to say GPK was Nepalese version of Mahatma Gandhi. Either he hated Gandhi or he didn’t know anything about GPK.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">GPK did have the characteristics of great leader, he had strong confidence (I had never earlier said he was stubborn), infallible commitment to what he felt was right. Problem was probably in whether what he felt right was really right. He lent ears to few ones entirely dismissing others. Think about how he ruled his party, he was a complete authoritarian. He bypassed party’s mechanism to secure the position of a minister in the minister’s council. He later lifted the incompetent daughter to the position of deputy prime minister irking the dismayed party members. Now wasn’t he also a great bargainer? He played “this for that” and “that for this”, were all those bargains in favor of the country? Indeed he seemed to come out with solutions when there were deadlocks. Unfortunately what apparently looked as solution were only temporary-quick fix the latest being the formation of high level political mechanism. In one aspect he tried to be Gandhi, Gandhi went on to offering whatever Jinnah asked when Pakistan was formed while GPK was doing something similar with Prachanda the President of Maoists Party. His later days inclination to Maoists could have given Maoists confidence in demonstrating what I would like to call “out-of-law” activities and practices. His relationship with the current government was either of a support or threat is again doubtful.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Demise of GPK has certainly left uncertainties behind, but uncertainties have been something that we have learnt to live with the only fact is now even quick-temporary fixes have died out. Politics is an area where predictions enjoy faltering; still we cannot keep ourselves away from making speculations. Being captive of the same, few things look apparent to me as well. First the fate of Sujata Koirala looks bleak; she has lost the shoulders she had so far ridden. If she fails to find a high-profile fool her political career does not look promising, unless she manages to gather sympathy votes. Unfortunately polls are not anywhere near in the future and thanks to short term memory of people sympathy (if any) is likely to fade out.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">GPK crushed the hoods of everyone that challenged his position and no succession plan was done. Piggybacking Sujata Koirala took place really late so Nepali Congress is sure to go through the most turbulent phase and extreme of power play. I won’t be surprised if it disintegrates and if it does even it would continue losing its supporters. The leaders in the forefront are not promising at all be that Sher Bd. Deuba, Ram Chandra Paudel, Sushil Koirala. The possibility of paths clearing for younger generation is very unlikely.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">CPN UML is already a party with no strong adhesion between members and it will fail to establish itself as a strong party. It also has a bad reputation of a party with no firm stand on anything. People have shown their resentment against the party by defeating their top leaders in the constitution assembly elections. Whether GPK was alive or he passes away CPN UML is already in troubled water, it always has been.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For Maoists, they in real terms have lost their guardian. GPK could have helped them clean their international image, he was the one with whom they could whine time and again for smallest of the things. He was also someone who had lolly-pops for them regularly. He thus in some way controlled their behavior and placated them when they cried. They might be more undisciplined and we will have many more bandhs awaiting us.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Current government might stay for a while as it will take some time for differences in Nepali Congress to surface. When GPK was alive, the NC members seemed to have full support for government while GPK had hinted that an alternative was possible (may be he thought the path for his daughter would be clearer) and this was also viewed as their way of showing their displeasure to the ailing leader.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">India might have already engaged itself in identifying the replacement of GPK or to influence the turn of events in its favor. We can only wait and watch who India picks as its man.</div>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-52686194466785157242009-08-19T18:49:00.001+05:302009-08-19T18:52:01.959+05:30Destination Biratnagar<p align="justify"><br />Waiting for the flight in the airport is one of the detestable things for me and this time the destination itself would bring my excitement down. Its not the destination but the climate that made my destination undesirable otherwise I am someone who love the expanse Terai, the paddy fields expanding beyond the limits of my sight, the whistling breeze that would spell life into the beautiful greenery, the cows returning home and the monotonous ringing of the bells tied around their neck. I love watching them walk, I watch with great amusement the size of their belly little protruded after grazing for the whole day and more content are the eyes of the shepherd expecting the amount of milk he can get. In the early mornings, inside the small tea-stalls the sight of people squatting holding small glass of tea gives an impression how one can find pleasure in smallest of the things. The tweeting birds in the early morning along the wires that follow the road may be to its dead-end, make the morning musical.