My wife is a psychic and so is my mom  

picMy wife knows it all but still, I have an honest confession to make. I am a culprit of reinforcing the age-old patriarchal practice of welcoming the bride into bridegroom’s place, rather my mother’s house in my context where I currently reside. Should I be apologetic about it? What do you think? Or, am I putting in too much effort to find fault within an event that inducted a new member into the family? Well! I got married on 10 October 2018 and as the old cliche “they lived happily ever after”. I hope I do a good job as a partner and best friend to my lovely wife. Having read the previous sentence, it is very intuitive to have two words rolling in your head, “lucky girl!”. Somewhat counter-intuitive, I hope a mere expression of my intent to be a good partner should not be used to predict my honorable wife’s luck. I am a beneficiary of the concept of globalization which has allowed me to question my ideals and traditions and put in a scholarly debate with myself. Post the October event, I have come across several instances where I have had to battle a self-imposed mental entanglement, primarily originating from my conscience. Here are three stories of entanglement, “cosmic entanglement” rather.

Can we be friends?

I was in Canberra, Capital of Australia, when I received a message from a lady working in Dubai. The message read, “Can we be friends?” Having ignored her previous proposition to become friends on Facebook, this time around I indulged in a short conversation and realized that she is a friend of a friend. When I say I accepted her friend request and the rest is history, I would like to mention that I do in no way have a “friend request ego”. Four years after that fateful event we were ready to get married. I am indeed a beneficiary of Mark Zuckerberg’s decision to drop-out of Harvard, because by connecting to this new friend I had dropped-in into a relationship. My mother did have some concerns about getting married to a girl from another caste. It did require some convincing to the family on the part of the bride and the bridegroom.

Meanwhile, I received some “wise suggestions” from people connected to me about giving it a second thought when getting married to a girl who is career-driven and probably earns more than me. Well! I was flabbergasted to say the least and disturbed too that people still carried “the bug” passed on from their exposure to malignant patriarchy. Fortunately, my first mental entanglement is not related to that but with something more innate. Before we decided to get married, I was beginning to question my qualifications to be her life-partner. Why would a girl who is pretty much well settled with her job in Dubai want to be a partner of a guy who is at the start of his career and trying to keep himself afloat in testing waters? One might argue that my thoughts are associated with my deep-seated male ego which was manifested in the form of my confusion. In fact, it was simply a reflection of my bank account that would struggle to fund the activities leading up to the marriage date and had done well to fund my under-confidence.

Can we share the wardrobe?

The first-week post marriage can be an adjustment nightmare. There were quite a few events post 10 October, which made me totally oblivious to the likely effects of my wife’s big suitcase in the room whose contents had failed to find their way into the wooden wardrobe. I had yet to come to terms with sharing my personal space with my wife. The absence of common sense to make her feel welcome was not helping her efforts to assimilate. Stepping into my wife’s shoe, I can only assume the daunting task that it must have been for her to adopt a house as her own whose bricks were yet to fathom her presence.  Thus, my second mental entanglement emerges from the ashes of the question: Can we share the wardrobe?  If it were only about sharing a wardrobe, I would not have to mention it here but the bigger question on the board was, can I share my life with her? It was too late to think about it then, but such minute adjustments issues surely induct new vigor into the relationship. Further, I also believe my lack of sincerity to understand her context has its root in male superiority complex which must have haunted my subconscious. To make things up, I extended my apology to my wife and quickly cleared a section of the wardrobe. Thus, in creating a space in the wardrobe, I hope I reclaimed some of the lost respect and in true sense, we started sharing our lives with each other.

Can I be a good son and a good husband?

After the death of my father some fifteen years ago, my mother and I have become friends, in the truest sense of the word.  I have never asked if she felt insecure with the presence of a new friend in my life, but the addition of a new member is bound to develop some friction. The adjustment issues between me and my wife were easier to settle but it did get quite tricky for me to handle when it was between the two strong female personalities in the house. These initial hiccups were enough to make me realize that I am more than just a son, I am a husband too. This leads me to my third mental entanglement; can I be a good friend to my mom while I try to build my way to becoming my wife’s best friend?  It is indeed very easy to be sucked into this friction but the key to resolving is to allow some time and explain why the other is acting and behaving in a certain manner.  I have read a lot about the power of communication and applied it in my field of health communications but never did I have the opportunity to do an apprenticeship in interpersonal communications at my own place.

