“Love story”, the word itself sounds full of emotions, memories and most importantly the willingness of two human to transcend beyond individual differences together culminating into an omnipresent joy. Love story can sometimes be fictitious specially with regards to Nepalese and Indian film love stories. Where we can find music playing in the background, leaves flying past often with gentle breeze, everything going slow motion sometimes even slight drizzle amidst bright sun shine. Yes they might seem quite dramatic but it is in a way reflection of overpowering emotions of the people in love and their utmost desire to be together.
As humans we are all destined to some love stories of our own. Some may have materialized and some not. For me personally only those relationships that had fairly tale end that is they lived happily ever after account for a love story and those relationships that did not quite make it, interestingly does not make up for my definition of a love story. Which includes our infatuations and short term likeness for the opposite gender. While you read this you might be just recalling all those relationships, all the those moments shared with people you liked, you were infatuated or actually had a relationship and just for a moment might make you wonder if things could have been otherwise. I was actually inspired to write this particular blog from a friend of mine. My friend is worried, sad and emotionally moved that a long standing relationship may not just make it to a marriage. While I was trying to paint the emotion that my friend shared with me about the unjustified end to the relationship, I questioned my self, “Did they really have a love story?”, My heart said yes they did have a love story; they did have the emotions there. The painting here is in way my deepest respect for all those relationships that did not have a fairy tale end.
Who knows whose fault was that, just let it be may be it was just not the right time, may be your emotions were not that deep or may be there was different script for them all together. Don’t blame for who knows about the compulsions that he or she might have faced while he or she bid farewell to you.
The revolution in field of information and communications brought about by upsurge of social networking websites has rekindled and reinforced the need and the fundamental nature of right to information. The world witnessed its sheer power during the Arab spring. Today we have access to inherent details of such a lot of things that we often don’t realize the importance of it. Just recall how often have we have had to live without our mobile phones, internet, television or radio.
Recently in my country a rather disturbing incident of murder of journalist way back in 2004 has resurfaced where the perpetrators are believed to have buried a journalist alive. It is even more paradoxical to know that the country’s government itself it trying to manipulate the incident and influence the investigation into the case. The painting is just a mere protest of the painter towards such acts of the government. It simply talks about the life threatening obstructions that journalist around the world might have to face during the course of bringing the news to our knowledge. Looking at the news reader in a news channel things might seem glamorous but at the same time we should also be aware of the obstacles that might have to be overcome before the news is written. The painting is in its own little way a dedication to the journalist around who went down fighting just for purpose that you and I know the stories behind the news.
It has not been long since I started blogging but I must admit that I have been among those lucky ones to have received the love and adulation of my fellow bloggers. My deepest gratitude goes out to Trisha for nominating me for the award. I truely appreciate this wonderful gesture. Do check out her blog specially on the issue of hibernation in http://trishadey.wordpress.com The rules of the award are follows
- Displaying the award badge on the site.
- Publishing a post to inform about the achievement
- Nominate some fellow bloggers
- Indicate the nominees that they have received the award after completing step 3
As per the rules I hereby nominate
The capital city of Kathmandu has been gripped by cold temperatures. For the last four days the minimum temperature has been below freezing. It was a bit a relief for most of city residents as the minimum temperature dared to rise above zero today. The shock and dismay at the faces of my fellow residents at the rather uncharacteristic weather pattern was not enough to allow me a second thought. It has since long been the center for excellence for all the Nepalese, its where the dreams take their flight, hopes meet their materiel self; its where the performer get their stage,determination get their tool and love birds enjoy their romantic evening. Moreover a city of kisses and misses and of chance and unpredictability.
Unpredictability has different version but its biosphere is sure big enough to include all the love stories that did not have a fairy tale end, all the divorces that had a promising start and all those pride that of the living and non living which failed to endure. Pride is often in its abstract self. But interestingly of late I have been able to see it stand helplessly.
On my way to my radio station I often pass through an old parliamentary building of the country. A majestic building then, a mere piece of craft now. While I grace the building with utmost respect for its past importance I just begin to wonder the amount of pride the building must have had. The one of its kind design, light yellow complexion, built in classic British design and some fantastic wood carvings at its front.
The building by no means is living. But as for me at least its just quiet, frustrated, irritable and unwilling to converse. Because it has been left unoccupied for long time now. The country has gone through revolutionary changes and in the meantime the country’s parliament increased in volume . So it was left to perish. The hurt pride I guess would be the right analysis for its quietness. The pride is seen hurt in its worn out paintings, its drowsy garden, dust laden window panes and most importantly its closed doors.
Frankly its a sagely building. Its teaching me about the harsh realities of time. Its quietness tells me that every rise will have its natural fall. Nothing persists in the permanency of change. The pride at the end is sometime or the other subject to embarrassing disrespect. Therefore it would be mere foolishness to boast of one’s achievement at present. It tells me that humility is the key word. Therefore let our success not overcome our humble self. Let the illusion be broken.
Yesterday evening I was listening to a Radio Program where the host was interviewing an anthropologist. As per the expert we humans are the best imitators in the animal kingdom. During the early stages of evolution imitation was one of the most important characteristics that humans exploited for survival. It was interesting to know that it is this very inherent characteristics of the supreme being that today almost all the metropolis and skyscrapers look the same including the copying of songs, dressing styles and every thing else that’s visible and expressive.
You might be wondering if the author got these statements way out of track, but I have this background to bring into light some long existing prejudice to womankind. Since our very childhood the story of segregation on basis of gender begins to takes shape. A son is probably given a gun, a football, a cricket bat or may me a guitar. But on the other hand his counterpart is given a doll, some fancy princess looking dress, toy kitchen utensils. Here the story of imitation starts. Our parents learnt it from their parents and I know I do have prejudice within me. I learnt it from the people around.
While she was handed over those things, unfortunately she was handed down with some extra sense of shame, the awkwardness, the vulnerability and extra care. Hence she was caged in some manly protection since her birth. My emotions for the “she” comes at the backdrop of recent incident of rape and abuse in various parts my home country Nepal. Various protest programs in different parts of the country are welcoming. But I think Its time that we protest our inborn qualities of imitation that made us aware about all the gender based differences. At my workplace I work with four adorable ladies. I share the same office space with them day and day out. I learn a lot out of them. I have not told them but I feel that they are the testament of the fact that “she” has already changed. But its time for the rest of us to change. Why should she change? For she is the change herself. The painting is mere pictorial manifestation of my protest for the Violence against women. The red and yellow colored eyes show that she is angry and ready to revolt. Our society has to have a structural change and let the change begin within. Let her out of the protection and of all the vulnerabilities.