<br />Thank god, the flight was in time almost exact except in the runway we had to wait for almost 15 minutes to wait for a VIP who would arrive late at the cost of our time. Time has no value in this part of the world, if you can’t make it today, make it tomorrow, we live by that principle and it is that simple. If we can’t do it next generation will do it, what a wonderful way to shirk our responsibilities. In order to avoid the curses of the waiting passengers we were not told why we were made to wait for no apparent reasons. The authorities knew the passengers were well-prepared for delays.<br />Anyways the plane took off and as it gained altitude the city looked smaller and smaller, the houses tiny and tiny. The roads looked like lines on the palm of a huge hand. I felt like shifting the crowdedly clustered houses to somewhere else in my palm like the mythical “Hanuman”. I wished I could rebuild the city. The plane penetrated the clouds and the hide and seek started. I could see white clouds like balls of cotton randomly dropped over the earth. Thicker the clouds more excited I was to jump down into them, lay on my back, legs bent one leg over another, my head pillowed on my hands, to look at these flying planes. In my thoughts I was no older than two twin sisters who sat in seats in front of me on the other side. Unlike them I just didn’t say “In aeroplane the conductors are ladies.” This innocent comment from these kids is still ringing in my ear and I cannot resist smiling. I wonder how the attendant would have reacted to this, how much of energy would it have taken for them to maintain their fake smiles. By, the way the attendants were more beautiful than the last time. However the fakeness in their smile grabbed my attention more than their beauty. Prabably that was the painful part of their job. In my last flight the hostess hadn’t said “Namaste” to every passenger, they only brought their palms closer and didn’t even smile. I wonder if we had paid more for the ticket this time.<br />The plane flew over the rivers and I would try to see their source but they would vanish inside the clouds. The terai was enveloped in clouds most of the time but as it became clearer, I was overjoyed to see the green paddy, no clusters of houses. The majority of the houses I could say almost made me forget we lived in concrete structures. The small huts looked like scarecrow in the huge fields. The bread-basket of the country was welcoming us with the open arms. The Koshi river looked ferocious and it had already engulfed a huge area leaving a large number of people homeless.<br />We were in the ground after rising to 13800 feet and the temperature of 30 degree Celsius at 5:00 PM made me worried about the day that was to follow. The drizzle that followed brought some solace and I was pleased to feel the terian water in my cheeks. Honking of rickshaws, streets dividing the houses into two sides, sights of women in their bicycle, speed of the vehicles, shapeless smoke rising from the huts, coconut trees, confirmed that I was in Biratnagar or in any other plain. It was hot but not as scary as I had anticipated. The shops opened till late in the night and late till morning took me by surprise. The country certainly has variation. At 7:00 I had to walk to quite a distance to find a shop open to get a tooth-brush which I had forgotten to bring. To my wonder the street looked lonely except for few bicycles carrying the school students. Like villages I had expected even the city to rise early but many chimneys were already belching smoke, the smell of the firewood made me want tea. Tea in small glasses, teas darker in color and teas rich in milk, alas not a single stall is open. Small biscuits dipped in the local tea tasted great. The stalls had this biscuits in thick bottles and they sold it in individual pieces.<br /></p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-48024582550783005592009-07-30T11:00:00.000+05:302009-07-30T11:04:30.907+05:30Just another evening in office<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">My small room is sparsely lit. The bluish light has created a kind of cosmic ambience.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I am in love with that small bulb at the upper corner on the left of the entrance that keeps trying to make my room look brighter. When the faint stream of light evades the bulb, I feel like the protestors slipping in through the barricade into the restricted area. I love this rebellious nature light. It has spread like the light that escapes from the corners of unrelenting clouds after a rain. May be it is not only the rebel, its mischief as well. When I was young, very young indeed not even ten, we used to tie handkerchief around our eyes and we had to catch our friends. In those games children life myself used to escape under the spread arms of the blinded person. He/she used to get hold of the preys but alas he would only embrace the air, the abundant air, air that could not be embraced. The lights are escaping from underneath the cover of that bulb, the cover that has given the light the bluishness. The wall clock arms are aligned against each other at 5 and I assume its 25 past 5. I could have doubted the clock but I don’t, I trust it. In these two years, I never had complaints with this clock. I never asked why had it been punctual, always active and running. In this loneliness, I am wondering for the first time if that’s the peon who regularly changes the battery. Probably it’s the same peon who brings me a cup of tea every morning at 11:00. Why is he so punctual? May be that is the reason he never wants the watch to sleep. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I don’t know when the sounds went to sleep, I remember something falling on the other end a while ago and after that somebody yelled. I don’t remember hearing anything after that. Silence looms in this part of my huge office soon after it strikes 5:00, sometime even earlier. I always hear the cheerful voices of people rushing home. They are always in hurry, like the tumultuous school students. I like those sounds, most of them meaningless. In my school a teacher used to say “When one speaks its an opinion, when many speak its noise”, it was more than 30 years back, I must have been 13-14 years then. Once I asked out of nowhere, unprepared “Why not ‘when one speaks its opinion, when many speak its rebellion’”? Back in those days, thrashing students was part of teacher’s duty, when I spoke that something reminded my teacher that duty of his which he had not obliged in last 45 minutes. I gave him chance to carry out his duty. I could not complete my math’s homework because of the welts, thanks to myself for reminding my teacher his duties. The other day, I was made to do 100 sit ups and my math teacher thought my ears were some ugly flowers which he wanted to pluck. Thanks to him my ears pained for almost a week. Somewhere at that point I lost my voice, never raised any questions, just listened to opinions, in spite of that I did get few more thrashings.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I think I can still feel the welts today, I became an introvert. Anyways, I find the light meets my personality. In these years I have not been to many rooms of my department, and I get confused in the names of my colleagues. That has also come with advantage though, my life has lesser interventions, I have to bring less fake smiles, I rather slay from front rather than backstab, I know my enemies better and I get my work done. The cigarette is getting smaller and smaller. The smoke rings twirl and vanish. I like the smoke rings struggling to exist, struggling to outlive their age. When I put the cigarette in my mouth to inhale the smoke, the edges of the cigarette go red. They burn and sulk, I feel like a master. I share the feel of Dagny Taggart (character from Ayn Rands ‘Atlas Shrugged’) proud at being able to tame the forceful flint of fire between my fingers. The papers under the paper-weight want to blow away with the air from the moving fan on the other side of me. The release of smoke has been strangely in sync with the fluttering of the paper as if the paper were excited to see the smoke rise higher and higher, as if it was cheering the paper. By the time the smoke vanishes, the fan would have faced the other side and the papers lie motionless on the table. My legs are on the table, one leg over another and the dark brown socks has given my feet strange look. I enjoy sitting this way specially when there is a cigarette in my hand. At this point of time, even ethics would have gone to take some rest. I have realized that for last few days I have regularly stayed in office after it sounds quiet, just to enjoy the puffs of smoke, to put my legs on the table one over another like a tyrant. My tyranny is against myself.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I was in my room when one of my bosses steno came to my room. Unlike many other stenos, she has this good habit of knocking at the door before scaring you off with unexpected presence. I had the same position as I have now except I didn’t have a cigarette. Had it been somebody else I would have dropped my legs but since it was her I didn’t. I feel she likes this care-free attitude, she leaves with a smile looking back, <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>trying to appear seductive. That is when I want to have a heart full of laughter. She thinks I am hitting on her and possibly she enjoys this.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I can hear somebody’s footsteps, probably it’s the guards locking the rooms, my cigarette’s bud is on the ashtray. It’s time to go home.</p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-43857405910978154132009-06-19T20:30:00.002+05:302009-06-19T20:35:26.644+05:30Picking up a day from past<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The temperature has only risen this week. Even falling asleep is difficult in the climate where the sky is breathing hot air. In the crowed concrete jungle of Kathmandu, cool breeze is a very rare commodity. That makes me sit under the clear sky in the night on the terrace of my house. Just a day before yesterday, I was relishing on the cool breeze in the night, the sky appealed me, it just lifted my chin to gaze it. Millions and millions of star hung in its expanse shawl. During my childhood, I used to read in science books and poems about the twinkling stars, I used to look at them but I never saw them twinkle because twinkling to me was going on and off the way the colorful lights do during Diwali. Till date I associate the term “twinkle” with lights going on and off. Sky specially the sky at Night has always mesmerized me; I get entangled in the fantasies, laden with so many questions. When loneliness and evening meet they make me nostalgic, so many men are reminded of pain and agony when they look into their past and luckily for me past has been wonderful, probably wonderful that present and they are wonderful because its past.