My voice, the sanctuary of thoughts. (Diary I)

(24/6)
1.What am i doing right now? I am beside my grand ma in her bed, pretending to be asleep. But no, I am pouring down my thoughts. A long journey of nearly seven to eight hours, from bus- auto-rickshaw – cab; the continuous rain, the slippery road, and the extra mile to walk to reach our home, the home which nourished me, gave me every sweet-bitter memories. After nearly 2 or 3 months I am inside my home, out of the yellow room…

The gurgling, gushing river and a few insects are the only silence breaker of this quiet night. Today I am a little closer to sadness and a bit far from happiness. So many things happeing around me… My Ama had accompanied me the whole month and now we were returning back home. I was not so happy to leave the place and come back even for a week because I would have to return back after spending a few time with my dear family and  then again I would have to go back and be nostalgic.
Life teaches us so many things

Day 2.
The hurrying rain is splattering in our roof and veranda. This is the fact that I love about Monsoon. Its sound, sometimes of the large raindrops thudding the roof, the  thunder, the lighting and the thick mass of clouds and fog that makes us miss our dear Sun.
Sharp 11pm. I am beside my boju who is already in her dreams and I am here typing my thoughts. Just a few minutes back, it was the Cow who disturbed us all because the calf was outside its shed. Its knot loosened up , so it was me and my dad who went up to the shed and put the calf inside. The continuous rain made the mud so soft and swampy. One can imagine how our happy feets might have looked. Baba tied the rope round its neck a bit, pissed off because he was so fully asleep and snoring.
My boju was so happy and relieved. At last she could now sleep in peace…
http://https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/sanctuary/

Frail

image
Source: Pinterest

Pic source: Pinterest

“Frailty thy name is woman”,
Did God made her light?
For muscular men to lift her up.
The same air and diet,
Yet she is trimmed
To gain a shape, a feminine look
Is she frail and fragile?
I absolutely deny.
For she holds his sperm within,
And carries a fresh life.
<a href="http://Frail“>http://Frail

Unpredictable

She was not shy today,
To reveal all she had within,
I saw her clad in dark dress,
Shades of a few white,
Sometimes shining bright in parts
For today she had,
Black , grey and white,
Her attires in different styles.
Teardrops  in my hands and face
I felt her agony and her rage,
Then she stood up straight
Took a few steps ;And
the airy spirits placed back her Rainbow crown.
A million colors within she holds,
A strange mystery now unfolds,
An enigmatic sight so enchanting,
Nature now, the Monsoon queen.

After such a long years, it was yesterday that we were able to see such a flawless rainbow. Couldn’t capture the sight with my cell phone. But the sight was just amazing and unpredictable.
<a href="http://Unpredictable“>http://Unpredictable

He Is Not My Friend!

He Is Not My Friend’ is originally written by KATE SARAH (26.6.14 ). This is a fictional story in episodes, from a beautiful and a fantastic writer,a friend of mine.To all the readers and bloggers, here I present the two episodes from the story. Enjoy!

