Quest for name and fame

Written few weeks ago, still unedited, lacking enthusiasm to edit it anyway. This speaks about me, and lot of other people. But I was uncomfortable to post it as I thought it will be directly linked with me. But now, I don't want to deny my quest for finding my own 'niche', doing something good for the world, being known as expert of at least one obscure thing. What can anyone do anything new anyway? Americans have already been to moon, Arundhati Roy already wrote a book that got her booker Prize. So, is there nothing left to be done? That's what plagues most of us ordinary beings, who just dream, who do not work, but just aspire to be someone without doing nothing. I am trying my best not to be end up like this.

When one is surrounded
by Whiz kids
by role models
by Heroes ( including women)
There is always a gnawing thought inside
That eats me little everyday

I see my hair graying
My body expanding
A slow realization dawns
I have become nothing
I have become no one

I have not been able to leave my marks
I will not be in pages of history
I will not be remembered
I will not be applauded

I have not found my 'niche'

I am not an expert of
a single obscure issue

What is this
This quest for fame
This quest for name
That restlessly pushes me

Isn't that is what pushes
our power hungry politicians
Our religious fanatic gurus
Our savvy stars

But then, do we work
just for its sake
or for its rewards?

Poem is just about anything. I saw one lady crying in WIRE office, I don't know the reason. I could not find out. But still, I find the idea fascinating that she after all came to the right place, where she will be listened to. Sometimes, women need a space to cry, just to cry and cry.

Life is a pain

at times

things go wrong

Problems pile up

one after another

One disaster complements another

I cannot bear it anymore

I cannot hide it anymore

I cannot ignore it anymore

I need someone to talk to

But I was alone

No one to ask

No one to talk to

I wish I had

just someone to hold on

Someone just to listen to me

While I cry

Someone to hand over the

tissue

and say' I know'

'I understand'

'I know what you feel'

But where is this person

Who would listen to me

even without knowing me

Without judging

Without prejudice

Then walking over

to get coffee

in lonsdale street

Busy street of melbourne

I just entered into WIRE

Someone asked me there

'How are you'

That caring voice

opened the flood within me

I cried

I cried

and I cried even more

I had reached the right place

to be listened

not to be helped

to enable me to 'help myself'

This poem is dedicated to one of my very good friend, Handun. Thank you dear for all that you have been to me. Even poems cannot express!

Someday

Somewhere

Discovering someone

who is 'no one'

in the beginning

and gradually with succession of

lunch, laughter and 'girl talk'

we gradually bond

How long does it take

for stranger to

turn into 'friends'

and then again 'friends'

to turn into 'best friends'

Is it a slow progression

that happens over discussion of

recipes

academic discussion

personal dilemmas

With you it happened

With abrupt halts and progression

It happened slowly

Gradually

Our friendship is growing

Blooming

Mellowing

But yes,

'goodbye' time is coming too

But, It is just a physical separation

In my corner of heart

You will always remain

In a safe compartment

You have a room of your own

Which no one can claim

Different culture

Different taste

Different countries

Different language

Different personalities

Yet friendship happens

It is because of you

that this 'unknown' land is

not strange anymore

I am gradually feeling

that I 'belong' here

Another recovered one again! I am excavating and opening some closed closets and finding some treasures, which are my own! well may be dream for anthology is not that far now! good!

This time,
When we meet,
I will ask no questions,
And don't you offer any answers.
Just let the thudding beat of hearts,
Speak the language of passion.

I will lock the past in closet.
And don't you probe,
the future prospects.
Lets not wear watch that day,
Let our feelings set its own timing.

Let's not speak,
Let the silence prevail.
And let it remain that way,
Soft and cool.
Hiding the burning desire,
Beneath that facade.

But EYES!
our eyes,
Will decode that hidden message.
It will interpret all those silent years of longing and waiting.

Something profound will happen that day.
The hidden volcano,
Buried inside our heart,
The lava of love
Will spill out.
BANG!
EXPLOSION!
Everything will be submerged in throes of passion.

So, what's the use of these
Questions and answers.
Of past and future.
Of problems and solutions.
Of certainity and confusions.

That instant moment,
Everything will be clear.
Everything!!!

But that day,
Oh! that day,
When would be that day?
Perhaps, this november

It was somewhere in between the year of 2004 I wrote this I am sure. I laugh while I read this. I recovered it suddenly! amazingly!

.....................................................
I am sick and weary
Of hoping and coping.
With your inbearable attitude,
And I am myself
Tired of this waiting,
Caring and raving,
For your little words,
small kindness
And tiny gestures.

Now at this point,
I find myself asking.
Why me? always me?
To start something,
To share something.
Yes, it has been me all along.

You are always,
Shut like a clam.
Speaking nothing.
Like a dark mirror,
You reveal nothing.

Ok, be the way you are.

But, I am tired of this game.
I am sick of this,
Role of faithful admirer of yours.

It's time, I start beleiving,
That no mattter how much anyone tries,
It's impossible to ,
Love without condition.

I am tired of this,
Self-sacrificing love.
I am afraid.
To turn into martyr.

Something in my heart,
Breaks now.
I hear a silent crash.
Yes, my dreams have broken.
Faiths have shaken.
And my positive attitude has,
Desolved in thin air.
Which I had rebuild after such a long time.

My thoughts are always,
Full of gloom and doom.
And I am desperately worried.
That's why I sent you that message,
" Don't worry, be happy"

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

This is something i wrote long time ago, in my ' lonely abroad days'. I rediscovered it suddenly shuffling pages of my old diary. My eyes are still moist!

In this train
that goes somewhere
I am going nowhere
reaching nowhere

Without you
There is no journey
I am travelling towards a big void

I came from somewhere
to reach nowhere
It seems my life is
just standstill

It is just same morning
That I don't want to wake up to
I don't have your loving embrace
to refresh me

I have no one
Here, in this 'abroad'
To share, to care

This long distance love
based on emails
and occasional minute calls

I live only in these moments
your words ,
news from home.

I see shubham in your words
I am hugging him through your words

My son far away
from my bosom,
from my embrace

I am just a far distant voice
for him in a mobile phone
I see his childhood growing
in my husband's emails

Each year
at this day,
Present year ends
and new year begins
In between that,
We grow little older
Little saner
Lets not talk about big changes
But think big with small deeds
Each year,
Lets review
What we were
What we are
And what we will be
Each year in wake of change
Lets review
Ourselves
Lets search that inner voice within us
To discover our true selves

Happy New Year 2066

What am I avoiding

and thus what I am confronting!

