Her Unexpected Flight

There was a beauty in the way the floor was swept from her feet –
she wasn’t a victim of fate, nor deserving of the action
They had decided to experiment and she was a mere guinea pig;
She had no heart.
For a moment, she suspended in disbelief,
But she realized that she was not to feel
and quickly jumped towards the direction
where she felt the gravity was the strongest;
it was odd, she thought,
as resistance greeted her
where the ground and the crash was to welcome.
She thought it was very odd.
When she slowly opened her eyes and dared to peek
The clouds were rolling around in puffs and shone like silver,
Her wings struggled until she got used to the idea of flying.
In her acceptance of the reality,
she had flown and won.

Writing 101: Three Most Important Songs in my Life

I could start this piece in a very vague way, or by directly listing the three songs that are important to me and writing why. I’m going to run around a bit, playing hide and seek, or like the children in here play the ‘rumal lukayera khelne’ (the game where you hide the handkerchief, and try to find out who has it) with it. In the last 22 years of life, I have heard many songs and many of them have left a deep impact on me. Although I listen to soft romantic songs most of the time, I’ve noticed that over the years, the pattern has changed a number of times. Pattern, as in, the genres.

Being considerably influenced by Bollywood movies and their melodious songs, I remember myself listening and singing (in a childish way) to them. Old songs, especially by Lata Mangeshkar and Kishor Kumar were preferred. Then there was Kumar Sanu and Alka Yagnik. Some of them, I still listen to, while the others have been forgotten. Now, when I happen to listen to them, it is hard to believe that i used to like listening to them.

In this context, I remember a nepali song, I don’t remember which film it was, but it goes like this – ‘chitthi ayena, chitthi ayena, mero mayaluko malai chitthi ayena…’ (My love’s letter never reached me). My mom used to say that when I was a mere 4 year old, I’d sit on the cold cemented staircase outside the second floor and sing it alone. I try to imagine a 4-year-old me singing this song and it makes me laugh. I don’t even remember the words of that song! Here, I feel amazed at my mom’s acute memory, always telling us stories about ourselves about our past. I usually complain about this habit of my mom’s how she can’t let go of some painful things and embraces them, like holding the thorns close to her heart and letting it pierce it until she is bleeding. Nevertheless, I admire her for the person that she is. Her stories of the past, sometimes painful to listen to, and at other times, are the lullabies of the time that I can’t ever remember.

In my teen years, when I started getting conscious of myself, my inclination towards the songs I listened to changed as well. It was the time when I started listening to radio, 24/7. I’d wake up in the morning and tune in to my favorite radio station, and wait for good songs to come. Good songs, as in, English Pop songs – Green Day, Rascal Flatts, Jason Mraz, James Blunt, etc. Because the radio stations early morning put up devotional songs, I used to sit by the radio, wait for the commercials to end to find out which one was playing the songs I liked. Every 5 minutes, I changed the station and it was annoying. As I had no phone or internet, I didn’t have any choice but to put up with it. And I did. Can you believe, that I’d wait for my favorite songs to play with a pen and some papers to write down the lyrics and sing it later? Whenever I think about it now, a strange feeling overwhelms me. I somehow miss doing that. I almost had this feeling of devotion towards the songs I liked, and waited all day, changing the stations frequently, to track them.

With the accessibility of the internet and mobiles, though, a little of that is still done. Nothing like that, however. But I don’t complain. There wasn’t a particular song that used to be important, but playlists that varied according to my mood. I categorized songs according to my impression of them, and changed the lists in regard with my moods. They were a temporary escape from the troubling time, teenage turmoils and my tenacity of breaking down at every word that came my way. Now that I’ve been transported to a bit calmer days, I wander around to look for music that will carry me away to a better place. Hence I can’t really list out three important songs, (I was never going to), but certain songs will remind me of those times and will walk me down the memory lane. Always.

(Writing 101, Day Three: Three Most Important Songs in my Life)

Day Two: A Room With a View

Radiant flowers spread till the edge of horizon. Autumn’s sun. Bare feet and a summer dress. Peace. The feeling of being the only human in there, as far as it goes.

