A Human. Being!

When I was a boy I used to dream kya… um! I still dream hai, its not that I have gone blind or my late night cache memory dumped or tyastai kei, and I am older than the stage of wet dreams hai..(#JK). Ok, when I was a child, child vannale, when I used to say, “Hamro Kung Kung bata pani aauncha ta Nani babai” or the time when I wouldn’t bath or even go to pee without my best friend then (she eventually migrated when I started going school to I don’t know where, so umm! no dirty thinking hai ta!). and it were the days when I was black as a thru rey, my mum says,"Tah ta hernai nahune dhurmus(Dhiki wala hai, suntali don’t hit me) jastai this”ok, lemme say now, when I was a child, I used to dream about becoming a doctor. No offence to doctors who are pad-ding this post,but I don’t remember how mero crush paryo for this profession. All I remember is, if some one asked, “Babu timi thulo vayera k banne?” and I used to say,"Ma ta Thulo vayela doctol banne”.

Then school started. Somehow I managed to wear Jutta, shocks and Tai(oh! it was a torture wearing it), despite not liking any of them. My mom was a hitler when it came to discipline kya(thanks to her), but always I missed out to my sister in the yearly discipline/sarsafai wala award.it was when I saw doctor operating one of my relative, and I was like, “chya kasto ghin lagdo kaam…. ma ta nabanne doctor soctor, baini timi pani nabana hai doctorni soctorni.”

I am inseminated. I am carrying the embryos of Dharhara and Ranipokhari. I have to give birth to new Dharhara and Ranipokhari and a new morning. I fear whether I would be able to reproduce, my innocent fetus might die fighting with the ugly environment and surroundings. Because everything around me is ensnared in indignity. Every Breath I take, I can get the whiff of pollution, pollution in the Name of Terai, hills, caste, religion and Federalism.

But I have a faith, reliance that Dharhara and Ranipokhari will be brought into life some day. The neoteric Ranipokhari won't be enclosed inside the iron pillars and bars, not compelled-not constrained. And it won't be a suicide spot for those who fight with their fate for one flock of land and handful of food. The Dharhara won't be standing forlorn, tired-frowzy and deserted-dejected, and it shouldn’t shed its unremitting tears in the form of Sundhara. I have to give Birth to a spick-and-span and welcome Ranipokhari and a smiling Dharhara.

(From Pravash lamichane’s blog)

(An Onion: Contemplating the Abstract)
Translated by Shikha Lamichhane-Mayer

I met Bangdelji last evening on New Road. “Shankarji”, he says, “I just read your essay, you know that essay ‘Shankar Lamichhane in Shankar Lamichhane’s opinion.’”

“Did you like it?”

“It was entertaining. But too realistic. Why don’t you make the next one a little more abstract”.

“But it is you who paints the abstract. How could I attempt painting at this point in my life.”

“No, …..but what I mean is, why can’t you adopt an abstract style for your ‘pen-picture’?”

I continued to smile.

(Indeed, to know how to smile is a great art in itself. As man matures, he begins to develop infinite shade and nuance in his smiles). So with a smile, I bid Bangdelji goodbye, and shrugged off his suggestion.

Vyatithji was holding the cover design for Himani. In the same way that the name Himani immediately evokes Vyatith’s penmanship, I instantly recognized Bangel’s brushwork. “You use your pen so skillfully”, he says, “you could finish writing something for me in just a day or two, in time to publish this issue for Dasain. You know I am going abroad to do it.”

I continued to smile. (It is an art to know how to smile. Indeed, if you don’t know which smile to employ at the right time, you would suffer as though you were in tears.) With a smile I bid Vyatithji goodbye, and tried to shrug off his suggestion too.

यौटा अनौठो यादमा,

जलिरहेछ मन आज,

खै कस्तो थियो सम्बन्ध हाम्रो;

कुनै शब्द खोज्न सकिन,

सोच्ने गर्थे-कुनै नाम-सर्बनाम चाहिन्न,

आज,

खै कता-कता कुतकुती लगाईराछ ।

न चिनाजानी आवश्यक भयो,

न त वार्तालाप नै,

बेलाबेला चियाएर हेर्ने गर्थे,

आक्कल-झुक्कल जुधे नयन पनि,

थाहै नपाइ कहाँ-कहाँ डेरा जमाइसकिछौ।

जब सम्म समिपमा थिएँ,

यो अल्छि मनले चिन्नै सकेन,

जब टाढा-छितिजपारि आइसके,

बिर्सनै सकिरहेको छैन।

थाह छैन किन हो,

जलिरहेको छ मन आज,

कोहि बिरानोको सम्झनामा ।

(the poem was written in very short time ie. just about 5-10 minutes so this is not all that sahityik.. my apologies to all who might have landed hoping for that.)