The psychic powers

While I was struggling to come out of the three confusing thoughts, I was at my least expressive state. The short periods of introversion, while I battled my mental entanglements may have been an expression of inconfidence to deal with an extremely new scenario that was unfolding before me. My efforts to find higher ground amidst these impasses can be compared to a constitutional deadlock, meaning that I needed to seek amendments in my thought process. But importantly these amendments were first seen in my wife and mom. They had the power to read my mind. They picked up subtle changes in my mood or expression and felt the need to change the way they operated as family members. I was not surprised that mom had these psychic abilities but when my wife started to proactively address the awkwardness arising out of the friction between her and mom, I developed a great respect for her psychic abilities. It has been a great learning opportunity with regards to relationships post marriage. My mental entanglements are a by-product of a hegemonic thought process, which inspires men to consider himself to be the driver and source of a solution, when they are not.

 

 

Letter to my wife: #Balancedforbetter

Dear Rekha,

Wish you a very happy International women’s day, 2019. It does seem pretty weird to write a letter, doesn’t it? Writing an open letter does make me a sort of show off and I do acknowledge the ability of messaging applications to connect with you round the clock.  Nevertheless, with this letter I let my feeling for you go public, tell you things which I may not otherwise choose to speak about. If even one soul is encouraged to reflect on things which I mention in this letter, I would be elated with my effort. It was back in 2017 when I last wrote an open letter. I was your boyfriend then now I have honor of being your husband, basically your best friend. I am still reluctant to call myself your husband, it feels a very heavy word for a very irresponsible person like me. I lost my father when I was 16. Imagine it wasn’t a thing,  l actually lost a person who raised me with utmost love. But the amazing things is not that we got married, but for once I have an opportunity to demonstrate my sense of responsibility.

Celebration of International women’s day dates back to 1911 and it’s been 109 years since then. This year’s theme is Balance for better. It aspires everyone to have a gender balance in all spheres of life. It’s a shame that I am having to aspire for a gender balanced world in 2019 which is not befitting for a species that wants to become multi-planetary. I understand that I as man do not have to stand in a platform and explain why I am able to do a particular job. You work in one of the leading duty free organization in the world and people might look at you in awe but if I were in your position I might be taken any normal guy working on a job that he loves. So I wish I did not have to celebrate the international women’s day at all and make you feel special. May be by celebrating the day I am undermining your qualities which are far more superior to mine. As your husband people expect that I take care you and stand by you. But who cares what people think, please, please take care of me and stand by me so that I am feel balanced for better.

I wish that people start treating you as normal human being and not a superwoman. I know you don’t need my acknowledgement or special treatment nor you are seeking any acceptance. The world does look balanced every time women like you are provided a level playing field rather than adjustments. Thank you taking care of me so far, thank you for allowing me to be part of your life.

Lots of love.

Niraj

When time comes to write my obituary…

blog pic

Have you ever felt dead even while you are comfortably walking, breathing and going about your usual business? Just hold on to your thoughts for a bit.  I am no psychiatrist and do not have any intentions to indulge in any mental health assessments. I am sure the concept of life is more appealing than death. According to merriam-webster dictionary death is “a permanent cessation of all vital functions: the end of life”. But be assured, you do not have to go down that path to feel dead.

Last week I was part of a farewell event. On the occasion, one of the colleagues made an interesting comparison between death and farewell.  According to him they are both similar in many ways. The attendees of the both those event have so many good things to tell about the departing and the departed person in addition to out pour of emotions. In his words “…everyone is speaking such nice things about me, I suddenly feel dead”.  Well, that is indeed a very happy definition of being dead. So how many times have you felt dead then? To answer that question you might have to remind yourself the number of times people have been nice to you. I am sure this memory exercise will do wonders to your mental health. In my case I have two cards in front of my working desk in which people have taken time to write things which according to them are nice things about my character and conduct. Now I wonder if they were all contributing to my obituary in some ways. What do you think about that?

Life is uncertain and when time comes to write my obituary people feeling sad about my departure might run out of words. So on a lighter note, just contact my office and get the cards in front my desk. So I leave you with few thoughts. If you were to consider yourself dead every time people spoke good things about you, maybe you could appreciate life much more. After all your soul does not have to leave the mortal coil to know how much people love you. So if you want to feel dead just turn to the person next to you and request him/her to say good things about you presuming that it is the last day of your life. Because if you celebrate everyday like as if it were your final twenty-four hours then hopefully you will end up doing lot more good than bad.

 

Happy birthday!

Dear Rekha,
I was reading an article this afternoon in the Huffington post titled, “This is Why You Get to Celebrate Your Birthday Every Year”. As per the article it is very difficult to track who, how and when did the practice of celebrating birthdays start. But it is said that the Egyptians were the once who started the party. When a Pharaoh was crowned the pharaoh was considered to be transformed into a god. Hence the best guess is that celebration of pharaoh’s birth as a god began the culture of celebrating birthdays.