This is the picture that I often transport myself into, mentally, if not physically. This is somewhere, if this somewhere exists, where I’d like to go, and forget about the dominance of time and obligations. But this picture never ends. As quiet and tranquil as it sounds, the rustle of the trees and the whisper of the winds keep me on my feet, treating my senses. Although it calms my senses, it never lets me sleep. Here, I don’t need to sleep. Because sleep is an escape from reality, and this feeling, I could never get enough of it. As I lie down on the grass, I peek open one of my eyes, and see the flora, moving, in a serpentine way, tickling and incessantly making their way towards the sun. I know I smile, how could I not? Even thinking about it makes my heart jump like a frog, and do a fandango! If I knew how to dance, I would, every time I thought of this. If only I could go here, and be there forever. I would find a way to stop time.

How ironic, then that when I think about it, my heart is at unrest. Like the blue curtains and my white walls are provoking me to find that place right now and go there. As if the books, newspapers, a plastic jar, my bookmarks, and everything else lying around me is coaxing me to shun it all for the love of the god! and go there, immediately. But I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t. And nothing makes me unhappier than this limitation of reality that commands my presence in my large room, devoid of any flowers, or the feeling that makes me feel that I belong here.

The only places that I think of that is even remotely near to the aforementioned dreamland, is Ghalegaun in Lamjung district of Nepal. Earlier this year, I went to see this place with my friends as a part of my college tour. It was the first of its kind on me and needless to say, it left a huge impact. The landscapes, the road there, the people, the mountains and the hills – I was a mere spectator in the Nature’s theater, where she was playing the best of her miracles. I was dumbfounded. That feeling has never left me and I hope it won’t. I want to treasure it till my last breathe.

(Writing 101, Day Two: A Room With a View)

Day One: Results

In science, a work is considered done only when the object has moved from one place to another. The results have to be seen for you to claim that you did something. In the real world, too, this idea applies. You need to write that report, do this chore, read that book, go meet your associates, make that cake – the results need to be tangible. People need to see that you’ve done something. You need to submit that report to your Boss to prove that you did something. Else, you will be deemed a slacker and there will probably be a bad reputation to your name. (How ironic, that the reputation isn’t tangible, and when it becomes so, you aren’t just a slacking employee, but behaved with as if something much worse happened.)

What I mean to say is that the value of a human being is conventionally depended on how fast results he can squeeze out. While this process has kept the world going, the world feels like a very bad vehicle, polluting the environment and creating discord and discomfort among those, who are associated with it. Things and ideas that take much time to show results have no place to materialize in here. A man’s personal and emotional development is taken for granted, and you’d think as if he’s been born with this great sack of wisdom, that will never run out of its fillings. A man is expected to be a creature of calmness and virtues, and moreover, someone, who is fitting of the title of being called the most intelligent creature of this world.

Well, guess what? Intelligence is not a feature that man alone possesses. He might know how to turn the sand found in the riverbank to this concrete building, but he still lacks that quality to be deemed perfect. You might argue that perfection is not your goal, but then, you’re lying. Not because you are happy with how you’re doing, but because there is no such thing as perfection. At least not the kind of perfection that the old books say there is, as this world, home of many results in a very short time, is not at all welcoming or encouraging of them.

Because when was the last time a person taking a day off to contemplate things was considered good? If I need time to figure things out in my life, to pull my act together and stay home and read, I am lazy. Maybe I need a long time, longer than the next person, to pull my shit together. Maybe I am a hot mess that has problems glued on her like nail on the skin. Maybe I don’t have any problems, but I need that time anyway. A long long time. Then what? Who am I? Because I don’t have a job and a work to show I did that day, I am a loser. Someone, who doesn’t know how to do anything. A person of total uselessness that is good for nothing.

But maybe nobody has to say that. Maybe I give that tag to myself. Then I am not only wrong and so very wrong, I am just another example of how the world has crafted each individual.

(Writing 101: Day One)

Slow and Steady

It beats me when love has to be measured in biscuits and noodles and rosiness of the petals. Why can’t it be just felt in the silence after the long ride or the gestures that bind us in a strong steady bond? Time may betray us and end it all for us in the next moment, but this love will make up for everything, you just see.

Brief Escape

I found a perfect place to escape from the inescapable humdrum of the daily race. With barred windows and horizontal blinds, I sat down under the table on the gray carpeted floor and closed my eyes and concentrated outside the window on the birds, who were singing their songs.

People need moments like those time and again to clear everything and start all over again. After all, even if we breathe into the new day, the old pains and puzzles don’t leave us, but maybe, maybe these little breaks will be the one that’ll help us pitch in to the enthusiasm of the day.

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