Something is going down the drain

Something is missing

Something is being destroyed

Something precious

as we both recognize

Something we are killing

softly

with our indifference

With our 'small talk'

of trivial matters

Price of Stupidity!

what is the price

One can pay for

Stupidity

For not knowing

an outcome

For every mistake done,

It is not mistake in the beginning

Rather it is a possibility

which might either turn into success

Or failure

or something that is neither

but in the middle of both

So, if one does not dare

One does not risk

What will be the outcome

No actions

No outcome!

No risks

No mistakes

Thus,

I paid a price today

Literally something big

but still small for peace of my mind

I should let this go!

Dollar

Dollar Dollar

A price in dollars

Converted to Nepali don't know

how much it would be

Thus, I am speaking

Literally and figuratively

At this moment,

I am just thinking

Of various other prices

I have paid for daring

For thinking

For taking risks

But I would continue doing it

I know

But I would have rather liked

to pay this 'huge' price

to someone who had truly

benefited from it

I wished I could have a choice

to give it like 'donation'

Be a saint outside

while hiding my sin within

Isn't what people do all the time

at least some group of people

committing sins all their life

being corrupted

And when end approaches

They wish to go to pilgrimage

Take a bath in 'ganga'

to wash of their sins?

Suddenly, this came over me, while writing my data when my participants discuss about their labour pain. I was astounded by the fact that how reluctant Nepali women are to admit how hard it is to give birth and face labour pain. It is because I argue that we are always taught to embrace pain. As one of my participant says, ' you have to accept pain, you are a woman'. Hence here is a poem, or rather a ranting about pain!!

It is a pain

to be a womanand

yet to pretend that

there is no pain

Every month

for four days

Pain comes in different forms

impurity

untouchability

It seems

women are saddled by whole world of pain

Women, are said

to be lucky to be able to give birth

Some women, on pretentious voice

say, 'it is wonderful'

to be pregnant

to have labour pain

to give birth

But we never admit

It is pain,

To carry a bulk within you

being responsible for it always

because 'child always comes first'

Hundreds of 'ante natal' classes

yoga

breathing exercises

would never prepare you to face

pain during labour

However it is lessened

when you join the chorus

of other women who are crying with pain

In hospital room

Where it is ignored

Shouted at

Suppressed

Bullied

But we cry from pain nonetheless

We form sudden empathy and support

Us, who chose to

And who did not chose to

somehow are united

with this pain

that we carry with us.

It is pain all over

that happens in our body

That happens within us

and around us

It is pain in raw level

And yet, we need to embrace this pain

Understand it

Accept it

That way, it becomes

Part of us

Then, it is no more alien

No more different

Difficult but yet acceptable

Motherhood: Academic and Personal

I have always believed 'personal is political', being a feminist. But taking that to next level, I am now experiencing 'personal is academic'. While mulling over research topic for my master's theses, the topic of motherhood appealed so much to me because I was a mother and I was facing difficulty in coming terms with it, because in a way when I decided to go ahead with further studies, I left my son. I was 'imperfect mother', 'selfish', 'career oriented'. But still, I craved for my son, I wanted to be with him but yet I knew within that i need to pursue my dreams.

That is why, I was searching for topic relating to 'difficult motherhood' like myself. Then, I came across some articles relating to Maoist women being mothers. I was immensely interested how these women experienced motherhood. They were not conventional mothers, the epitome of love and care. These women, who were combatants often went to the battlefield carrying their babies. How did they do it, how did they feel about it. I wanted to explore. It was one important way for me to make sense of my own feelings towards motherhood.

I did 10 in-depth interviews with Maoist mothers and now I am analyzing my data. I feel that I feel so closer to myself when I am working on this topic. I feel comfortable. Something rings true when these women speak to me about their experiences of leaving their children with their relatives, sometimes even strangers to ensure the safety of their child. I am still figuring out, how they see themselves as mothers. Do they face the mental battle of 'am I a good/bad mother' as most women do. How does the social beliefs about Nepali motherhood impact upon their thinking? How does the Maoist party's discourses and propoganda shape their thinking and practices of their motherhood. Well, I am going on, moving on.....................

Complexities of Parenting

This whole morning, I did not read and write a single word. We had to take Shubham to the doctor with guilty thought that he may have serious injury in his leg. We stopped trusting our instincts, we sort of blamed ourselves for what happened. My husband even had a similar dream. What a big burden parenting is at times, being totally responsible for someone so little and tender!

I am now back in my room with a great relief that he was absolutely alright and there was no serious problem. I can now work perhaps. I still haven't got my lunch. I will write and read something first and then get a go on my thesis. What a day it has been! whew!

Msytery Vs Reality

When one needs something big to do

but with very little to start with

To build a house of ideas

how to gather these small thoughts

together in a coherent way?

in structured arguments

thoughtful paragraphs

well written sentences!

I can't see piece by piece

I see things in whole

A full image

at back of my mind

scares me

what if

what i am writing

doesn't turn true to my

imagined 'image'

But still,

i must move on

tackle one step at a time

a long length of stairs

which are not ascending

but that moves ahead

with lots of bumps and holes

And there are no short cuts

We will arrive best

If we take the longer way

Harder way

They say, 'it pays most'

but How?

Still in this muddle of confusion

Still hanging around

Hovering somewhere in between

Cloud of realities!

I hope I could get back to

Mystery

A stage,

Where I wouldn't know

Where I am going

How

Why

All the suspense

Breaking down

at that final point

That anticipation

That excitement

Its not here at all

Empowerment and subjugation

Its time I slept anyway, but there is this thought in back of my mind and i wanted to make good use of it. Yesterday I had attend women's meeting in monash and I started talking a lot about Nepali women's issues and problems. Everyone was interested and wanted to learn more about that. I talked about domestic violence, women's trafficking, sexual violence and lot other issues and problems that Nepali women face, and I got an impression, or perhaps created an impression that all nepali women are subjugated, dominated and lacking of agency.

Then, I wonder whether I am turning into someone who by depicting other's owe makes a living for herself. It has always been trend that us 'western-educated' academics, professionals make out a living by 'selling' poverty and misery of people of our country.

