Kathmandu

I miss you

despite your dirty streets

pollution in the air

that flares my nostrils

I even love

countless hours of load shedding you have

I love your darkened streets

I love your candle lit homes

Where we all hunch together to talk

Where we switch of television and

suddenly 'channel war' between siblings

cease to exist

I love you for your spontaneity

Everyday when I am out of my home to work

I can never predict

whether I will reach to work in time

One single incident

like a bike

hit by a car

turns into a 'class war'

in few minutes

Tyres burning all around

Slogans

In an hour, we face 'Bandhas'

I even love these

"Bandhas'

When I can sit back

and blame all those

good for nothing politicians

Life is surely hard

Dark

Dangerous

in Kathmandu

But never for a minute

it lulls us into nothingness

There is always something to be angry about

There is always something to be happy about

And aren't these emotions important!

That is what keeps us alive after all

These strong emotions,

for me, it is a sign that I live

In contrast,

Imagine living in a city

When everyday,

You know that you are going to reach to work in time

when everyday you take the same bus

Or same train

You never speak

Everyone has a book to read

No one shouts and no one screams

There is however always a blank stare

That tells me 'you do not belong'

In Kathmandu, I dare to shout

When I am in a crowd of people

I lose myself,

But also there are stares that follows me

There are gossips that tracks me

I am 'someone' in Kathmandu

Thus, It is Kathmandu where I belong

Where I eat 'chana chatpate' on the way to campus

Where I haggle and bargain for 2 Rs

Where I get wet when car passes by me and

bestows me with a muddy water

Then I shout

Then I curse

and move along

Yes, it is Kathmandu

Where I truly belong

A Life like story

As we live on, we go on making stories. About ourselves, about other people. Sometimes, we are the main characters, other times, a minor part in someone else's bigger stories, tumutulous stories. Story of my life is is uni directional. There is no abrubpt halt or amazing twists and turns. Just the regular process, I guess and that is what hinders me to write poems anymore.........

But I remember one of my friend's life, I sometimes still reflect on her life, on what she did, why she did and what it meant. She this woman, who I highly admire, slightly despise, let me call her 'S'.

We were buddies, going college together. A member of our gang, who were recognized as 'studious lunies' who haunt the libraries, but not so dull as to remain there all the time. We were the loudest ones in the cafe. We were the ones who would participate in poetry recitation. Sometimes in a whim we even did a political demonstration, obstructing group of men to give their examination. Our campus was always an exam center, thus we were 'supposed' to be annoyed for this lack of regularity in our studies.

How many people were there in a group? I forgot. Well, I was somewhere in between this two I guess. One was this group belonging to 'Kathmanduits', studious group of girls, who knew everything ranging from pop to mills boon novles to getting top in classes. Then, I was also in another, ' Journalistic'. all of us were interns in some paper or another. And this is where the story starts.

It is just a story, from my eyes. I don't know whether I should write it. Will she be identified? I don't know. I just can't beleive what I think of this story, sad or happy, it is somewhere in between. Something I will never be able to fathom. something, she did I would have never dared to do. That's why I secretly admire her, and may be that is why I slightly despise her.

But after all, thats her story, her life. I have no right to tell it, I decide. Even, my life story is not mine anymore and I doubt whether I have full right to share it. There are so many people around it with conflicting views and interpretations that it will never become a story enough.

Anyways, now its time to stop pretending that I am working and stop writing this..............more later to come