and, you think we are equal

And, you think you and I are equal (Pic: Derek Sherman at Celery Bog)

I thought God created us equal,

With bodies and biological realities,

With desires and sentiments,

With hunger and pain,

With senses and sensibilities,

Until the day I knew

We had a hierarchy!

Based on the languages we speak.

Based on yours and mine English

And, we both used it to talk about God and Truth

I couldn’t even pronounce God, you said correcting my pronunciation

And, said My God, and your God is same,

But you forgot to highlight the differences,

With clouds of hypocrisies over your head,

And, you corrected my English~ so that I could talk like you

So that I could speak like you

So that I could learn your voice

To replace mine, to forget mine!

And, yet you talked about God,

And, how humans are equal,

and, you think you and I are equal…

 

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On your 9th Year ~Coffee House

Happy Birthday Coffee House! ( Cartoon character Moomin in the cake) Pic: Google

Dear Coffee House,

This has been a quite journey! I can’t believe it has been 9 years that I have with you. As you and I both grow together~we have faced so many things, from pride and sense of achievement to emotional breakdown! This year, I am using Moomin Themed Birthday post. I love this cartoon by Tove Jansson  because they are deeply philosophical and teach us about life and how to be happy in the simple and small things. 

Having said that, each year I complain I can’t write, I am not being able to write or I just don’t have time to write! But you have existed in all these emotional tantrums of mine because you know how much passionate I am about writing, reading! 

I have devalue myself~ I say to people I don’t have any hobby, I can’t perform any DIY, sing, dance, paint, crochet, and so on~but I never tell that I can write! I never tell them and to myself that poetry flows in me, never tell anyone that I am creating a fiction in my head with the striking conversation that I am having with them! And, never acknowledge myself as a writer because I seek validity from outside and what I have never done is validate myself as a writer, as a poet! 
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Kathmandu, without you…

The fall of Jacaranda flowers on the ground  that takes my breath away~~ Picture by: Kishor Sharma/ 2014

A love song for a city drenched in election fever (Published in The Kathmandu Post on May 13, 2017) 

After turning pink with the touch of spring, you must have changed to purple now. Your colours always take my breath, even when I am just thinking about you, as I am doing now. I scroll through all the moments that I have captured and I smile with moist eyes realising how life is different…without you.

When you let me go, did you also feel the same pain that I did while departing? Kathmandu, do you miss my tiny feet tapping the dust from the streets? Or the wheels of my scooter traversing your every corner? Lafayette, you know is huge. It is lovely but my heart yearns for your air, your warmth, your sweet touch, your smell. Missing you is a bittersweet feeling but it is something new. I had to travel 7700 miles to know what it meant.

I imagine the Sun being welcomed with water pouring down from an orange brass Kalash. Then an oil lamp guides the Sun that is peeking through the tiny clouds and sweet smell of incense. Colourful flowers decorate the pathway and melody of bells rings in a new dawn. The sun is here and it’s time to wake up, dear Kathmandu.

Kathmandu, when you wake up and wash your face with the shimmering rain and see your glowing face, you know you are beautiful.  The Jacaranda trees, unable to contain its blossoms, clothe you in a purple attire. Every April, through May, I lapped up every glimpse of you in your Jacaranda bloom, just like Parijat had done so long ago.

And, Kathmandu—as the evening seeps into the night—again with the oil lamp, incense sticks and ringing bells, the sun will slip away behind the clouds. But the Moon rises with its muted rays. The Jacaranda flowers, meanwhile, will continue to bloom and fall to the ground, now in company of buoyant fireflies.

Kathmandu, sometimes I wonder, which do you truly prefer? Your Jacaranda bloom or your peach blossom? Even if the both the colours are your own and paint the lives of those that call you home. Continue reading

Revel in the infinite

Dandelions!! ~ They inspire me to fly in freedom without any attachment

Your eyes must have shone

Like a green emerald

When you typed your passion with the tip of your fingers!

And, added a line~ *you are smart* then after a comma *cute*

In the tiny little tide you sent,

I imagined myself, swaying in those emerald green eyes!

Then, being held by you so tight!

I started losing myself,

With the soothing breeze you sent,

And, like the dandelion loses its florets,

I started flying, all towards the infinite sky!

Your sentences never ended

As you transformed your periods into ellipses …

Neatly typed three dots …

Providing me the key to the box full of imaginations…

To revel in the infinite~~~as you would say!

*Title ~ inspired from a random conversation

Embracing Epiphany

It was like a painting

Dispersed in the white walls

The black dark

Immovable shadow

I was aware: I had been battling for long

And, part of me was tired

And, it remained immovable

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Winter Memories~ #KtmKatha

Dijju: (My Aunt, Sister) This picture was taken sometime during 2015 while we were returning from our regular visit to temple!

Dijju: (My Aunt, Sister)
This picture was taken sometime during 2015 while we were returning from our regular visit to temple! The poem is dedicated to her!

I

You would warm your palms
In the burning coal
Put them on my cold rosy cheeks
Because, you know Kathmandu used to be so cold.
You would brew warm cup of tea,
To hear my nonsense over it.
I would complain, it is too cold.
I would complain, Life is hard.
And, you laugh over it and say~
Tell me something new!
Then, we would laugh!
Dear Dijju, (Sister)
Lafayette was -3 last time!
I yearned for everything~
Tea and talk besides warmth.

II

We would sit over the gas heater
Switch on Television for the regular Hindi Serials
Over the LED light that glowed only over the ceiling,
And, sometimes candle.
Because, Kathmandu suffered load shedding 🙂
I would read Tales from “Swasthani Barta Katha”,
And, you will fall asleep!
And~ I would keep on reading without complaining
Sometimes, we would discuss
How women were treated in the time of “Gods”? Continue reading

To write, again!

The gorgeous leaves at West Lafayette, November 2016.

It was true. Fall was majestic. It made me live color by color. Those gorgeous trees, fallen leaves, the smell of those maple trees filled me with immense sensuality. But, still ~ my fingers couldn’t type and I couldn’t write. 

I would capture trees one after another, their fallen leaves in my phone. I would collect those leaves one by one, color bycolor to keep them safe because I loved them. I would change my wallpapers in laptop, mobile, update my Facebook cover picture~ but still I wouldn’t write. I would refrain from writing.

The fallen Jacaranda leaves, Kathmandu, May 2016

The fallen Jacaranda leaves, Kathmandu, May 2016

 ( *Monologue* I would remember, I would miss ~ The purple Jacaranda blossom in Kathmandu~ both are beautiful ~ but no one wrote about that pretty blue fall with such an emotional intensity except Parijat~But, I desire to read more than that ~I yearn to feel it similar like the way I felt Fall in words). But it was true that Fall was installing a hope for happiness in me. It was true that it gave me joy to hold by. It gave made me feel love again. How? I don’t know! But, I can’t lie~ I was falling in love with the magic of nature for the umpteenth time. 
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