Not So Best Friend

Published in The Kathmandu Post on Sep 6, 2015

Picture Courtesy: The Kathmandu Post

Picture Courtesy: The Kathmandu Post

You know how difficult it is to live a wounded life and yet tell the world that you are fine, that you are doing okay. You are suffering, still suffering, and yet you hide all of this. This is difficult, this is goddamned difficult.”
You tell her this.
“Learn to give a damn,” she replies, as usual, sucking on a cigarette. Then she blows the smoke out of her mouth and tries to catch a cloud with her hand. “Sometimes, some things are impossible, so learn to give a damn,” she says.
You are confused about whether you are her primary or secondary smoker: you inhale more than half of the cigarette she sucks on as she blows it out into the air, you try to catch each fume like she does.You are not troubled by the smoking, but you don’t dare smoke yourself, because you don’t want her to start thinking badly of you—or maybe you don’t want the world to start thinking badly of you.These thoughts are characterised by confusion, but you don’t care because these thoughts have been in your mind for too long—every time she smokes in front of you. Something in the way she talks amazes you all the time. Sometimes you find yourself in front of a mirror, trying to imitate her gestures: the way she moves her hands and head. And you know you are going to fail, the same way you fail to smoke as well. You say to yourself, “Come on, that is so not you.”What about that perfect image that you have built through all these years, you think to yourself. You are that perfect woman, and how can you let go of that? The thought of it scares you, and you suddenly see yourself in multiple pieces. You have to recollect the puzzle pieces that make you and make yourself perfect again. You have to smile in front of the mirror. But your feet start trembling, you can’t stop. You remember the dark black Americano you had with her.
You think of telling her everything that happened to you with the mirror and the puzzle pieces, so that she can calm you down. But you also know that she will take it easily and a cigarette talk with her will make you completely fine—you need not share it. And you wait for the next time you see her.  You become desperate in the waiting for her to come. You will never tell her how you actually feel—and she will not make you tell her either. She will not ask anything, unless you ask her to ask you anything. Alas, you think, she might never know how you say yourself fall into a myriad of pieces.
You never ask her anything, and she never asks you anything, but you have the feeling that she is curious, that she will go into the depth of everything she really wants to know. You sometimes lie to her and she accepts these lies, but you know she knows you’re lying. This is when she takes you along with her on one of her cigarette breaks, because she wants you to suffer.
“You have to either bear or share,” she seems to say. Continue reading

Prem Srem at Galli Salli

It was her on the phone: “Bring my photo and silver sikri and come to the galli.

May be the year was 1985. It was an obscure time to love.

With a lump in his throat, he opened his old steel box. He had glued her photograph onto a cardboard and punched a hole through which he slung her silver sikri, for safekeeping. It was his favorite, but it belonged to her


“At the Galli, I saw her with a bunch of women. Their faces blurry like photographs of moving objects . My heart and eyes were focused on her. Only her”


“I borrowed 10 rupees for a taxi, called him through a public phone , gathered my friends to demand myself back.”


That evening at the galli,she left him. He didn’t say a word. He was giving himself away too.


Then, one fine Falgun evening, he wrapped an American Cross ballpoint pen in a shiny paper, put on his ironed white shirt, black pants, polished shoes and walked through the same galli to get to the place where her wedding band played.

( This is my first try to write something Post Modern though it is very small. It was written for a Project called Galli Galli and published in the Kathmandu Post)

Walkers III

We were at the cross roads and we meet often at the crossroads of life. There is enough distance between us now. Unnoticed are we, by each other. Pretending as if, we have never seen each other in life. As if we never walked along together. BUT we both know we did. We walked along, surpassing boundaries, feelings and sometimes ourselves. We walked. We had walked. We dreamed. We had dreamed. In thousands of dreams, only one gets fulfilled. Did I trespassed your heart? or is it you who trespassed mine? Or we both did and we both are guilty of it? And is it because of that we are facing forever painful “boil” in our life.

Memories are now locked as in Pandora’s box. One by one, if I open it it stings, bites and wounds time and again. Difference is such that, Pandora’s box ended up with “Hope”, but you forgot to gift me hope. Heavy are eyes with sleep. But there is no wish in these eyes to sleep. I want to wake up. I want to open this box of memories that you gifted while you moved away. Was our meeting only a coincidence? Diving over the ocean of memories suffocates me.
Continue reading


Parasmani ~ the touch of yours turns iron into gold or anything into gold ~ how can I not chose to turn into gold for the single touch of yours? 