By this time you might be thinking that I have gone completely nuts and saying “who in the world would talk about the pharaohs while they are writing to their girlfriend”. If you think that I have made complete mockery of a very romantic birthday blog just hold on your thoughts.

Some of the common views about god in every religion are “the one who is omnipresent” and “the one who is omniscient”, simply somebody who is everywhere and knows all. Technically for me you have been omnipresent and omniscient ever since the time you and I started believing that two of us can think as we. In fact critiquing my former statement I can say that these emotions are mere manifestation of my love and emotions and hence have no implications what so ever in the real world.

Over the last two and half years you have been my omniscient god with whom I share all my things from professional frustrations to personal sorrow, from what would be my day like to what my day was like. I tell you about my problems and you quite surprisingly address them with ease. You surely know why I smile, when I smile and how I smile. You carefully listen to what I say and quite amazingly you can understand what is not being said. Simply you can read my thought hence there is no hiding anything from you and off course I do not feel the need to hide anything, because my omniscient god knows everything. I guess with the ability to read my thoughts I hope you pretty well know that you are always there in my thoughts. Hence, that makes you my omnipresent god. I am the luckiest guy in the world who can chat, meet, feed, pamper, and share deepest feelings and emotions and off course crack jokes with the god. In those terms, I am no saint but just the lucky one with a heavenly connection.

So allow me to celebrate this day as birth of my god. My cutie buntiiiii many many happy returns of the days.

Love
Buntee

#BeBoldForChange: A letter to my Girlfriend

8 March,2017
Dear Rekha,
I wished you this morning marking the International Women’s Day. During the day, I was part of an event celebrating it. It was then it occurred to me that I write to you and make it public through a blogpost. You know I surely do not need to write a letter to you because it probably undermines the abilities of the Facebook messenger or the skype to connect with you 24×7. My sincere apologies to both the applications. But jokes apart, I thought that for once I let my feeling go public.

I learnt that the campaign theme for the International women’s day is #BeBoldForChange. As an audience, I thought it made more sense to the mankind then it did for the womankind. Yes, I understand that it pretty much wants to inspire women to act in a way that challenges the status quo, unleash their full potential and thereby expedite gender parity. But you know what, women all over world are already doing that, don’t you think so? Meanwhile, when I make that statement I know I am no gender expert and I do not bear the rights to extrapolate my assumptions on the entire womankind. But I can I safely say that I have seen a woman and talked to her for hours and hours who continues to epitomize the meaning of #BeBoldForChange and that’s got to be you. A girl from a rural Nepal who did not study in an English medium school currently interacts with people from all over the world in one of the busiest airports in fluent English representing one of the finest duty free in the world. So, you have literally lived the campaign theme. I might be biased in my opinion and observations but I assume that your journey so far cannot be subject to any influences of opinion and observations.

Coming to the point #BeBoldForChange is also a call to all men. Men have always been potrayed as strong and macho. Unfortunately, this brand identity of men takes away all the courage that is required to bring out the vulnerable side of my male counterparts. I cannot speak for others but I can be weak, vulnerable, be worried about being judged, be confused and inpatient. I may not have answers to lot of questions. I can be stupid and depressed at the same time. I do have that urge to lean in. I need you to mentor me on my dressing sense and release me of my guilt. I know I am not that SMART and I can accept that without any ego. It’s foolish to think that men don’t need a hand. Yes, of course I do. Hence in allowing myself to talk about my weakness, my vulnerabilities I hope I permit at least one other person to do the same. So, for me the theme of the International Woman’s day means #BeBoldtobevulnerable #BeBoldtobeweak because the women like you are already strong enough.

Thank you for allowing me to become part of the change that you are. As you go ahead fighting the gender barriers and narrow mindsets I will certainly be bold enough to stick by your side. My mother’s generation went down fighting people’s mindsets, but in my generation, I cannot allow that to happen.

Yours Truly
Niraj

Let there be rain…

20160821_174731The day was warm as hell. But the twilight hour rain turned the nasty experience with the day’s sun into a chilling experience with the rising moon. The pacifying aura of mother nature was at full display. It was raining cats and dogs to the utter dismay of the ones without an umbrella. Even I carried over the day’s disappointments of not having been able to have a good lunch in the afternoon. But the burst of the rain drops kissing my face as I walked out of a cafe demystified nature’s magical heal. I fortunately lost all heat, stress and annoyance in that one moment. It would be utter exaggeration if I call it my moment of enlightenment. But if I truly believed my exaggerations it was that close to making me a BUDDHA. Following that moment I was stuck in rain for about 30 minutes at the heart of Hetauda, a city in the central hills of Nepal. But the patience drawn from magical touch worked well for me as I was able to witness an equalizing effect of rain.