I just need to strongly be aware that every time I talk about Nepali women, I should also talk about success stories, some women who have found empowerment, agency within structures that has hold them down: angur baba joshi, sapana pradhan malla, ram kumari jhankri, mandira sharma. Women, who have risen above their every day life and personal problems and done something really remarkable for nepali women over all. I have not been able to be one of these examples, but the best I can hope is at least I need to make it clear that I did get opportunities to be what I am today. My parents controlled me but they never discouraged me to have career. My husband has certain ideas, but I would not be where I am today without his support. So, even in a patriarchal society, there is some space, some opportunity for agency, for empowerment

http://www.nepalitimes.com.np/issue/337/Nation/13273
NationGirls of even worse character The Chelis are back with a new Declaration CHARITRAHEEN CHELIS
FROM ISSUE #337 (23 FEB 2007 - 01 MARCH 2007)
We, a hardline faction of the underground group, Charitraheen Chelis (Girls of Bad Character), have broken off and declared Nepali women autonomous.
Our breakaway faction, Jhan Charitraheen Cheli (Girls of Even Worse Character), roundly denounces the members of the original Charitraheen Cheli (See #171, #240.)
"The chelis of our mau-samuha (mother-group) did not behave badly enough," says one member of the Jhan Charitraheen Cheli. "Most are happily married, with well brought-up children. Two chelis have a steady boyfriend-meaning, one each, not one in common. And the others don't like men, or even women," she complains. "For example, after the 2005 coup they called for a sex boycott till the reinstatement of democracy-but they forgot to call off the boycott after April 2006! We take this as a grave conspiracy," she adds, explaining, "that is why we had to break away and start our own underground group."
The first meeting of the Jhan Charitraheen Cheli took place mid-February in a seedy bar in Kathmandu. Our first agenda was to revisit the 40-points declaration made by our mau-samuha on 4 March, 2005, through their official mouthpieces, Nepali Times and Kantipur, both edited by dishy men. We discovered that the 40 points are pretty damn good, especially Point No. 1, which asserts our right to take up agendas solely on the basis of our wishes and needs.
After re-passing our mau-samuha's 40 points' declaration, we progressed on to other, more timely matters. Our twelve-point declaration is as follows:
1. Make love, not regression! We declare that the sex boycott is comprehensively over retroactive to April 2006, but only for those of the loktantrik persuasion. 2. Vision 50/50: No penises in parliament! We demand that until 50 percent of seats in parliament are reserved for women of diverse backgrounds, women of diverse backgrounds should occupy all 100 percent of parliamentary seats. 3. Naturalise foreign jwais! One of our brave chelis has volunteered to sacrifice her independence (temporarily) to marry a foreign man, only to seek full naturalisation and citizenship rights for bideshi jwais (foreign sons-in-law). Qualified candidates, please apply with CV, photo, and statistics. 4. 40 is better than 33! We applaud the CPN-M for filling 40 percent of their parliamentary seats with women. But why not 50 percent? 5. And what's with the grey coats? We've noticed Maoist women open their mouths only to repeat the same carefully rehearsed party-approved lines. Ladies, we invite you to speak your minds freely. Unleash yourself from all uniformity. Start by getting rid of those awful coats. 6. Whipping is for brutes! Women of all political parties, defy all whips placed by your party denying women's rights. 7. New leadership for the New Nepal! We nominate Ram Kumari Jhankri as the first President of Nepal. 8. Turn the National Women's Commission into a constitutional body! But first, fill 50 percent of the positions in the Constitutional Council (which forms all constitutional bodies) with women. If not, fill all 100 percent of the positions with women. 9. Don't forget what makes the world go around! We unanimously declare the sexiest man in Nepal to be Sunil Babu Pant of the Blue Diamond Society. 10. Donors, back off! All your projects and networks and alliances and seminars are keeping our best women too busy to lead the women's movement. Their country needs them more than your country reports do. 11. Give it up! We demand that all our demands be met by 8 March, International Women's Day, or else we will declare a nationwide chulo-ra-cholo banda. That's right, boys: no food, and no sex for you. Nada. Zip. 12. Following the example of other successful rebel groups before us, we are fully prepared to come aboveground to take part in negotiations, should the government invite us for talks. Jaya Nari! The Jhan Charitraheen Chelis

Women's Room in Monash
It is a space,
created for women
by women!

sometimes sought in solitude
sometimes found in group
sometimes, just when we are doing nothing
sometimes, when we are doing something

sometimes, just to be there, to lie down
to read,
to write,
to paint,
to sing!
or sometimes, just do nothing
but to be there!!

I am regular visitor of women's room in monash campus centre, a space, created by women just women. But everytime I went there, I was there, myself all alone, and I kind of liked that in a way. I would lie down, pick up a feminist book and just read for pleasure to read. Other day, when struck with mensutral cramp or lousy headache, it was the only place in monash i could lie down without being embarrased for being spotted by someone.

Today, Steph had organized the morning tea discussions about violence against women. It was so interesting to talk about issues of violence against women in Nepal. In the beginning, I felt, oh! how am I going to connect with so many different women with so many different views, will I be listened to? Will I listen to them. Then, gradually, we started discussing and the meeting finally escalated to interesting phase with an arrival of a wonderful friend from singapore,who shared her life story, with so much wisdom, wit and humour. We were bonded together. I wish to continue to go there, to this cozy space again!