Here we are again~ the bank of Sunkoshi welcomes us. You can call me “Sunkeshari” today ~ the eternal princess, as the golden rays of eternally glowing sun has lighted up my hair today. Something is special today I feel ~I look at the mirror of the flowing Sunkoshi and try to fix my hair, put a veil because I want to keep you waiting to see me, feel me and praise ~ beautiful me~ today? The face glows today because it is the first day of my womanhood. The moment is just that I have just left my childhood back and have taken a step forward to become a woman, your woman. One thing is to be done by you~ the unlocking of my womanhood, without which I can’t move forward.

The morning is growing slowly with the sky turning crimson and rosy. The sun is spreading its color all over sky and it feels like the sky is menstruating for the first time. The sun has just arrived and washed its crimson face into Sunkoshi and is slowly and gradually turning golden.  Continue reading

Walkers- II

The wind blew and took away the footprints, but the footprints in the heart are eternal ..

The wind blew and took away the footprints, but the footprints in the heart are eternal ..

Yesterday was mystical, today is real. The fantastic world is dimmed now and it seems foggy. The walk is over and moments are always eternal. While, I start reminiscing the walk it gives a chill in my bones. Why we were talking in silence that day?  Somebody had told me silence speaks more than words, it happened so. The silence communicated, bounded the lives together by a weak-strong thread. Weak in the sense, it broke as the tomorrow came and strong in the sense though it broke it bounded us together for ever.

The blood in my veins ran so fast, but the feet were slow, that day. I can remember the intense flow of blood in the veins, had u felt the same? I can remember that you never looked at me with a straight eye; neither had you spoken a word in my admiration nor you asked how I was feeling. I was burning with intense passion that day and till today. Yes, I am burning till today like the wax which continues to melt on and on with the flame. You lighted the flame in me ~ the flame of eternal wait. The flame never stops. It burns on and on, till the eternal. I can never trace the fact that whether you are burning like me or not?

I tried hard to stop myself even while we were walking in the moonlight trying to reach the Goddess of love ~ the great Mayadevi, Continue reading


A blow of wind will rub away these footprints away... (taken by me 🙂

A wind passing through us was separating us, we were burning inside with a fire so hot ~in the darkest night on earth. We walked through the pines ( may not be pines) , in between a nicely paved road which was now being cooled with the serene moon light. Thousands of feet must had stepped over the road that lead straightly to the temple of  the goddess of love  ~ What were we thinking when we were silently walking when the stars where showering the light along with moon which was working more than a torch light. It was almost dark and we were walking so unknowingly~ I in my own way of my dreams~ Stepping over each petal of dreams and moving ahead to the goddess of love.

But something stops me. I feel annoyed. I fight with myself with something burning in my heart. Nervousness had gripped me, my head. But the soul was fighting to walk more and directed the feet “Walk- Walk” you have to reach to the place where the Goddess was welcoming with an open arm to embrace.

May be his soul directed the same. He was faster than I was.

The wind between us starts to blow very fast, just like the fast breath I was inhaling. I was trying to catch his pace of walking. He walks silently does not looks at me. He was two steps ahead of me. I could see him, his figure in so black and white  in the starry night. The sublime starry sky could inscribe our walk there but in the morning it will bid a good bye ~the very morning we also had to bid a goodbye to the road which we had steeped thousands of time.

We changed the direction~ Continue reading

All that’s dream -I

( This is my first try to write Stream of Consciousness Technique of writng trying to make what I am learning at college these days and of which I have been always fascinate. In  Stream of Conscious technique the writer gives the direct access to the characters mind or psyche without intervention. In this technique the sense perception mingles with conscious and sub-conscious thought.

(Here goes the story )

“It was a simple hug , nothing had happened more than that. For you it was simple hug but for me it was ecstasy that I had felt”. Oh! I had felt that. Shame oh!! shame, how can I think of other man now.

She has dream, I have dream, the birds running freakly has dream, the flowers have dream, the dream of colouring the petals with most beautiful collage, the fly , the moth, the dog and her babies , the girl who has her hais pigtail may have her own dream, the mother running to catch the bus of her children may have her own dream. They all can dream, dream the world they want to live and in which they live.

“I too can dream , Can’t I”

It lasted few seconds but the warmth of the hug was awesome. My hands are getting colder, I am blushing now. But why I am blushing now. I am feeling the heat in the spine. But why I am feeling this heat. I think my eybrows need threading now. Oh! what about the milk boiling in the kitchen. Hurry ! Hurry ! run !! run !!. Thank god it had not boiled over……..