Rain is a great equalizer. It soaked the beauties and the hunk, the bald and the bold, the proletariat and the gentry, the dark and the brown. To sum it up it left all blessed with its magical touch. I hope we all have our own moment in the rain where we are able to clear off all our greed, frustrations, egos and disappointments. Let there be rain…

The hidden colors….

IMG_7075

It’s been quite a while since I last posted a blog. I have always been a passionate writer inscribing emotions into paintings and then making a failed attempt to describe them. Paintings are for me like love letters where I pour my heart into the vibrancy of the colors and allow the mind to step aside. May be the emotions were not that strong enough but whatever be the reason, today with a coffee mug by the side, some sports in the TV, lazy grey clouds in the vicinity, water drops hitting the glass and if trying to stick to it like age old lovers trying to hold hands until there is no option of departure, I suddenly feel the need to write.
Outside the sliding door of my backyard I can see the grey clouds, a slight drizzle to complement the grey, birds chirping or may be having a conversation about the uncharacteristic rainy day falling in middle of a hot aussie summer. But that’s what life is all about neither the scorching forty degrees heat nor the chilling cold lasts forever and so does the spring. Just when things seem all predictable, we often have a taste of unpredictability. Hence I would like to be comfortable in my stupidity than my self-proclaimed ability for intelligent predictions.
The grayish almighty heaven, the stillness of the ever dancing trees, slight breeze and moon like luminance does not add up to a what can be called a colorful day. It is interesting that although we know every day cannot be colorful we expect it be one. Expectations by the way are meant to be cause of sorrow in our life. But as the steam leaves the coffee mug by my side every passing second, I begin wonder if that is our greatest strength. The expectation to see light at the end of the tunnel, the expectation to stand all odds when all possible alternatives have given way, the expectation to perform better than the previous best, thus expectation can be relieving, relieving us from all our self inflicted limitations. Hence it’s important we find colors in day to day life and be mesmerized by the hidden colors filling up our monotonous schedule. The painting tries to unearth the possibility of finding the hidden colors in our day to day life.

Melbourne Central

???????????????????????????????

It’s just one fine Melbourne morning…the birds are chirping…having their usual conversation…about where will they be flying out today…wow!!!… that must be a privilege after all they have some free airplane tickets to begin with. They may as well be just expressing their excitement for rather exciting morning and thank god it’s a sunny morning for a change, given the last four days of rain…storm…hail storms….whatever you call…the sun’s up and glancing at my room and the tress are still, unlike usual days when they have to spend long hours bending in all possible directions…they finally have their moment of solace…they aren’t working out this morning, that’s it.
The sunlight, yes… it’s just light after all…the usual thing. But it has a motherly touch to it…it embraces, cuddles, pampers, inquires, comprehends, warms…sublimates my deepest fears, and anxiousness and photosynthesizes all our stored potential… as it lights up of our day to begin with and its omnipresence inspires everything that breathes, survives, thrives and effortful for existence.

A question, “what is light?” once fascinated scientist like Albert Einstein, Michael Faraday and James Maxwell. The answer as we know now, it is an electromagnetic wave and everything visible and invisible is by product of light. But more so the science of which tells us about the interwoven nature of electricity and magnetism. I am no physicist by the way… in case you are wondering the academic background of the author. I am the light itself like all of us, beaming and echoing the interwoven nature of emotions, survival and objective march to prosperity.
It’s been four months and four days ever since I landed in the city…and oh my…my!!! everything has happened with the speed of light. I left my country within a span of 17 days to begin with….started off with my class a day after I landed…then the course registrations…IDs, libraries….online stuffs…new friends…new modes of commute…new methods of learning…training your brain to think differently…and all in all a new way of life. But finally there’s break…as the gasp of air just leaves my lips.