Spiritual empowerment
Angur Baba Joshi

Nepal and the Nepali people are passing through one of the most critical periods of history. No wonder there is an air of urgency all around. A new constitution of the people, by the people and for the people is to be made within a stipulated time frame. Amid so many urgent problems staring at both the people and the government, everyone from top to bottom seem busy in one way or another, trying to sort out problems on a priority basis. Much, of course, depends on their sense of discrimination in prioritizing the issues; but one of the non-controversial facts is that maximum input on a multidimensional basis is required to empower the women, Dalits, Janajati and other marginalized sections of Nepali society. While discussing the issue of empowerment, one issue which lies at the root of many problems but unfortunately has not received the attention it deserves, is the subject of Deekshya which includes all the basic directive principles of human conduct. Solutions proposed to solve human problems disregarding this fundamental issue is like watering the leaves and branches of a tree instead of its roots. This is exactly what has happened and is happening in the process of solving political, social or economic problems. This applies to the question of women's empowerment as well. It is very encouraging that the issue of women's multi-dimensional empowerment has by now becone a very well accepted principle. Both in words and partly in action, women's education and training programs, women's equal rights to property, legal reforms, income- generating projects for women, increasing the woman's representation at different levels of government, etc are being promoted at the government and the non-governmental levels. It is all very good indeed. In fact, all these have to be expanded on a much wider scale. However one basic factor is always neglected. Knowledge of so many subjects and/or situations and circumstances are included in the system of education. Encouragement is always given to try for good marks in exams, compete well and get a good job with good salary, earn money (sometimes even by hook or by crook as well!) rear the family and enjoy life. Yes, money is essential in life up to certain level; and it is money which can give comfort and convenience in life. But money and the things that money can buy is not enough to gain peace, happiness, joy and fulfillment which is the ultimate goal of human life across the globe irrespective of sex, creed, color or nationality. All else -- position, power, professions, purse, prestige -- are but different means to achieve that goal. For this, something more is needed than money without which, despite tremendous efforts and possession of material prosperity, people cannot be really happy and fulfilled What is this something? At the highest spiritual level it is Self-Realization; but at the ordinary level, it is Deekshya, the directive principles of human conduct which direct the public how to conduct themselves at both at private and official levels, how to make the best use of the knowledge and capabilities they have acquired through education and experience , to realize at an experiential level (not just what other people think or talk about on the basis of what they see outside) continuous peace, happiness and fulfillment. Comparatively speaking this issue is more important in formulating plans and implementing programs for women's empowerment because women are going to be mothers and have the natural responsibility to care and rear future generations and to instill in their young hearts the directive principles of Deekshya, so that they too will enjoy the life they deserve. The directive principles of human conduct indicated by Deekshya, just as the directive principle of a constitution, directs the practitioner to the path of real success in life without the supposed inevitable price of stress, strain, tension and restlessness, the most common symptoms of modern life. These principles are not the monopoly of any particular religion or sect. They are the common eternal universal human values supported and promoted by all the living religions of the world. For instance, speak the truth is a non-controversial directive. Do not steal (it includes all corruption!) is another non-controversial directive. Similarly, purity at physical, mental and intellectual levels, to keep one's sense organs under control, patience, spirit of forgiveness, intelligence equipped with the power of discrimination (just intelligence, even the dacoits have!), knowledge of all physical, mental, intellectual and spiritual aspects of human existence, to serve the needy and the deprived, not to be angry (even the medical science has discovered that anger is bad for human health), to continue one's self-study, to observe familial and social norms in one's behavior etc, all these are included in the basic directive of human conduct for a happy, fulfilled and joyful life. The issue of women empowerment is a national issue and a multi-dimensional one. Therefore it cannot be pigeon-holed as an issue of a particular sector. Women have to be empowered in all sectors: political, economic, social, cultural and human. Much is being talked about, planned, programmed and implemented in four of these fields except in the field of promoting human values as mentioned above. It is conveniently forgotten that only a good human being, a woman or a man, can make a good political leader, an honest competent and committed administrator, successful teacher or a dutiful citizen, and eventually a happy person. Deekshya is the most effective man-making technique and it lies at the root of all other development activities. Therefore Deekshya has to be included as an inevitable and integral part of the system of education and all training and public-awareness programs. It is an essential ingredient in the development of human personality, and more so for the empowerment of women. The empowered woman have to be physically fit, emotionally balanced, intellectually sharp and discriminating and spiritually enlightened, and prone to positive thinking with good character and behavior, and capable of harnessing their maximum potentialities for a happy and joyful life for themselves, for their families, society and the nation. And Deekshya empowerment delivers just that.Posted on: 2009-03-07 20:46:56 (Server Time

VERY EARLY MORNING

It was pure euphoria today, when i arrived this morning in my office, which was virtually empty except one night bird who is bit of rare sight here. So, i was up here, this morning, but of course, with one hour of checking emails ( I am no executive who gets hundreds of email), i rarely get few and got one disappointing one in the morning. Thank god, my shame is shared only by two people. Hey guys, keep your mouth shut alright. Thank god, I had not told my supervisor! and SCO, oh lucky me, my shame is safe with me.

anyways, lunch time is hovering near. So, i can only see food, but I am not that hungry what to do? Want to browse M M place to see if there's anything worthwhile, got to get present for N, want to surprise her!!

I have a deadline, which ends @ 4. I still need to write another 1,00o and see what i am doing, i am writing my blog, how stupid one can get

I need to stop fooling around and stop working. How is it that someday, as deadlines approach, you mind is so stuck that you can barely write. What am I trying to avoid, don't know.

Writing to Dizzu on Emotional Level

Dizzu, I have been struggling to write an article about you. How do I write about you? What topic do I choose, there are hundreds of them. I would never be able to write about you, as words will never be enough. That is why, I am relying on emotions. It is only through emotions, I feel that I can connect with you and can write what I want to write.

You are extraordinary but yet amazingly enough, you have always behaved like an ordinary with ordinary people like me. You are always grounded, close to earth, no pretence, no ‘ego’, no ‘surface level’ talks. Each person in your life feels that they are loved most by you and that is true. You have reached height of fame; you have made your own history. Yet it is not on display, it need not be. It can be felt. The effects of your actions, they are everywhere. You have done what you have wanted to do in life, but you keep on having new dreams and ambitions. Your dreams and ambitions have never greyed with your hair. They have not aged with you, instead they keep on growing.

You have turned your every disappointment into an incentive for new success, a new landmark. You even called your cancer a 'gift'. How does one deal with cancer twice, as if once was not enough. How does one explain what happen to one’s beautiful face in a society where women are always judged by the way they look? You mystified people, when you said it was god’s gift, a god’s way to show that no one is perfect. I remember you speaking in a programme organized by women with special needs, saying that one could turn one’s weakness into strength. It sounded possible, for me, for them, for thousand other people because you only say what you practice. Thus your words are real, they have a power in them to motivate, to transform. You have an aura of truth in you and I fee it vibrating in my self whenever I see, talk with you and remember you.

You are my growth. I have grown up seeing you. Since the age of 5, I clutch your memory of me as ‘a small girl playing harmonium’ very dearly. I am sorry that I could not turn this memory into something concrete. But I remember you, when I teach my little son to play harmonium. You have shared with me a secret of successful marriage. You have taught me valuable lessons of motherhood. I will try to stand true to you, by following your valuable life lessons, which would never be found in a book. As, it is through life we learn, and your life is an open book for everyone there to read.

I remember you saying ‘educate one girl, you educate everyone in her family’ in your speeches in our school. You inspired me to become passionate about women’s rights. How to describe you? Who you are? Women’s rights activist? Pioneer of Nepali tourism industry? Spiritualist? Social worker? It would be limiting to describe you. You are a person who has evolved with time. You have moved on. You have seen the world. You have held steadfast your beliefs but yet have moved on with new times. You have showed tradition and modernity can be combined. You have proved it with your life.

Memorable visit to Geelong

I am still in hangover. Two whole days of weekend absolute fun. My husband's very good friend and his wife invited us over their place in geelong. Waking up red eyed in 6 am ( putting clothes on shubham while he was still asleep) hoping to catch 7.12 bus (by misreading the schedule) and later discovering that there were no bus before 8 in our bus stop was indeed frustating. finally walking few blocks, got into 900 and from huntingdale train to southern cross. Then, first time, ever in ours stay in melbourne, we got into Vline train. it was wonderful! whole carpetted seats and floor, and that day i taught new word to shubham 'relax' by stretching his tiny legs and arms in vline seat. Then, we reached @ geelong station and our friend was there. we hugged each other and he took us off to botanical garden. His wonderful wife was bg preparing us a wonderful meal. To confess, we all were hungry already. Shubham has all pictures with a piece of sandwitch or biscuit in his hand. He loved the plants, he touched them and felt them. I wish my son would acquire this taste of nature, hope he would be nature loving man! he would be for sure.