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Anyways, that night under the elderly looking sky decorated with twinkling stars, I revisited my school life in my thoughts. The breeze became cooler as if it was blowing for those days. I remembered rising up early, finishing home assignments and rushing to school, to be part of a class where faces twinkled more than the stars. I cannot extract the meaning of the hubbub but I find music in it, music with no words but with soul. My friends are chatting, running, laughing and even crying. There are so many of those students who I still meet as job-holders, mothers, husband and wives, the impression of time is so clearly visible in them. Some of them are taller, some are chubbier, some have become serious, the faces have altered but the traits shaped by the childhood are somewhere there reminding we have known each other for a long time, very long time. Few have same cunning smile, some faces shine the same way when they laugh, some hands still move impatiently as they talk and some are still children though they have their own children. I sometime feel that childhood has not vanished, it hasn’t lost but its suppressed. When its friends we forget the age, when we meet after long time we remember good old days together reminding one another moments and events that have been rusted by the mighty time. Again matured people talk silly, laugh on silliest of comments, make fun of each other trying to make maximum out of it because when we disperse a different life awaits us. The shade of past vanishes in the dazzles of present. Back at home we have a different role to play because past is past, unrecoverable but sweet, distant yet very close, dream but that was a reality. It seems as if we are just the characters of a novel who sometime come out of the books, the books that only lie in the shelf. We come out, tug the layer of dust, hold each others hand, dance and sing, laugh and cry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">Change becomes something so visible and powerful. The laziest of us are now most active bankers, the flowing and dirty noses are dry and clean, the eyes have become frail and they need the support of glasses, beauties have turned into ugliness, ugliness are now beauties, bullies are empathetic, jokers are serious, mighty have become powerless, dummies have become scholar. Its not the change that is so significant it is what has changed that is so significant and loud.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I am so much captivated by past, by nostalgia because today few of us from our schools almost 10 years back are gathering an hour later. I am pleased, I am excited, I am so touched. I am excited to meet them, to seek my friends, classmates among the grown ups who I will be meeting a while later.</p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-79138978002552396732009-05-26T19:40:00.001+05:302009-05-26T19:40:51.592+05:30Expression<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The black clouds didn’t let the earth see its beloved Sun specially after it rained all the night. The city is littered and muddy, there are puddles everywhere thanks to the worn out roads where stones and the tars have come out of their places and the roads look like a toothless old man. It feels pity to walk on these road but businesses cannot be stopped for roads. In the evening the beam of light that entered into the go-down like passage of our department, I felt really nice. The roads must have felt better as well as with the Sun peeping through the curtains of heavy clouds it must have given the roads a hope to get dried. But then its nature, why would nature listen to the woes of dirty roads and miseries of people who forgot umbrellas at home, the black clouds were back again. Today we witnessed Sun for not more than fifteen minutes. When it rains occasionally and when it’s the first rain of the season, it’s a different feeling, the smell of the soil, the leaves that dance taking a shower everything part of the rapturous nature. When it rains longer, when the mood is already somber and one has to walk in the littered city now clad in mud the chances of feeling happy is very little specially when one is not pleased with the day, with oneself. The drizzle had already started and drops of water on my glasses made things look blur. In the road everyone hurried to home, few with umbrellas and few without umbrella. In the sleek cars the richs and the important watched we poor souls as we jumped and tip-toed avoiding the puddle which were bigger pools at places.