A new country…a new city is much often an overwhelming experience. But Melbourne has been a true teacher and my good friend, getting the best out of me and helping me realize that there is something more to myself. Coming into an international city like Melbourne, the first thing that strikes is the freedom…is the liberty that the city provides and imbibes within its residents. But on the flip side it does not mean that I come from place where there is an authoritarian regime exits but certainly from a place where the thoughts are not allowed to become liberal, where thoughts are not allowed to become simplified. The other day I was talking to friend from Myanmar enjoying a cup of coffee, escaping the wind that seemed to be in a hurry to get some somewhere haphazardly flipping the umbrellas of all its bystanders. In the meantime, she shared something very interesting that it would not have been possible for her to talk to a guy in a coffee shop back in her home country. She said it with a smile that there would be shrewd eyes taking a keen interest on the mutual interests of the two in conversation. Looking back at that very fateful conversation I felt that although we both represent a democracy more specifically democracies in transition i.e. referring to the political transitions in Nepal and Myanmar, but democracy is not just enjoyment or exercise of political freedom but also a state of mind. Liberty by virtue of the word echo’s freedom in all direction but it’s also the liberty of mind and perception, where an individual by virtue of freedom of autonomy is able to enjoy the full potential. It’s a state of liberal self. What Melbourne has taught me is this very fact that a liberal self is patient, welcoming of thoughts and hence one is able to embrace different thoughts and ideologies in turn making the society at large more diverse but yet cohesive. An ideology once instituted in South Africa as a rainbow nation. So what Melbourne exudes is not just its history and culture but transfers its inherent thoughts of liberty not only enabling people to enjoy their full potential but also provide the opportunity to instigate a subjective liberal renaissance.

We are all free thinkers by the way…we are all birds cuddling the clouds but our thoughts are often guided and indoctrinated…but all it requires is a city enlightened where we can think beyond our indoctrination. Thus the painting is representative of a diverse society smiling and sharing a space in a cohesive manner… all the fingers have different sub function but together they strive for the same objective and more over the smile has the same interpretation.

Had they chosen not to smile…

The significance a bloody war often lies in the peace that prevailed following it. Somebody lost, somebody stood victorious but I don’t know who won, who prevailed. I guess it’s the overpowering and omnipresent emotion called peace that prevailed. Moreover, the holy silence following the last gunshot, the last cannon fire, the last brave soul that left the physical self, the last sting of blood lost, the last wish of the last fallen that remained unfulfilled, the last words of the last fallen that echoed…the smoky battle is what prevailed.

The author has feeling of hollowness today…may be the commemorating music of the bagpiper arising right out the grave of those fallen may have been a factor. I along with Raffy, a rather serious looking, with a composer matching a master musician, soft spoken with gentleness of a martial artist, formally dressed Philippino doctor…., went to attend ANZAC day Parade at the Federation square, Melbourne. ANZAC day, commemorates the sacrifice of the brave son and daughters of Australia and New Zealand, who went down fighting for their motherland starting with the battle of Gallipoli. But interestingly as I was watching the commemoration services of ANZAC day over the television I found the memorial services were being attended with utmost emotions by the friends and the then adversary, the Turkish Army.

It was then I realized that the greatest awakening of our time is not E=mc2, the famous equation of Albert Einstein, but consciousness of peace that arose from the mushrooming clouds of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The realization of importance of peace is defining moment of our time. In the eyes of the marching veterans, the prevalence of glory and pride was quite evident. But the march was not just glorification of the battle but the satisfaction of peace and everlasting smile that prevailed following the fall of their honorable comrades. They were rejoicing not because of the accolades but by the realization of fact that it is better to live with the guns laid to rest than the men who operate them.

The painting is tribute to all those honorable men and women who sacrificed their life for the realization of peace past their living self. It is a salute to all those people who dared fight their selfish self and come out brave out of their discomfort within. Had they chosen not to stand, had they chosen not to come out of their comfort zone for the comfort of the generation to follow, had they chosen not keep their head held high when rest though that it all over…we would still be engulfed within the bloody smoke….searching for the meaning of our existence and identity….Had they chosen not to smile in adversities when rest had forgotten to smile…. We would still be awaiting the greatest realization of our time…

Melbourne diaries: the shift…

Melbourne diaries: the shift...

Life has always been about the shift. Some strings of transition that nullifies the possibility of status quo. We transit from being happy at one moment and sad in the other which continues to and fro, while some other time we make a paradigm shift. It was February 25th, 2004 when I underwent one such shift that was to change my life forever. It was 8:50 am that fateful day when my father’s heart beat one last time. The shift was sudden but not totally unexpected and shook me like an 8 on the Richter scale. But shift is like an unwelcomed Santa it comes with bag full of uncertainty. Moreover uncertainty is like the beloved girl friend, I guess, whenever she is not around the miss is quite evident and when she is around…the wish… is to wait to miss her again. Some of the most inspiring stories are born out the ashes of uncertainty; they haunt, test and prevail. It is always great to discuss about being in one such situation over the afternoon tea but actually facing one is challenging.

