November ended with rain – But December gave more pain. Another number in calendar waits to be changed. The passed year is not going to come over again. The cold air outside is freezing Kathmandu and day by day it is getting cooler and colder. This heater really works as it burns and heats me up and the cold room.
The chits-chats are locked in the walls or are flown away from the window pane. The call unanswered. The call ignored. The talk so indifferent. The text messages unseen.
A novel yet to be completed ~ Anna Karenina — Oh how I love this love story. But this romantic tragedy pleases me.
One poem by Elizabeth Bishop reminds me always to master the art of losing. I do a lot to adopt this habit or to master the art of losing. Gradually, I am doing. People laughed at me while I lost a cell-phone for the first time ~ I was so normal. But I loved that phone, the snake game was very easy time -pass and I was after all the highest scorer and the “Snake Master”. But nothing pinched me.
And the right-eye is paining because of cold-infection. Every thing is over crowded ~ eyes are overcrowded with the tiny hot salty stream. But the sun has dried it ~ the stream is seasonal. Kohl – plays a great role – it becomes a dam. A strong one. But the eye-colors -I dislike them- they are for happy occasion- but kohl it is for every occasion.
A long walk along busiest New Road — aches the ankle, but the indifference seen pains the heart more. An old woman is seen burning a tiny piece of news paper, and tries to ease the cold, the mother of 3 ~ unknown who’s the father console herself in begging ~ I walk indifferent ~ so indifferent.
A far long wait for December ~ it tears apart the years.
December came with no delight. The wait for it was futile…totally futile.