After again a short visit to beach, we went over to our friends house. Every corner, wall and room was full of spiritual goods, spritual feelings. They were amazing couple. Doing lots of things together. Their hobbies and professions were interwined. Our dear friend J is tarrot reader, reiki healer, and lots and lots more. And she is incredible cook. They did some googling the day before about the kind of food we ate and then whoa, they had cooked rice and some yummy curry ( mixture of beans, pottato, cabbage, carrot( which translates into disaster for me) ) but it was suprisingly delicous. Shubham was shy at first, but later he ate full.

The greatest fun he had was when his uncle picked up loads of straberries, fresh out of garden. He ate them lots. He was stains all over his jacket with these. This was first time shubham had been in australian home. It was incredible experience for him and for us too.

We talked to each other as if we have known all our lives. But it was just first meeting with J and second with K. That's amazing how few moments can transform into a deep bonding between people. J was so dynamic, she knows everything. So beautiful. I will always remember her as a lady with flowing black dress, her hairs waving in the beach as she walks barefooted far away on the beach. We collected some corals and some stones as keepsake. It was indeed an amazing trip. Thanks J and K for everything.

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

SEARCH FOR THE ULTIMATE UNIQUE NAME

Just few mins ago, we were discussing about names for baby of one of my dearest friend. Ah, I know how it starts like. Since my pregnancy, the hunt for baby name started. I used to have two sets of name for every favourate letter. Initiallly, I had this idea that name of my baby ( boy or a girl) would have combined letter of his or her father and mother's initial. Thus, I was searching for something with N and D in it, and you bet! it was difficult. I gave up the search and agreed with my hubby that it was better to restart after the baby was born.

so, in this sutkeri period, sometimes, I used to hang over the internet, sometimes turning the pages of big ' Nepali sabdasagar' which must have been more than 10 kg of weight. Gradually,this search of name was weighing heavy on me. We were searching for something with S now.............so the search was not that futile, but still conflicting coz, he was firstborn, and above all, first grandson of proudest grandparents in the world. Everything had to be perfect.

Then, it was just easy at the end. My father's beloved friend Swami S C named him as Shubham, meaning good luck, good omen, and thats how he is so far hehhehe.

So, my friend L, and my sister S, the search will continue for you guys I know............keep on searching and hunting. That perfect name for your perfect baby just may be around the corner. And hey, S, if you had daugther simply name after me, heheheh, what Say???? :D

Lunch discussions!!!

Being a HDR student has its own pros and cons. Pros is that, you can do what you need to do whenever, whereever you need to do. Study from library, home or toilet, it doesn't matter as long as you meet the deadlines, as long as you are in this state of 'having your thesis in your head' all the time, you will just do fine. For people who crave solitude, its a great gift actually, this HDR project. But for people like me who need to talk to someone constantly to make sense of something, a strong need of friends and who has strong cravings for non-academic discussions: it can get bit lonely here.

Well, I can say i have got the best of both worlds here. My two buddies from Srilanaka H and P along with me are the lunch trio, who have become famous whereever we go. Everyday @ 12.30 ( which sometimes stretch through 1) becomes a saga discussions based on recipe exchange, supervisor dillemas, writing anxieties, reading difficulties. Oh, i feel so luck, to have these two wonderful people to talk to over lunch, eat most delicious and spicy curry, which is bit rarity @ home with shubham's arrival.

Soon, in 15 minutes, we will create another saga and rock MRGS lounge with our laughter and mesmerising aroma of our yummy curries, hmmmmmmmm.

Dressing up shubham!

Mothers, especially mothers of toddlers have a hard time putting dress in their kids. I need to rush in the morning through everything. Wake up suddenly ( don't ask me the time pls), then rushing off to washroom, rushing off to kitchen to cook, prepare tiffin, bite in between all these. My shubham wakes up as soon as I do and starts reading books or playing with his car. Every now and then, he hollers me to pay attention to what he is doing. He calls me 'BUBUAMA' with his shrill voice to catch my attention. He needs to be 'in focus' always, the big man in 2 and half year old body.

Then, after rushing feeding him this morning, his buwa arrived with bit of a sour mood. Why?? that's another issue altogether. I had taken off all shubham's clothes to dress him up to go to his child care. This is his fun part. Here I am, with just 5 minutes left to set him off to his carer. He makes the most of those 5 minutes stretching those into 15 minutes, always. He dances around naked, showing off his belly buttons and tummy and his bottom. Singing this unknown and unheard songs, he dances in funniest way possible. I can't help laughing and enjoying the moment. But still, again, I have to rush through.

He is a kid after all, he doesn't care about my deadlines and timelines. Just this morning, I was telling him that, I was meeting my supervisor. He said ' ma pani bhetchu ni', I will also meet. Oh, shubham you make my everyday little more difficult but interesting, really interesting.

I feel that I need to start writing in this blog again. I am writing my thesis and I have realized that I need to have the fluency in my expression and clarity. I am still struggling with English. Why I realize. Everyone back home, well almost everyone used to say how good my English here. It was shock to know that how poor it actually is. Perhaps, I dont study fiction any more maybe.

Since this week, I have started to read Margaret Atwood's novel at least during the evening. It gives me a freedom not to understand everything I read. I am free with my imagination and a book. Its a releif to read without needing to read it, without having necessity to quote it or paraphrase it.

I envy ppl when I read their blog. I specially like Archana Shrestha's blog, with so many different topics and issues. i wish to write more, its time that I start working on another article which is due soon.

someone just asked me, how much i miss my son........how can this question be answered
just counting the days
minutes
and seconds even
to hold him in my arms
will he come?

A blank page, staring at me again. Well today whole day.....I spent analyzing English women's magazine in Nepal, VOW. its getting interesting. i am now finding emerging patterns which I could form as my arguments........uhuh......its read write, read write, cycle...........never ending. I am enjoying so far...........

This morning, this whole episode of rebooking my ticket blew my mind. I am still scared that supervisor hasn't got back with the travel form. what am I ought to do if I don't get the travel grant, I will blow away all my savings. K garne! k garne!!