Coming to Melbourne, was a great shift and the anxiety surrounding the new place, the uncertainty. But the early uncertainty has been worth an experience. Some familiar looking unfamiliar faces have become actually familiar now just helping me calm my nerves. In the land of unknown there is nothing more soothing than familiarity. But I have some idea about her erratic weather by now. She is almost like a poet, expelling the emotions as wind and rain every now and then. Hopefully we can do business. Melbourne as of now is my new friend whom I know by name but I am yet to have an extensive chat. We both are testing out each other and taking a feel of the other. It’s been a month since I first met Melbourne and we both have something in common we are both willing to explore new possibilities and we both are growing…Moreover I am thankful

The painting is the pictorial representation of the shift. The shift from Kathmandu to Melbourne…

Melbourne diaries: The arrival

Melbourne diaries: The arrival

It was 10:45 am and I gave a last minutes check to my luggage’s weight, four hours before the flight time. My ticket reads- 30 KGs luggage allowed. The measurement reads 35 KGs. Just about set for the romantic climax of the separation of the boy and his beloved extra 5 KGs of luggage. Offloading 5 KGs was a challenging ordeal. Last minutes hiccups can often be nerve-wracking but given the emotions of the last minutes kisses and misses I had to keep my calm. Yes the calm, but the calmness of the word calm may often be misinterpreted as in my case calm was just the absence of expressive anxiety and nervousness.

Never before this day had I headed towards the International terminal. Well I never had the opportunity to travel outside my country except for few Indian cities. As a first timer the worrying factor for me was not the lack of previous experience but the information overload about the musts, do’s, should do’s and better do’s. Lucky me that I had so many resourceful people to guide and saying thank you would be lesser a term for the unfathomable gratitude that I owe to each one of the them who wanted to ensure that I had all the resources in my armory for the upcoming ordeal.

Finally it was time to enter the terminal through the departure gates and I saw my mother and rest of the family members through rather translucent glass windows as far as possible. The absence of emotions in each one their faces meant that all their emotions had mingled and enlightened by the sense of realization that I was leaving. On the inside I met my school friend, Abhishek and his smiling welcome liberated me of all my fears. Sometimes when you have helpful faces hovering around your deepest fears it’s when you feel the presence of a heavenly intervention.

As the plane made its way through the air only then a sense of disbelief started sinking in about the first international flight. 25th February, 2014 should go down in my history books as the day of revolutionary changes when things take their course in a whisker of a moment. Twenty days prior to that I did not know I would be taking this flight I was rather preparing for a field visit for my work. It was a brisk ride the scholarship offer, the confirmation, the VISA applications, medical tests, handover of works at the office, last minutes office duties to complete, shopping, paying out my annual bills at home, visit to the relatives, last minute phone calls, paper works….and there’s lot more.

But the more than fast pace of events it was also about me-the questioning self, as I questioned myself time and again, am I capable? am I up for this opportunity? Will I be able to make it?. But my deepest fear was not that I am incapable. The sense of altered self confidence brought about the lack of disbelief about the things happening around me was the diagnosis. Many a time endowment of an opportunity is beyond the perimeter of the sensible thoughts and imperfections of self. It is that time when we grow and rise above the thinking self, attaining the worldly “Nirvana-the enlightened one”. On the plane though it all felt like a dream as the fondest childhood aspiration of getting on board an international flight had been materialized.

I believe dreams do have their inception in the womb of utter confusion, chaos and soul searching. The birth of which is sublime, nullifying all impossibilities encapsulating all adversities. We all have a dream- A cinematic experience, transcending beyond one’s significant self, visualizing facts beyond ones factual self. In 12 hours time I had landed at the Melbourne Airport, a true cinematic experience, too good to be true… I had woken up and somehow been teleported right through my dream. It was time to wake up and smell the coffee I guess because the subtle anxiety and nervousness of touching down in a new country, new city was almost deafening. But in an unknown land it’s always so much relieving to find some familiar faces. The familiarity was only limited to email correspondence though but it felt like as if I knew him for ages. Tall, lanky, blonde hair, with a gentle specs, and soft spoken… there I go I finally meet Ken after a look out for some time, wow!!! Wasn’t that relieving… he is Ken Wallis, born and brought up in Melbourne. I could not be more thankful as he gave me a ride to the place I will be residing. So after 26 years into being, my address suddenly changed from Siddharthamarg, Anamnagar, Ward 32, KMC to 4/28 Acacia Street, Glenroy, VIC 3046…