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I was already missing a warm cup of tea as I hurried home under an umbrella whose wires have come out and desperately looking for some repair. I remember their poor condition only when I have to use them and I am using the same umbrella broken at places, may be I won’t replace it until it sags. Either the whole lot of workers had returned home lot earlier than me or I was late I had no problem finding the public tempo. Two elderly people sat facing each other and were talking their things which didn’t interest me. May be after being in a safer place I was busy observing the people trapped in rain, the walking umbrellas as the carriers were hidden under these umbrellas, kids clad in their rain coat. I saw one of the old men laughing. He had lost his front teeth, the gap made him look pretty specially in the grey hair which remained only in their sides. My thoughts were caught in ‘will I live till my teeth fall’. I got interested in their activities, they were talking about a book whose name I don’t remember. They talked how they pass time, about their children, none of them talked about their wives may be they were widower. It must be very difficult to live lonely at that age. As I was pondering about these things, the old man who sat by my side told the other that one of their friends died a month ago. The expression on the face of another old man changed without transition. It was filled more with fear and hopelessness rather than with pity. He must have thought they are all standing in the same queue just waiting to be picked up by death. I wonder if they still had dreams or if dreams had become meaningless at their age. I wondered I would they look back into their lives, what would they think seeing the babies they had carried on their arms now carrying their own babies. Once we know the end there is just meaninglessness around. I don’t know if the old man was thinking people will talking about his death just as similar as they were talking about the death of their friend. Their generation was just dying out, to let others to fill their place. In the long run no one means anything to the world. How do they think when they see young people living the days they once lived. Their frail heart must have been the graveyard of so many wishes, so many ambitions. What would they plan for the next day? In my childhood specially when I was bed-ridden after I broke my leg and when nobody used to be around, I used to think what if I lost my parents and the thoughts would be just expanded and I would cry. How would they feel when they know now the countdown has begun. One often ask a retiring employee how was his/her experience in the job, I wonder what would they reply if one asked them about the experience of their life. What would they think when they hold their grandchildren in their arms? What would they think when they see an old lady in the woman they married, the woman they lived with. Would it trouble them that they might see their beloved partner bading them goodbye for ever. I had become serious, the old men must have talked about so many things when I come out with my questions. The aura of the old man had changed and it had clear tints of indifference when I departed. I am walking the same road, somebody might undergo through similar thoughts when they will see me then.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><o:p> </o:p></p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-16060793557949600372009-05-20T06:15:00.003+05:302009-05-20T06:22:07.582+05:30Haphazard<div style="text-align: justify;">The morning is torrid and I am already feeling lazy thinking how hot and scorching the day is going to be. The color coat in a newly painted house that I can see from my verandah is irritatingly shiny. The sky is clear but not soothing. Interestingly I am excited about going to office today which is a very rare case. I took a day off yesterday as I had an exam, I took it without any need just to help my classmates. After so many mornings of a queue of bikes before my house, the passage to my home looks rather lonely today. My mother told the other day I have been inducted into the hall of fame of VIPs, her tone sarcastic and her aura mocking me. I must say I have been busy lately. I have always been busy when I have had exams. The other day I was helping a classmate solve a problem in my room and lecturing another on the cell and there was a call waiting in the landline. Sarita found this rather funny and incomprehensible. Mummy is used to it and she thinks it is futile on my part, but may be I feel good. I feel good when I look important, feel important but I hate this feeling. Everyone likes praises but I think my likings are little too much and that’s why I hate it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Two laborers are working in our small garden, they are digging a tunnel for passage of water. After watching them work and the work they did, I was thinking I could have done that so that was waste of money. I felt nice to have this feeling though I know it only looks easy but is a tough task in reality. There are books and papers spread in my room, so many papers of assignments and projects belong to those who had been here for study yesterday and days before. Many books are waiting to be read in my shelves and I don’t think I will consider their plea very soon. I will however finish books that I have borrowed from others. That is a promise to those books!!!!