I am missing my son as usual.
It has turned into a hidden wound! but yet so so obvious. his picture is everywhere. I remmeber him everytime. Everyday, I ask my husband to tell me stuffs about my babu. Since he arrives only few months ago, he has more memories of babu than me. we keep on talking, how babu would do that, how he would say that, how he would feel and so on.

sometimes, we create an imaginary picture of babu and discuss different situations as if babu was right here in front of us.

Being far away from son, I can see how much a child means to mother. I can also see how much I meant to him. I at times feel guilty at my decision, in which I had very little choice. The decision was mine, as it sounded the best at the time. Now perhaps, its time to be together with my son whatever it takes. I have experimented two semesters without him and I can see that his absence is more dangerous to my peace of mind...........

I am now more than ready to play the role of 'back to uni' mother...........yeah, I am

Need to write everyday hehehe!!!

well, after reading over lots of nepali women's blog. I thought I need to do something, it means reguarly to join the community..........

After all, what else do I do except writing and reading whole whole day, living in a hole called Monash Research Graduate School. Trying to devise theories, trying to find out loopholes to criticized and bending and stretching scholar's writing to fit my research interest.

I could endlessly babble about research culture in western academia...........hahaha

I need to meet my supervisor in twenty minutes, better brase up myself for whatever it comes..........hehehe!

will write again, but wonder if anything interesting or creative comes up!!!

Nepal and its ethnic politics

I am not anyhow a specialist in this issue. I am more aware about this tag of 'specialist' after being exposed to western academic environment. One cannot simply put forward any opinions or arguments, in the area that you are not specialized it. But still, I just want to write what I am feeling about Nepal's gradual turn in ethnic politics.

This issue has fuelled my mind, when suddenly I heard the news of formation of 'Newa Army'.. Indeed, Nepal is now secular country, but contrary to that, government declared that it will not support any religious festival. It fuelled protests and thus, Newars have declared Newa Army. This shows the government's insensitivity towards culture and tradition.

Though I am vegetarian, I despise Nepali governments announcement to ban 'animal sacrifice'. What it should have done was raise awareness about ills of animal sacrifice. Simply putting ban on animal sacrifice will interfere with various cultural group's age long tradition...........

Well, well, in personal front, nothing new is happening these days. Just waiting desperately to my ethics application be approved and hopefully candidature review will not pose any serious problem. which reminds me of course, to GET BACK TO WORK

Its time to start writing again, I guess...........

so many things to write, but yet so little things to experience.

probably, it is because i am writing all the time, not about my emotions, feelings and expereinces but rather doing assighnments, writing thesis. Being engaged in different genre of writing definitely has an impact on my creative expressions.

well, it seems i am not a poet anymore. They dont come........even if they come, I do not write them instantly as i used to do before.

Uhuh, and this contemplating on life, which was my hobby before, is also not so much in practice why??

Am I turning into this 'logical, pratical' person I had always feared to be...........Well, here I go, thats all for today. Need to write a long chapter on theoritical framework.

I just wonder what shubham is doing at the moment, ah, he must have woke up and be asking for food. It is still 2 months away to see him actually, to be with him and I am so despertely waiting for that day.

My son's second birthday:without me

My dear son Shubham is turning two tomorrow. and here I am far away from him. I feel immensely sad of this fact. I wish I was there with him to take him to mandir. To call the kids in neighbourhood and cut a cake. oh! to hear the kids singing happy birthday to him.

He had just learned to say 'ama' when I left Nepal for my studies. It was immensely difficult for me to concentrate on my studies without seeing the beautiful face of my son. He is lovely, he is cute. As every mother likes to beleive, I beleive that my son is special, he is very smart.

Though, I have missed the most interesting part of his childhood, I hope that I would be able to contribute in his life in other ways. The other day, I was watching 'The little Prince'. I just can't wait for Shubham to grow up a little more that I can tell him stories. But of course, I felt that my boy understands stories since he was one year old. I remember singing with him. I miss playing hide and seek with him. I remember our 'eating sesssion'. He loved watching dogs and I had to feed him saying that, if he won't eat, dog will eat. Then, later I thought that would make my child turn into a greedy boy, one who takes the things thinking that other people will take that from him. Then, later i started to say,'First you eat and then the dog will eat too'.

Little things, small things matter so much to me. In this age of violence and terrorism, it is every so risky to raise a child. Also I think parenting is becoming every more complex day by day. The values and practices of parenting are changing. The way my parents raised me, I appreciated it. They have always supported me and loved me. My parents generation beleived that children should be kept in control. There was very much less communication between children and parents. These ideas are gradally shifting. Now, I beleive the only effective way to raise a child is with open communication, with lots of love and trust.

I don't know whether this blog will last or not, till my son would be old enough to read this with his very eyes. I hope he does, someday. I am bearing this seperation keeping the words of my honorable dizzu, Angur Baba Joshi's words, ' It is not the quantity of time but the quality of time you spend with your children' that matters. She also had to leave her children for a long time to complete her studies in U.K.

I am lucky in the sense that my parenst are looking after my son so well. I am lucky, I have always been lucky. Its all about feeling lucky. I hope Shubham grows up into a good human being. I have no expections of him being rich. I do expect him to be smart of course. I hope he would grow up as a wonderful person, who cares about other people. I hope my son would be open to people. I hope he would know that life is all about love and care. It is all about what we can give, what we can share with others. I hope that he would gain all the good qualities of his father, that I admire so much. I want him to grow up as patient, dedicated, warm, caring and lovely person as his father is. I don't know about my attributes. I don't have any special attributes to speak of. And yes, I wish he would be patient and loyal to his beleifs like my father. I wish he would learn the meaning of unconditional love from my mother.

In all these expectations and expectations, now I realize that there is very little place for Shubham to be what he wants to be and what he simply is. Thus, Shubham in this day, I feel that you will be what you are and what you want to be. I will love you just the same, the way you are. You have brought so much happiness in our lives. You are indeed Shubham: the lucky, the auspicious one. May god bless you on this wonderful day. Happy Birthday dear!!!!

One inspiring film: Spectatator

These past s 5 months in Australia, I have probably watched most amount of film, I have ever watched in my whole life. Partly because of loneliness, partly because of tiredness and dullness of academic life, I love to watch films. Some films are just fun. You watch a$nd forget. But some films make a lasting impressions in your life. I think, I will forever . remember this Italian movie: Spectator.