Pigtail hair mom used to tie, ironed smart dress, a tiffin box with the delicious macaroni in it. How I used to eat that before the lunch time, sometime even when the teacher was teaching, oh the lips are streching now. The smart look, the heavy bag which disappointed me. The books that I used to forget and the punishment to stand up in the bench. Those were the days, days of the perfect life.

See!! how my hands are wrinkled now. Dear O’ Dear My face is wrinkled too. I think I need to buy that excellent wrinkle-lift cream.

Oh! that hug was awesome……..

How that arms had grabbed me, my body and I was unable to move but I was able to feel. How much I was suffocating because of my chest pressed in that chest.

Hello, Whos speaking ? Oh ! Samrita have you been, hows the little boy. Well, I am fine. Did he started calling you mom ? and Hows Bidhan, give my regards to him. Take care dearie, yes I will to take care. Bye Bye..See you soon.

The air so fresh today, it is so cool and making me feel the chill. I would have love the chill but…Its too cold today. I am feeling so romantic.

I think he is home….

You arrived too early today ??

Yes, today I am little unwell, said Bardan. What have you cooked ? I am so hungry, today.

I have, well nothing but will give you a hot coffee first then I shall cook, till then you be fresh.

I have brought you something, Dilasha…come here.

Wow!! A diamond Necklace, Bardan you must be crazy but I am really happy. I shall wear it in Binita’s marriage. Oh I ….Oh I …….

That hug was awesome.

This necklace is beautiful too. Let me wear it once. Oh this suits me a lot, hey my neck has been wrinkled too. Oh dear this necklace doesn’t looks beautiful. This is so ugly, this necklace is so ugly. He must not have brought this ugly necklace. I am not wearing it anymore.


People here and people there. They are carrying fire in their hand. Chanting anti-royalist slogans. I am closing my ears. Oh they are violent. They are throwing stones. The Newroad is tensed too. Basantapur..they are gathering there. Police are there, women, men, tramp like children.

I need to buy so many things. I think I lost the list Bardan has given me. Oh again he shall shout like last time-: “You don’t have mind or what, can’t you do anything nice”.

Oh that warmth was awesome. The hug, that made me feel so cool eventhough the blood in my veins were so hot. The passions were so ecsatic…

Oh I need to go home now…I think I can’;t buy anything in this market….

Better go home

Taxi!!!! Taxi!!!


( The story will be concluded in next part )

Beyond The Illusions “Review”


Yes, the book is wacky but it is wonderful too. It took me a long time to finish. It was hard to read but I succeded to finish the book.

The work of the Nepali writer Sheeba Shivangani Shah is really appreciable. The novel however lacks many things. The main thing it lacks is the flow. (This might be my personal feeling). The language is too awkward too. Hard to understand and more than this hard to believe is the tantric practices.

Beyond the illusions is a novel which somehow makes you contemplate in the sense that it teaches us the way towards godhood and also urges us to find god within self. However the shocking evidences inside an ashram is hard to believe.

The writer has done a lot of hard work that is really appreciable. The hard work lies in providing us the truth of Tantric practices, the evidences and the real events. I read her interview as well and yes it is true the writer had really worked hard to bring this book.

The Novel is about the search for the true self, the god inside our soul within us, our own longing for the eternal truth, the bliss and the point of Nirvana. Bharavi, the protagonist happens to suffer so much and at the end she is able to find god within herself. The story blend of fact and fiction seems to be awesome but it is kind of soft porn, really hard to read and even sometimes unreadable.

The family tragedy at one place, the love and longing for a husband and the desire of wife and again the reversing story is wonderful. How Jayanta ( Bharavi’s Husband ) happens to leave his home in search of the Nirvana, and how Bharavi leaves her home to find and bring back Jayanta to the normal self but happens is just opposite, Bahravi finds out the Nirvana, who was never in search of it and Jayanta chooses normal Life in the end.

 I felt pang when I read about molestation and abuse of female body such that it sounds unnatural and totally unreadable and also that happening in Tantra, unimaginable. It was really hard to believe the sexual activities involved in tantra.

The character Sadashiva lacks poetic justice for he receives death untimely, with the hand of the same creator who had held his hands when he was helpless and had become his gaurdian, his Guru. There I felt, if Bharavi had the powers then she should have stopped Swami killing his own loved disciple and also the one who loved and cared Bhairavi like nothing.

Moreover I enjoyed reading. The things about Kali fascinated me like nothing. It was really nice to learn to find god within myself. We should really appreciate this book for what it is. It is nice to read ….I must say I enjoyed reading and when I finished reading I said to myself -: Thank God I could complete.

P.S. Happy reading