Acacia street has been a home away from home, Roshan “dai” (meaning brother), and Mukta “di” (meaning sister). I feel humbled and thank god that I came in confluence with such beautiful people throughout the journey. The painting above depicts all those face that helped me out and became a part of my dream ride. Thank you for the rainbow of emotions that they showered on me…The painting is simple dedication to their gesture. Thank you would just be a formality……

How about trying one….think about it

How about trying one….think about it

She passed left of me, sometimes to the right and sometimes just behind me. She was there, just there, watching me and all the comrades around me. Yet she was eloquently unseen just about visible to my wandering emotions and to my thoughtful senses. I was unaware if she was hiding from me or if it was my nervousness that kept me away from her invisible omnipresence. More often visibility is subject to vision of our eyes which sometimes might default owing to our greed, likeness, characteristics, inherent biasness, prejudice, intent, willingness and most importantly one’s desire rather than the biology and physics behind it. She was cold as if arising from the graves, filled with hostility prolonged passed the life after death.

But her hostility had the grace of the royalty as she touched me gently and with respect. The “She” is the cold weather. I met her during my childhood as the snow queen, sometimes as the haze and the rain filled clouds, sometimes as the leaves ridden tress, sometimes as my cracked lips, sometimes as my motherly and holy quilt, sometimes as the delayed flights, sometimes as the cold H2O, sometimes as the unfortunate news of casualties resulting from the dipping mercury, many a times as the hot coffee and vapors of the boiling water, sometimes as my unhygienic self and more often as the wandering cold breeze and the shiver, the avatar which I am often not comfortable meeting.

But my fate was that I had to meet her, that too on a Saturday afternoon. During the afternoon I was attending a book launch ceremony. But the event was not joyous to me as I had to wait outside the hall, as on the inside, the hall was filled to its full capacity where some enlightened scholars were busy talking about the new entrants into the literature club. But the sorrow of having to fight the cold outside was in a way subdued owing to bunch of friend who if not more but were equivalent to the scholars inside as we shared a lot of things from chit chats to work and to behavioral science. Meanwhile while I was in conversation I just wondered if the hall itself might have been amused to the overwhelming response. We never know when the hall makes its mark in the history for having organized the first book launch of its then promising and to be legendary writers.

The book has eight short stories bringing into light the way of life of the marginalized section and communities of Nepal that’s what its editor note says and that is all that I heard peeping from the outside. I am yet to read the book though. The book is titled “Hulaki” meaning postman. During my childhood days growing up in the rural areas of the country I remember letters being delivered by postman.  But today the transfer of letters in its physical form has been limited to official letters. There is no any sadness associated with the statement made as the writer is much more excited and opportune to use the latest means of communication.

But the term “Hulaki” just about allowed my mind to ponder on the emotions associated with hand written letters delivered.  Since in those days, some two decades ago, the means of communication was very limited in Nepal, with landline phone service just about there but that too was quite difficult to own.  So basically the hand written letters were the cheapest means of communication. But for me more than the expenses or the means of communications it’s about the emotions associated. Previously the hand written letters had basically all the ingredients of the incisive humors with the embodiment of social realism of the George Bernard Shaw’s plays but with rather pleasant simplicity that would make the flamboyance of the Victorian era to rethink its lavishness. Basically people wrote with their minds and left the heart attached for they never knew when the letter would get to their loved ones and when would they will have the chance to write their next. Probably every letter should have been engulfed in the unfathomable sorrow of the last words they will ever share. The letters used to be long, pages after pages written with the holiness of a sacred text and with description which can surely form the basis of an award winning biography. Moreover I remember the letters being kept as living mummified memories and being read again and again.

No wonder the writer was too small to have written one such letters but it is one such fondest childhood memories that suddenly haunted his sub consciousness as the word “Hulaki” came before him. It’s an interesting dilemma to have, it’s like the subtle pain or worry that occurs when four wheelers traverses a trekking route. It may also be romantic relationship of the writer with his fondest childhood memories and writing a mere tribute to it.

But today things have changed we have all the possible means of communication and in turn the contents of the communications has shortened and often abbreviated. Hopefully with it the emotions have not curtailed or shortened. The curtailing of my emotions will make me less of a human and more of a mere living object with a consciousness of just me and nothing more in doing so my life will have been shortened to end at that fateful moment.

The painting presented is a mere depiction of the emotions associated with the distance communication when there were limited means to fill up the physical distance. The writer is in no way wishing to go back in time but is just about lamenting on the all lost emotions associated with the hand written correspondence…How about trying one….think about it…no wonder it sound stupid…

 

Miracles do happen……

Miracles do happen......

