Myth of beauty

'Plain Jane'
ordinary looking girls
have to walk an extra mile
Need to smile more
Be more kinder
More compromising

While the world tell us
and asks us to believe
that beauty lies within
and not in skin
Still, we know the reality
that
While others have beauty
We need to develop
a 'character'
We need 'talent'

Then one in among of us
like Susan Boyle
Stands up to perform
While being ridiculed
Then, a silence follows soon after

Story that ended without an ending

A story

Never written

Never completed

Ended without an ending

Lingering effects

Sub effects

Constant searches

In faces

In feelings

In a mask

Sometimes

featuring in between dreams

fading in obscurity

but yet something potent

a dream of 'impossible'

is what makes it alive

Boundaries of friendship

This is dedicated to one deviant soul, the way I see her. Despite your flaws, despite my flaws. Despite the gaps, despite the spaces, despite the 'edicts' of society, we are still friends.

Friendship
is always defined
in such a glossy terms
'friend in a need'
Inspiring
Motivating
But friends,
like us are far from perfect
They are not always nice
Sometimes sarcastic
Hurtful
We judge them
They judge us
Through lenses of cynicism
codes of morality
rulers of social norms and values

There are some friends
who never ever
reach the core
there is something
always on the way
Not enough meetings
Not similar personalities
Boundaries
lot of cross over

Friendship also has lot of layers
We say it takes time
to grow, to blossom
to mellow
and perhaps to die

We categorize friendship
'best'
'hi hellos'
'occasional'
And there are few 'instant' ones
In a moment, in a way
On a way to travel
Then, gone !
We never keep in touch
We never talk
But it is there
Perhaps it is the 'illusion'
of the moment
That keeps on cherishing
Wanting to make few more memories

Some friendships
are stories of broken bond
Forgotten times
and wishes
and sad memories
which we never revisit and
reclaim
We never dare to say sorry
or I was wrong
But we prod along
High and mighty
judging them from superior airs
Some defiant brave soul
When they break the taboo
When they do not conform
I pay tribute to one
special deviant soul
Who dared,
I remember you as a defiant
Whom I admire
Whom I dare 'not to be'
I want you to know
That though there have been gaps
and paces
and spaces
and now boundaries
I wish, we had been friends
I still hope, we are

Who is the real teacher

This poem is dedicated to my son Shubham. He reverses the way I see parenting. I see that the children are great teachers. They take us back to childhood and urge us to shed off our self importance and ego. They truly teach us importance of love. They teach us how to love without a reason, without expectation

I am confused
who teaches whom?
On one hand, I stand
with 'worldly wisdom'
with the 'harsh' realities
of this violent world
On the other hand
is my son
Still pure
Untainted
Free
Innocent
Full of trust
Love
Devoid of scepticism
Without pretence
Without 'ego'

I pretend to be teacher
To teach him
What is bad?
And what is good
I answer his endless
Questions of 'what is that'
He never asks 'why'
Coz, his world is still free of logic
And reason
It’s all about emotions
Instinct
Sixth Sense
He is still close
To divine
Close to earth
He is still grounded

So, who will teach whom
I wonder
Who is the real teacher?
Me, being so disillusioned
By the world
Me, so lacking trust
Me, so full of 'ego'
And self importance
Or you still pure
Untarnished
Unblemished by the cruel ways of world.

When you smile
It comes within
It is not stuck in between lips
Just to show
You do not expect anything in return
when you hug me
You still live in happy world of imagination
Where elephants fly
Lions speak
Full of Chocolates
And Fairies
Sometimes, demons lurk in between
There are 'bad men' too
You know that
But you believe that good always wins

Perhaps we both come halfway
And teach each other
You will learn some harsh realities
I know
But yet never forget the
World of dreams and imagination
You teach me how to smile
straight from heart
To shed off my ‘ego’
And most important of all
To love without expectation

On our fourth anniversary

It is for you . I am lucky to have you in my life. I can only explain, what i feel but still I can't pin point, what exactly it is.


With you
there were no promise of stars
It was different from romantic
novels
i read
You were not the dashing hero
that I dreamt of
You were hidden somewhere
yet always visible
but we never noticed each other

Must be destiny
now, that
we are together
We have no poems for each other
Like an ordinary couple
we are not seen putting arms on each other
we do not blush
We do not proclaim love
we are unorthodox couple

People have asked us
whether ours is
arranged or love marriage
Answers are never easy
As it is something in between
Perhaps relationship
brought through divine matchmaker

We did not love instantly
It is something more complicated
than this much hyped
'love' that we feel for each other.
Apart from love
we are more worried about
peace
our country
We have a common mission
and goal
Instead of musing on our
love for each other
We rather discuss
What to write next
We inspire each other
to do something positive
To contribute


Thus, we are hopeless
change makers
Constantly striving to learn
To change ourselves
to better ourselves
and thus
aiding each other in this process

Bounded in this difficult
institution called marriage
We often act conventional
husband and wife
and pretend that we conform
But what matters most
is that inner friendship we have
The trust
The sense of responsibility
Understanding
Is that what they call 'love'
Perhaps,
I am not sure
But, does it matter
whatever it is called?

