A morning walk

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. 

Who does that digging: dreams brought from hospital

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 torn pictures, rusted pins, rotten fruits, entangled chains, bits of paper folded till possible, invoices, broken mirrors, bottles of tried medicine, rotting straws. History or soil? I am only a thought in between, no physical existence support me, I am an observer with an eye I cannot see.

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 land that shall be wounded. The digging does not stop however only becomes restless, and desperate and fast. I only fail to understand if the spade is being hurt, the land being ripped apart or the person digging is inflicting pain on himself.

The folded papers as if a representation of a sin or a love away from reasons, 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 cherised belongings foresaken 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.

Bang!!! an attempted suicide a 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 few days. 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 glance when I did I felt cold). She had made no complaints just few inquiries and thats 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.

Back to dreams again, a tiger killed. When being chased it was horse when it came to fight it was a tiger. What is so precious about living 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 air.

DV (Diversity Visa) lottery

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.

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”.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

After almost 20 minutes, Bibesh thought it was now my turn. He asked “ So, how are you, what’s going on.”

I replied “same and usual. I have a headache, I am going home” as I got up.

My exit was as mundane to them as my entry was.

I stopped at a temple on the way and prayed, “God please get me selected for the Green Card.”