Wow!!! A sense of achievement is almost addictive; enchantingly inviting and most importantly deeply satisfying after all it was no minor achievement, especially when it comes at the backdrop of some physical labor. Cleaning window panes, brushing off the algae from the walls, sweeping the floor and every other thing that I could do to clean the house, I will have to say that the satisfaction of completing this task was more satisfying than office work, because here there was no checklist to tick off the task, no deadlines, no performance evaluation, basically I had no one to prove non to disapprove, non to agree no one to disagree. It was simply me, the bucket laden with detergents, some ragged piece of cloth, a broom, an iron teeth brush and most importantly a cloud of dust to give me a “soothing company”. Despite the nature of work I was just happy and some incentives though a smile to carry off, some smile for which you simply don’t have to twitch the facial muscles.

The end of the day was more rewarding. I attended the Ncell Literature festival unlike some boring lecture sessions supplemented by some literary jargons it happened to be some meditative journey having graced prominent litterateurs of Nepal and India and quite often nodding my head in agreement or in difference. The vibrancy of the youth was evident there the term which I believe should in no way be limited to age. For me a mad excitement of something that transcends an individual, basically an epidemic thought, that aura that inspires other to act or think in the same manner is enough for a youthful nature. That was what I felt there, people of all age group full of life and thank god none had the geeky outlook marked by you know what I mean some ragged hair, overgrown beard, some sideways jute bags, over thinking maniacs who often sound introvert or pretend that way I don’t know.

The first session that I attended was of an upcoming Indian writer Mr. Ravindar Singh. During his interaction he was highlighting on the amplifying nature of happiness. It was then it occurred to me that I write a few lines myself on the elusive word called “happiness”. Happiness for me is like an omnipresent miracle and more than the surprise of it happening there is greater surprise for it be happening but yet not realizing that the miracle has happened. As humans we all have our own share of pain, anguish, frustrations, tragedies, sorrow and all the other emotions that one can think of explaining the sad part of one’s story. But despite all the emotional upheavals in life we still manage to gather our thoughts and head on now that’s a miracle. We still manage a smile somehow despite a grueling pain haunting us from within that’s miracle. We never stop longing for the elusive happiness despite continued companionship of sorrow at present that’s yet another miracle. What I would like to believe is that the eternal optimist within all of us is greatest proof of existence of miracle. We are all living miracle in flesh and blood trying to live normal lives despite our ability to perform miracles.

Well then miracles do happen. Meanwhile, sometime when I get asked “why are you so happy today?” , I find myself in a fix on what answer should I give in reply. I would like to believe that many a times being happy requires no reason. I am happy that’s it, lets not narrow the occasion of happiness into some reason. Festivities are much often the biggest celebration of happiness, when I say so I know you might completely disagree or absolutely agree with me. But lot of my friend might agree that the eve before the festival holidays are some time stopping moments when you want to believe that you can actually stop time and allow that moment to pause. I don’t know for whatever reason for me more than the holidays it’s the eve before it which is actually so worthwhile celebrating as you contemplate all the wonderful things ahead.

Currently my beautiful country is gripped up in festivities and more than the crowding of the marketplace the magical smile in the faces of people is indicative of its presence. Although all the faces that I come across in this hustle and bustle of the festival market may not be happy but I think festival does allow them a little oasis to forget all the pain for a moment at least and be in the gathering of near and dear ones.

Many a times the tragedy of happiness is that we often forget our great fall at the moment of that happy rise. The painting here represents a important part of Hindu festivity which is putting on a tika a celebration of happiness as manifested in the vibrant colors around. Happy festivities to all my friends.

Evaluate

The MEASURE Evaluation blog

prophetbrahmarishi

Just another WordPress.com site

Share Your Articles

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.”

Sacred Journey

Where muses and words join to create magic.

A.S.Jha

Perception & Expression

Bucket List Publications

Indulge- Travel, Adventure, & New Experiences

Gasm Travels

A Photographic Journey

writegoodbooks

Helping new writers become published authors

amyunjaded

my life unjaded & working to get my moxie back

Preconscious

for the book

Coco J. Ginger Says

Poems and stories of love & heartbreak.

Global

Smile! You’re at the best WordPress.com blog ever

The Guilty Preacher Man

abandoned illustrations

The Baggage Handler

I made the impossible easy in both worlds!

AddGrainOnEarth

A great WordPress.com site

Sergey Gusev Art

Original Oil Paintings And Drawings By Sergey Gusev

Roshan's Blog ♥

✱Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm........➸