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am feeling bored as I am writing this, may be it is because I am writing after such a long time. I was busy helping Sarita do her assignments and she always has so many stories of her friends and schools to tell me. The reserves of her stories never empties. Today she was telling me about one of her classmates whose parents had a tough time making the two ends meet. She said, they were made to evacuate their rented rooms after being able to pay rents for months. The teachers have asked the other students to help them with things they have in extra like books and copies. I appreciated the teacher. Sarita would have had same fate were she left at her home in Dhading. She would not have made it to school as her parents are poor and she would have to take care of her younger siblings. It makes me feel a little better because I feel guilty for having a child work as maid. She goes to school and she is happy most of the time, that should console me, I suppose.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The other story she told me was of another of her friends who found a pouch of ribbons red and blue on the road which he showed to the teacher. The teacher jokingly told her since he has so many ribbons he should tie them in his hair as well, the other day the boy came to school with ribbon tied in his hair. Sarita says he is so dumb and passive that he actually thought the teacher really wanted him to see in ribbon. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though there are books and papers around me I am least interested in them. May be it’s the dazzling heat, I should start studying.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-17807584248288596142009-02-27T07:13:00.001+05:302009-02-27T19:12:53.843+05:30I am powerful<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">“But you had said you loved me”, it was a desperate plea. I guffawed. “When did I say that to you?” my reply was sharp and cruel. “Not everything needs to be told”, her eyes were confused, her face had become red, this red was redder than the red when she used to blush, her eyes narrowed and her nose looked more pointed. Her hair were still unmanaged and a lock of it tried to hid her breasts. But there was nothing she had which I hadn’t seen if she wanted to hide her body, she was still naked and so I was but I was pulling my trousers up. Her lips looked like the petals of a rose in a young spring, I wanted to taste them again as by that time I had already forgotten the taste of her lips. She was looking strange, in her anger she looked more matured. Her eyes were still confused. She said which was however a question, “you never loved me”. I have always been truthful, I nodded my head. Its not that she never asked me if I loved her, she used to ask me that question in most of our meetings which she called ‘date’ just to make it sound more fancy. To me those were just meetings and she was just another girl. Every time my reply was ‘no’ and she always smiled, the smile mocked my truth. She used to ask me if I had someone else in my life, I never have had anyone who I regarded my and I will never have one. My reply used to be simple and true, ‘No’. Her reaction suggested security, she seemed to take a deep breath and she used to pull her body so that her neck looked shorter and her shoulders used to get closer to her ear. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now she is accusing me but I had never lied. I never have two plays at the same time. I love playing with weak and helpless because that is what I am. I won’t tell you lie, my relation with women is my attempt to prove I am not weak, I am not helpless. When they beg before me, I feel satisfied. I feel so powerful to be in a position to make or ruin somebody’s life, but I have never put a trap, I have never lied. I have never told a woman I loved her. “Not everything needs to be told”, she repeated. Was that another of the universal truth that I missed in my primary school? “But I always told you I didn’t love you”. She stared at me undoubtedly she was more confused now, her remark was an incomplete “But..”. “So is this the only thing you had wanted from me”. Even after knowing my inclination toward truth and even after knowing the answer and the truth itself, every woman asks me the same thing. “Yes” was my reply, I repented for nothing. I had not forced her to sleep with me, I had not forced her to meet me. Many times the meetings have been her arrangements. Today’s meeting was one of her arrangements in her favorite restaurant. She was happy, she wanted me to ask the reason. I asked her but I don’t remember her reply, I was just looking at her, she looked beautiful, I was looking at her from the eye of an artist. After so many failed attempts to own her body, today’s evening I didn’t even think about sleeping with her. She hardly allowed me to kiss and that had made my challenge difficult and that is what made me adamant to sleep her, to see her naked, to play with her bare body. Today she looked preetier than ever, when I drove her back, she asked me to come in. I still have no hint that today was going to be my day. She had lost her so called “morality” to her happiness, the reason of which I hadn’t listened. We watched TV and whatever happened next was just unplanned. I enjoyed, I know how she looks like naked. I know her now inside out. When everything happened and when she had lost all her physical privacy to me, when she had chosen to be my slave, she seemed to have woken up. Out of nowhere she asked me when were we supposed to marry. My reaction was innocent, “Marry? Why should I marry you” <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And then was that question “But you said you loved me” She was looking so pretty that I would have made love to her once again, again and again but she spoilt