Is motherhood a choice for Nepali women?

For Nepali women, motherhood is both a source of agency and subjugation. It is a source of agency because as it is only through status of a mother, specially that of son, a Nepali women can enjoy a higher status in her family and society. I am speaking from vantage point of middle class upper caste women like myself, based on my personal experience and observations. This may not be true for every other Nepali women.

How far Nepali women have a choice when to become mothers or be mothers at all? There is very little choice. It is because motherhood is so much seen as an ultimate fulfillment of femininity. Every women is somehow considered a natural mother. It is regarded as an ultimate goal for every woman. Looking at motherhood as an individual like myself, it is full of contradictions. The first contradiction on general belief of motherhood is that it is natural. It is regarded that every woman when given birth to child, acquires the art and craft of motherhood. However, motherhood is learnt by social behavior, norms, values and also the generational knowledge handed over by previous generation. Reflecting on my own journey towards motherhood I see that it is a life long course which I have partly learnt through my mother's lessons, friends counsel, neighbour's heresay, mass-media, literature and to some extent my own lived and embodied experience. Thus, I claim that I am not a natural mother, I have learnt to become a mother.

Another contradictions which I have faced constantly due to my life choices is belief in 'intensive motherhood'. Intensive motherhood ideology preaches that only mothers are the best persons to look after their children. It believes that mothers should be available to children all the time especially in their early years. The lack of that will consequently lead to serious psychological effects on child. This is a sensitive topic for me to dwell on. My decision to come to Melbourne for further studies led me to leave my 18 months old son in my parent's care. Several times, I have been branded as 'over ambitious' and 'career oriented' and sometimes even cruel. I was caught in between my ambition and motherhood. I knew that opportunity does not knock the door twice. I was in crossroads of my career which was again mediated by my motherhood. After I became mother, I chose to work only when I could. Thus, I saw myself being stagnant in my career for couple of years. Thus, I either had to choose this or be prepared to be stagnant for some other years to come.

Another big factor in motherhood of Nepali women is son vs daughter debate. Recently I had got hold of Chinese calendar which gives a list of best year and month to conceive daughter or son. Some of my friends had used it and become successful to bear son, they never tried it for a daughter. I sometimes hear that ' It is women themselves who want to bear son'. I say, they do because we have to look at how women with daughters only are treated. I remember one of my friend whose first born was daughter. Her husband was only son in the family. She was afraid that her husband will be marrying another woman if she does not bear him son. That is why, Nepali women, even so called educated career oriented women sometimes opt to have a son rather than daughter. However, there is some other debate going on which argues that ' daughter are much better than son, as son leave their home anyway these days' . One of the main reason for son preference in Nepal is our tendency to see them as our insurance for old days. The present trend shows that this belief is gradually crumbling down. I wish that Nepal abolishes its heir system in which only sons can inherit parental property. It is an irony that parents work hard to earn property which ultimately passes over to their sons. It will take a long time when ultimately Nepal could have a will system of inheritance.

Thus, there is a long way to go for Nepali women in having agency in their motherhood. It is still debated whether one needs to become mother at all to be fulfilled. There are women like Mother Teresa who choose to remain barren but became mother of millions of improvised children. It is

Maoist women's future

Everybody has a opinion about what is happening in Nepal and why. It is such a complex issue to argue and talk about. Thus, I do not have any distinct opinion or argument in it. At this time, I am thinking about my participants and their future. I interviewed 10 Maoist women about their motherhood experiences. Most of them were in cantonment. They were engaged in 'people's war' in several ways ranging from issues of domestic violence to ideological commitments towards class less society. I see Maoist women's integration in Nepali society most problematic of all. They have defied the social norms and codes of Nepali society by being engaged in armed struggle. Contrary to men, who have always been seen as warriors and dissents in Nepali political history. What will happen to these women? Would they go back to carrying arms again? What about their children, will they turn into another generation of rebels? Will these women women be ever accepted as wives, dauthers and dauthers-in-law in our society?

Me and my mother

Sometimes, I just wonder how I have let life slip through my fingers. Am I indulging myself too much. Should I be more duty conscious? Should I be more responsible. But again, these are such ambiguous terms. Especially these all lamentations come, when I see my role as a mother. I am a mother, who is so different from my own mother. My mother, whose sole purpose in life was to look after her husband and children. sometimes she tells me, ' oh, life is so easy for you girls today. You no longer have to do chores like we used to. You don't have strict mother-in-law like me'.