The girl secretly watches her neighbour everyday. He is her companion, that she never dares to have. She is lonely. She follows him sometimes, without any serious intention. One day, she knows the man is moving to Rome. On an impulse she takes a train to Rome. She had accidently discovered the man's work address. There she meets a woman, with whom her man has relationship. The girl purposively gets bruished by the woman's car. Then, strike up an aquaintance. Somehow, the girl ends up working after woman. The relationship between man and woman ends somehow. The man begins to be aware about the girl. One day, he waits up for her, just to meet her. He goes after her and says that: I don't know why i am following you, and you don't know me'. That moment is the most intense scene in the film. The girl falls into man's arm and cries and says, 'don't say anything'. At this point, it seems they will have now an happy ending together or get married or something like that. But girl leaves Rome to leave to Turin, where she came from. She leaves a letter explaining everything to woman. But woman does not say anything to man. The man knows she has gone back without explaining and puzzled.

The ending of the film is puzzling, but surprisingly familiar. The spectator is about loneliness, about fear. About how difficult it is to get someone who can understand you in your life. How sensitive relationships are. It also deals with the myth of 'impossible love'. In my analysis, the woman wants to preserve the memory that the man indeed came after her and wanted to know her and may be even love her. But she does not want to pursue a relationship with him, though that was highly possible. She was probably afraid that the memory she has of him, will turn different if she has a relationship with him in real. She just wanted a relationship with him as a spectator. It is a safe relationship, a kind in which you need to know only about your own feelings. The spectator doe snot need to care about the one who is being 'spectatored'

The movie left with me a deep sense of loss to see that the girl did not go back to the man. She did not encourage him in any way, though every emotions in her wanted that relationship to happen.

I admire the way Italian films show human relationships; in raw, in reality. Showing that there are various possibilities to end. And like life, Italian films mostly have no proper endings.

In the beginning, I started this blog to publish my poems online, which i was not able to publish in print. It was a good choice then. But since, it seems i am not poet any more, Poems doesnt seem to come these days. May be dry analytical thinking of academic world has dried all poetry in me. Well, may be i will start writing again, I hope. Just I think, now i should start writing about my experiences about life in general. About myself, my friends. about this world. About love, hate. About risk, changes. About depression, about motivation. All sorts of things. Well, someone may read, but I will be writing for myself. To make myself clear who I am. What I am; thinking, What i am feeling. A new form of 'diary'. In my gender studies course, this year we studied about a victorian couple, who wrote about their relationships. They wrote diaries everyday, describing every single event in their lives. Well, those diaries survived the time and now became a miror of victorian society. May be all this blogging around this world, when we are no more, our blogs would still survive. I think that's important hehe. I may not be able to write anything substantial, but still it is something.

An Invitation to Dream

All these years,
I was dreaming,
On my own.
Dreams were the only
Exciting part of my,
Ordinary Life.

Then, suddenly,
You invited me to dream together.
What was that you said?
Yes,
“Dream is like a drug,
But it never killed anyone”
Yes, let’s create dream together.

The vision is clear now.
A small house,
Surrounded with garden.
And sweet chuckles of laughter,
Of our naughty children.
That’s where, I see you.
So, lets be lost in the game of dream.
Chase me dear, with your dream.

Once when, I had asked something,
You had said, “ask me, when I will reach 50”.
No, I can see you when you will be 50.
With grey hair and spectacles.
But still beside me,
And smiling with,
Love and Amusement.

Please Don’t WAKE ME UP

Let's Chase the Rainbows Down the Hill

The dreams will fade,
When reality kills the memories.
In the grind of everyday life,
We will brew some more frustrations.
We will blame each other.
For not meeting our expectations.
Then, a slow realization will dawn:
What a failure our marriage has become!

Before all this happens,
Let’s think once more.
Let’s save the fees of the lawyer.
And avoid horrid scenes in the courtroom.
And not get married at all.
Life is too short.
To spend it in confinement.
Love should be free.
Shouldn’t be bounded
With a relationship.

So, let’s chase the rainbows down the Hills.
Catch few colors in our eyes.
Let’s store them in our heart.
And see each with the other's eye.
It would be like a dream coming true.
At the end of the day,
Let’s exchange photos.
And keep it hidden inside our pillow.
That way, memories will live on forever,
Like the fragrance of wild flowers,
We picked on the way.
That day!

My Walnut Man

My walnut man,
If only you knew
There's nothing wrong,
To be soft and to show, dear!
That you are soft.

My walnut man,
It's time you learnt,
How nice it is,
To care and to share one's feelings,
Without fear.
My walnut man,
Things your eyes speak,
Will be clear,
If you use words,
To express, my dear!


My walnut man,
Learn to act.
Isn`t it boring,
Just to react.
I am tired of guessing.


My walnut man,
Soft inside and tough outside.
You can't fool me any longer.
My walnut man,
Sweet inside and bitter outside,
This shouldn't go any further.


My walnut man,
Beware of me!
I have turned into a nut now.
Its time we exchanged our roles.
From now on, you act,
I will just react.

Can You Do This?

I wish there was a flood!
And I could flow on with it,
With all residues of,
My negative feelings.
And after the heavy rain subsides,
Turn myself into fertile land,
Where your love could grow.

It's not that I didn't like you.
What I am afraid is,
You liked me!
Despite everything.
Despite of me not being myself anymore.
I am surprised!
That day, when I met you.
Or it was, when you met me.
That hollow laugh, I excluded.
"Beautiful," you said.
I stopped suddenly and looked at you.
While handing sugar for your coffee mechanically.
"How caring," you thought.
And revealed it later.
I don't know ,
How could I have touched your heart.
While I never intended to.
The bond you want to share,
Is not possible.
Yes, not till the storm comes.

I wish, I just wish there was a storm.
A very big storm.
I want to be broken,
I want to be shattered to the core.
And after the tranquility returns.
I want you to reconstruct me.
Mould me for your love.
Shape me into your emotions.
And recreate another "Me."
Can you do this?

Actor and Director

No need to put on a show,
No, don't present another drama.
Your screenplay is marvelous,
I must say!
And your direction too good.
The actors, they seemed real.
Though, I am the only to know.
That they are actors.
All hired!
And all acting in fear of being fired.

And still you claim!
That you are free from blame.
Oh! Shame on you man!
All these years
I thought you were,
What you really
Showed yourself to be.

Your charismatic smile,
Won many curious hearts.
Your inspiring speech,
Made people inspire.
What you didn't have ,
Was not worth having.
What you didn't know ,
Was not worth knowing.
And like hundreds of other people,
I was on a spell!
Cast over by you!
Hypnotized, lacking my own mind.
I turned myself to a shadow.
Making you, my image!
The glistening sun you were.
I became its rays.
And I used to say,
I would be the one like you.