everything. Her red lips disturbed me but I knew she won’t let me get closer. Deceived by my own nature I won’t lie to re-possess her body, play with it. With other women I have slept more than once but with this one, this is the first and this is the last. Oh God why can’t I lie. What would have happened had I said we will marry , next year, next month or may be tomorrow. I would have avoided finding another woman. I cursed myself. Tears rolled in her eyes, they made me more content. I wanted to yell from the terrace into the city that had already fallen asleep that I had made somebody cry, I control somebody. She said, “I have no point to live.” That won’t bother me. I was going to be same, had she wanted me to continue meeting her, I would have done that because believe me my hunger for her body had not satiated. You would say I disrespected women, I considered them as a toy to play with. Sorry, you have got me wrong. In my entire writing do you see I have created a trap, they have just fallen to me. I have never raped a woman, I have never used a woman who has been let down by the world, I have never forced anyone to sleep with me. I respect women more than those who shout for woman rights. I just seek the ultimate pleasure in the universe, just for that one moment I love women. I do not want them cry, I like smiling faces of women.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">She lifted her face, the tears had dried but they had left their track through her cheeks. Her anger was still worse, “So, you considered me just a whore, you picked from a market, slept with and dumped.” “No” my plea was desperate. I have never picked a whore to sleep with and I will never do that. As I said earlier, to get what is easier to get is not my business. I do not want to buy a body with money, its passion that I love to possess not just a body of a woman. “I have not changed”, I said. You are no different to me than you were yesterday and few hours before when we were having lunch. I had no intentions to hurt you. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">She spit in my face, that raised my temper but it dropped down. I wiped my face and I left the room, she had covered her face with her arms as she sat with bent knees. She looked like a model posing for a nude picture. The door slammed behind me. After walking for 10 minutes I looked back, the lights of her room was still on. </p><p></p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-91828854564606084372009-02-20T17:54:00.000+05:302009-02-20T17:56:21.708+05:30Strokes of thoughts<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>More than half of last one hour I wasted in vain looking for my specs and now as I write this I still do not have specs. Without specs I am not feeling myself as if I have borrowed eyes from somebody else, donated by somebody already dead. The vision is blur and strained. From last one hour I had been wanting to write something strokes of words, words if woven become poem, become sentence, become quote, become inspiration, become vision and if spread apart just meaningless. By the way in the last sentence I remembered I had a nap earlier and that reminded me where I could have left my specs. Now the specs stand on my nose. I feel better though in the last half an hour I have spilled so many thoughts that have dried. I carried it more than I could hold, like a kid holding so many things in his arm, walks with care but still unknowingly leaves behind fallen things, clothes, books, beads and so on. Possibly somebody will collect his things but who will collect my spilled thoughts, who will see it, who will fill it when me where they originated have failed to hold them. Why are they so volatile? What is the meaning of their existence? I write while I keep forgetting, I forget still I keep writing. Crazy words!!! I think to write one thing and when they are written they are something else. My thoughts are so restless, so disconnected. Since no chain exists between one wave of thought to another they just vanish similar to the items that vanishes in the hand of the magician. We tighten our fist so that we can hold things, so that it does not go away and we control it. When we tighten fist we are assured that we have strong hold of our possession but in magic they vanish when they are strongly held. In real life it’s the case with relationship I believe, stronger we hold someone away we get from him/her, by the time we open the fist alas!!! There is none left. Drink your tear then, drown in sorrow. Lost can be looked for but those who leave are gone, gone for ever. More we look for them farther they go. I again wrote things I didn’t have in my thoughts when I was looking for specs. The earlier thoughts lived their life and gone they are. I tried to tighten my fist and faster they vanished.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">I returned home irritated by the cacophony in a wedding. I had a nap because my irritation would not just go away. I woke up with listlessness which I still have and then I was invaded with thoughts, random ones, those that I never feel like writing, those that have never been beautiful, those that are sticky like gums that I want to get rid of. I went for a bath, while I bathed I bathed with thoughts more than I bathed with water. Water washes the dirt from ones outer body what washes the thoughts that is inside your head, your heart. I had skirmishes with thoughts and I feel ‘skirmishes’ are the appropriate words. I came out of the bathroom into the empty home the home that is just another house when its empty. My dog slept lazily in his couch and he didn’t feel necessary to check who opened the door. I like home when there are voices filled in its atmosphere. I was raised thus in a small world of my family apart from which nothing mattered. I sought happiness among my family and that made me rather insecure. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify">The climate that has abruptly become hotter is equally irritating, in the roads people prefer walking in the shades. Just few days back, basking in the sun was one thing people missed about holidays but now they just stay in. Roads will be emptier and laziness will take over probably the season favorable for thoughts is slipping away. Probably in the thoughts now will be heated, sweaty and contradictory. I know that won’t happen but who knows scientists in developed world are actually experimenting on it.</p>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100553206215404174.post-55427259531147584582009-02-15T16:41:00.000+05:302009-02-15T16:43:37.313+05:30Scratches of thoughts when no mood for work<div align="justify">There is still time for the stars to appear in the sky, the twilight is usual. From somewhere I smell the froth of boiling tea. Ah!! there it is the push-cart, a hotel in a wheel. I have never had tea from these push-carts one I am not a great fan of tea and the other I am concerned about cleanliness and the jazz. It’s been a while that the cart has stood in front of me and as the naughty froth try to come out of the kettle the owner of the business lowers the flame of his stove. I must have been watching the over enthusiastic froth for almost ten minutes and in all these minutes not a single customer has come yet the owner seems to be in hurry. He opens one container after another. There is no reason behind my standing before the book shop watching the cart. Yes I had come to the book shop to check for a book unfortunately the book was not there. I had stopped to think what should I do next as like many times I had become thoughtless, had forgotten everything as if it were some amnesia. I could not make sense of the crowd, they make me feel dizzy, my existence become so minute and trivial, and everyone is in hurry. On the other side of the road a slogan is painted on the wall. It is an appeal I don’t understand, appeal to reconstruct the country. But that is none of my concern; I am irritated by the hubbub. All these people seem to me to have been directed to move, walk, trot in random and they are doing what they are told without knowing why they were told to do so. The book shop is crowded too and people are seeking books in all kind of subjects, subjects even my father wouldn’t have heard in his youth while he was student in a huge city of Calcutta. I believe they have renamed the city to Kolkata, may be they don’t like Shakespeare (“What’s in name that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”). Even many places in Kathmandu city have been renamed but that makes sense to me because that is what New Nepal is. I won’t be surprised if they changed the name of the country itself.<br />The twilight has come on a hold, it is not changing, the sky has stopped the roads are however busy, I feel the pace of people has widened. This seem to be a competition where every man on the road wants to overtake the other, as if they are running for a jewel and everyone fearing that the mine might be empty when they reach there. The steam from the kettle rises and vanishes. A gate opens and the students come out of the college chattering, playing, laughing just to lose their identity in the crowd, just to lose their voice in the noise. Small glasses are wiped and are arranged upside down in the cart, he picked a small dirty piece of cloth to lift the kettle from the stove and soon small glasses were filled as the student came directly to his stall.<br />Unfortunately I lost my confidence in academic degrees just after I joined the college and yet the fear of unemployment had me stuck in the college for four years. I won’t deny that I was different when I came out of the college but it has been a little help. Unwillingly I am back at the doors of college once again just to get a proof of knowing things. I try to seek if these students have different opinions. I seek it in their eyes, in their body language and in their expression. Whether it’s the light that has become scarce by this time or because of my own problems I fail to find anything. I see people more aware of political alignment and consciousness than consciousness for quality living. Soon the glasses of tea start emptying, a small boy probably the owner’s son is busy cleaning the glasses. I didn’t notice when he joined his father but I can see a man in the making I hope he grows up to become someone whose shop is bigger and more profitable than his father’s. He dips glasses into a tub of water whose color changes from colorless to light tea. He rinses them with clean water next and it becomes ready for another round.<br />The crowd fails to clear and I come out of my amnesia. I mix in the crowd and a bus sweeps me from one crowd to next. In my lonely room I feel significant, I feel sad to seek myself in the crowd.<br /></div>restless_soulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17433131518397628197noreply@blogger.com1