When I compare my life with my mother, I see times have indeed changed. She is one driving force behind this change. Everytime when I wanted to enter the kitchen to cook something or just fool around, she would say' I could not study, I have nothing else to do apart from this. You have to study, so that you will not end up like me'. She always encouraged me to be something. Apart from other mothers of my friends, she never was interested for finding good husband for me. but rather she beleived that I should be financially independent. My father was a patriarch in true sense. He controlled me, but in such a way that I reach my goals. I make the best of what I could do. I still remember, almost a decade ago, he called me for a serious meeting. I was about to graduate then. He asked ' what do you want in you life. If you want to marry and have kids and be housewife, now is the time for that. But, if you want to study more and make a career, you could do that. But you have to be ready to accept that you may not find a good husband. As you know that in Nepal, men don't want to get married with women who are more educated or career oriented than them'. I said, what my father wanted me to say and knew that I would say:' I choose career'.

Thus, now, I am in this lop sided balance of motherhood and career, which is not vs but somehow complements each other. It is a difficult balance that many women choose or forced to choose. Just few weeks ago, I read buchi emecheta's ' Joys of motherhood'. The first book I ever read that discussed about the daily lives of black women. The central character in the book had to become mother to be accepted as a woman. But again, sometimes her motherhood became a chain that she could not break free from. At the end, struggling through out her life for her children, she dies. But none of her children are able to look after her in her most difficult old age. She dies, alone. But then, her sons perform the most expensive funeral ever. What is the point?

The blog post, does not make sense even to me. It is a series of uncordinated ideas, which has been happening a lot while I write thesis. I come to blog, when I just want to write and not being cared about providing a good argument. It is my friend, who would listen, even if i have the most silliest thing to say. I am happy for discovering this outlet

Melbourne river cruise and street performer in southgate

This weekend was rollicking. On saturday, we had dinner with A and C with their sweet baby girl of six months. She was hugging and kissing shubham all the time. May be she was missing her brother, who is of same age as shubham. On sunday morning, we went to city for cruise. It was not a cruise as such. We had promised shubham to take him in ship, but we later discovered that it was not a ship but just a ferry. But shubham was so excited to see ferry riding over the water. Now, he has experienced yet another dimension of his passion. He is passionate about anything that moves, especially vehicles. Planes, helicopters, car, buses are his favourate word. When, we lack of ideas and time for planning any weekend trips, we would just take him for a ride in any bus or train, he would be happy just because of that. Till date, his knowledge of vehicle was of anything that moves on the road and sky. Now, he knows its possible to have ship, boat and ferry in water. Ship is now the keyword for him this week. He wants to get in the ship, a bigger ship next time, he says. Well, may be, lets see

Then after our trip back from yarra river cruise by ferry, which we considered ship, we got some free street entertainment. At the side of southgate precinct in city, a street performer was performing tricks. He swallowed 1 meter long balloon. He asked people to tie his hands, legs, and he was put on a sack and again bounded by a nylon rope and iron chain. After the pressure and excited got mounting with every bondage that increased on him, he got excited much more but Shubham started getting frightened. So this man will be the next thing for shubham. I guess, every parent sometimes use some 'fear factor' on their children when no coaxing, persuading works. So, probably, this 'chained man' will be his next 'hau guji'. I am not so much in favour of using fear to persuade children. But despite reading all parenting books and despite all the knowledge in book, there comes a time in a parents life when they begin to search for 'last resort' and usually it is the use of this 'fear factor'. It has been happening with us lately. Despite our very sweet, cute gentle and best mannered boy, as described by everyone who has seen him, only we know how difficult and how exhausting he can be at times. But , of course, shubham is shubham and we don't want him to be any different.

Coffe club with Shubham

Shubham today joined the rank of monash postgraduates. I took him to MPA coffee club that my buddy organizes. He has always been passionate about 'monash' at his tender age of 3. Everyday, when he sees his stroller leaving the way to go to monash, he laments ' i want to go to monash, take me to monash'. He will be happy just to go visit library, pick movies and sometimes to play with library computers.

Earlier days in January, when semester did not start, we used to put him over in one of those high chairs of Multimedia library and he would watch cartoon. He would put headphone in his head bigger than his head and watch like a very good boy. But later, he started to shout and cry and started treating monash like home. Then, it started become risky and we no longer do that.

Anyway, these experiences shows me that children learn so much more from exposure. I made a wise decision to bring him over to Melbourne. Now, he knows the distinction between Nepal and Australia. He misses his grandparents. Sometimes, when he is angry with us, ( he does that a lot, he twitches his eyes, flexes his cheeks and declares ' I am angry' ) . Then, he declares" I will catch a train to southern cross, then take a sky bus and then go to airport and take a plane to Nepal'. What a big threat!!!

The most patient supervisor in the world

I am lucky. I am writing a thesis, which is as complicated as I am, which is as unpredictable as I am. but I have a very patient supervisor, who undertands 'high' and 'low' of research cycle. She encourages me everytime and reassures me that I am doing a great job. It is her sole faith in me that keeps me going and writing. AS the submission date is looming near, I find myself cringing with fear. 3 months left whew, three months left to submit, three months left to pack, three months left to be back home, to my kathmandu, to my nepal, to my parents.

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