But how was that possible?
The shadow I was.
And you wanted me,
To remain that way!
Clearing your path!
Smoothing the obstacles.
Writing out the speeches,
That you read aloud.
In that exciting voice.
Sleeplessly I worked!
Up and down going over,
The long stairs of establishment.

The whole society is blind.
I just wish it was deaf,
Completely deaf.
It is a curse that,
They hear the loudest tone.
They like the charismatic voice,
And makes it wear the crown of leadership.
Then, you were right,
In whatever you said!
You were right,
In whatever you did!
Then, your hands began to touch,
Where they never should.
I couldn't tolerate.

It was the day!
I decided to be free from your spell.
The day I decided to be
My own image,
The day, I decided to end your hold.
Yes, it wasn't easy!
But I did it!
And struck you!
I struck you!
Hard and harder!
In the head of petty thoughts!
In that hand of illegal trespass.

Though the story was mine,
Unfortunately, screenplay was yours.
Actors were hired.
And you were hero once more.
I became the villain.
Now, shut away behind the bars.
I have no regrets.
I am as peaceful as ocean!
As clear as the blue sky!

Now again!
You are staging another drama.
But beware!
I now have a confidence to be a director!
And you! You!
Wretched you!
You will be a mere actor.
Just an actor.

Neither…………….Nor………

I am sorry, my dear.
I have let you come too near.
Now we are in great trouble.
We can neither hold each other,
Nor forget altogether.
What a trap!
We have let ourselves into.
Yes, it was a sensation.
Nice at first to know,
That we found each other.
It was so good,
But too good to be true,
That we were so much in love.
Now, being back from wonderland,
I remember all those never-ending surprises you popped on me.
But the magic has gone.
I am back to reality.
You are no longer the prince,
As I thought,
I had kissed in my dream.

You Will Remember Me Then

Nothing worked, dear
I can’t go on,
This way forever.
Waiting, waiting and waiting.
This waiting has now,
Become a pain,
Like a sore throat,
That never cures,
And is evident in
Every word I speak.

And you, being there,
Still pretend
That I can forget you.
May be, I can
If you force me to.
But really,
Is it worth the price?
Will you be happy then?
With no one to distract you.
No one to remember you.

You said, “we are friends”
But let me tell you,
We are not.
Friends share their pain.
And find happiness,
Even though , its for a moment

But that never happened.
With us.
Think and brood.
Then, you will find.
That you were too afraid.
To care ,
To share,
Afraid that, you will be hurt.

But history don’t always repeat.
Dear, what happened before,
Wont happen again.
I wont hurt you.
But I don’t make promises.
It is for them,
Who don’t trust.

Do you know?
Just to see you smile.
I have cried hundreds of nights.
And just to see your face,
I have counted hundreds of days.
Just to hear your voice,
I have called you hundreds of times.

Its high time, you knew.
That I am incurable.
Love for you,
Is a sweet pain,
That I never want to get rid of.
It will always be there.
Always, inside my heart

See, even this ,
Poem doesn’t seem to end.
My feeling goes on and on,
Rises and falls ,
Like waves in the ocean.
Have you watched them
In a full moon light?
You will find me,
In your thoughts then.
Forever , haunting.
Like an unfulfilled dream.

Last Goodbye


Bye , dear.
From my heart,
From my love,
from my thoughts,
And from my emotions.
Its time ,I let you go.
You are free now.

All these years,
I have been holding you too tightly.
Hugging your memories,
And being lost on them.
Its time now,
To accept the reality.
No, its not bitter anymore.
Its okay, in fact.

Next time,
When we meet.
It will be same.
I will talk with you.
As if we were still close.
But , my eyes will be drifting away,
Somewhere else.
Will you notice them?

Well, I can be almost sure,
That you won't feel them.
It sounds like a conformation,
That I am repeating again and again,
Within my own heart.
Just don't ask questions from your eyes,
Again that way,
The way you did, when we were all alone.
And I couldn't answer then.
But this time, even if you do so.
I intend to face you defiantly
And show that it doesn't matter anymore.
On what you say and what you do.

The heart is still the same,
I am still the same.
But times have changed.
The situation has changed.
This has been going on too long.
Its now the time,
That I admit,
Its useless,
To love a man,
Who doesn't want to be loved.

Lonely Little Wife

Love is what matters most to me.
I am telling you this, very frankly.
I need sharing.
I need caring.
When the words won't do,
Use your eyes.
But be in touch with me.

Don't tell me that you love me.
But I need love,
That needs no telling and proving.

Lovers, you see!
Talk about flowers and stars,
When passions are hot.
But slowly it cools down.
As the marriage garland dries.
Then, the talk grows in growing price of vegetables.
Money becomes the prime talk.

I feel how it is.
I have seen
Fast love slowing down,
Hot love cooling down.

Oh! My cool love!
You don't know,
How my each heart beat.
Remembers you and cries out for your love.
You pretend not to hear.
But can't you feel?
Can't you see?
The love simmering in my eyes.
Don't you care at all?
About me, your lonely little wife?

Walls or Bridges?


I had given you an option,
I asked," walls or bridges?"
You chose walls instead,
And surrounded yourself with in.
Carrying all the burdens,
You decided to give me relief.
You cried alone, I know.
Though you may deny.
I know you did,
With those silent sobs,
And hidden tears.
You never gave me a hint of,
What was going on in your head.
You just wanted to prove,
After all, you were my father.

I knew ,you wanted me to be perfect.
I should not commit,
Any follies or mistakes.
I must be good enough to be your daughter.
You felt ashamed of
Me being yours after all.
For better or worse,
You were stuck with me for whole life.

Those hugs and encouraging words,
That I needed when I had failed.
I needed you that time to tell me,
That it didn't matter after all.
You never told me that there could be,
Another way, time and another try.
And that day when I succeeded,
I wanted to hear that I did well.
And my ears craved for
Those sweet words,
That you were proud of me.

But I have learnt my lesson,
Though very hard way.
Now, I am used to failure,
Without any regrets.
Now I am used to success,
Without any happiness.
Yes, I am hard as a nail now.
As tough as you, my very own father.

But emotions do betray me sometimes.
My eyes just fill with tears.
And my heart cries out with bitter sobs.
Oh! The day to talk with you apart from weather,
To communicate with you apart from money matter.
To converse with you apart from my mistakes and failure.

And after all these years,
It seems as if you want to.
Your eyes, I see them flicker with emotions
Yes, after all these long, long years,
You want to know how I feel,
Rather than how I should.
After having built walls all around you,
You want to know how to reach me?

But Father ! Walls can't be turned into bridges,
It is not possible.
I am used to closed doors
And tight windows.
I am safe enough behind these walls,
In my own room of gloom.
No, you can't enter!