HE IS NOT MY FRIEND

image

1. Impression
I woke up this morning; there were butterflies inside my belly. I felt nauseous because we were close to the station. It had been three days that we spent in the train boogie. My parents came with me. If you are wondering why I am super excited it’s because I am accepted at Benjamin college of Bangalore. One of the most prestigious colleges of India, you can see this college in commercial ads and over dozens of newspapers. After my boards I told my father if I was going college then it shall be this college. My cousin sister Shristi graduated from this college last year. She is the only cousin that I am attuned to, the rest are all barbaric.
So coming to the point, I was thrilled when my dear father said,
“Rosie, you are my only child. I will spend everything for you” well my father occasionally drinks and when he drinks he makes promises but this time I wasn’t going to take it lightly. So the net was set, the trap was ready and the fish was already inside it. My mother was strictly against it.
She said, “Look at your cousins, they have government jobs they can afford big city life. I heard Shristi has a boyfriend there. You will be like her. Hanging on your boyfriend far away from home. Blah blah blah….”
To a certain point dad agreed with mother. Then I couldn’t make him see how I wanted to get out of this small town as soon as possible. I cried all night and in the morning I won.
Me=1, mother=0. Ha I won mother!
My father loves me and he will do anything for me. He is manipulated sometime by me and I hate when my cousins do that to him. They make fun of his walrus moustache and bald head but to me and mother he is handsomest the way he is.
So Rosie Rai was off to big city Bangalore, to fulfil her dreams and to be a new girl.
It’s not that I hate my hometown. I love Darjeeling so much that if God has made the paradise for me then it is my paradise. But I am not dead, I want to feel alive. It’s crazy to think that I would be spending my college years at my hometown and beside I don’t stay with my parents there. I lived seven years with my cruel maternal aunt. Her husband is worst. They make me do all the work. And on weekends they made me fill the Sintex. (as we all know about the water problems of Darjeeling). It was a total Cinderella story, only my fairy godmother and my prince charming was missing.
All work and no play will make Rosie Rai mad one day.
So I decided to save myself from further agony and decided to ditch the hills for another beautiful place.
Thats how I got here.
Bengaluru.
The first day of college I was over the moon. The weather, the trees and the soil, no more mist, no more “Rosie who will do your dishes, your appa!”.
I loved being here. It was as if the universe was in my favour. I was singing loudly at the girl’s hostel.
I made friends with fellow roommate. One was Choden Bhutia from Sikkim and the other was Priya Jain from Rajasthan. Choden was about my height. I think I got my attention towards her because she was from my neighbouring the neighbouring state. She was blessed with round face and beautiful fair skin. She wore glasses that were of a size of a bangle but she looked good on them. Beside she had good sense of dressing. Her hair was straight on her feminine shoulder. From my observation she was coy young girl who would smile whenever she meet my gaze.
Priya Jain was nothing like Choden but she was tan beauty. She looked filthy rich. Her everything was branded from her underwear to toothbrush. She was lean and weak. She had sharp facial features. Her hair was wavy and she had too many shades of red attire. She was little taller than us but due to her lean figure she looked taller than her actual height.
My parents spend their evening chatting with the director of the college who coincidently was a Gorkha. Suraj Mani Pradhan, was a resident of kurseong. Now the city of Bangalore was his home.
I heard from Choden that he owns a big land at the outskirt of the city and an authentic farm house. Dear God, Some people are living such a great life? Here I am dying for a new laptop.
Anyways my stuff was unpacked. I was doing my BA in Benjamin College. And tomorrow it was my first day at the institution.
My Dad became grumpy in the evening as we went across the city for some fresh air. He was very upset about me staying at the hostel. He kept blabbering and my mother nudged me and whispered to me my aunt’s conspiracy.
I knew it that woman needs a detergent for such foul mouth. He was having second thought, of course the city was expensive but come on for once I want to breathe here. I want to fly away from the safe nest. I want to hold on to life.
Next morning I receive a call from my father. They were leaving early, so my father bid me goodbye at 4am in the morning. I was half asleep.
When I woke up, I was late for my breakfast. I had to skip it. I had my oriented classes at 9. The shower was not working. When I hurriedly ascended towards the corridor, I saw Choden with a pale expression, “I am sorry I tried to wake you up but you were dead as a log”
No hard feelings girl! Because when someone disturbs my sleep I usually end up getting a dead sleep. And this time it was my father calling me to say goodbye. Tears swelled up as I recalled his face from yesterday. I‘ve been very close with my father more than my mother and it was killing me that for a year they would be thousand miles away from me.
I ditched my class. I had a nerve to ditch my first class. Choden insisted joining me but I wasn’t going to ruin her life for me. I walked across the lonely student park, the college was still under construction at other side of the land. I heard that they were making professor quarters. It was a huge compound. I went across the swimming pool and care to cry over for saying goodbye to home and to my parents. It’s kind of funny it wasn’t for forever that I had left them but at that moment I felt homesick, alone and stupid. Then I went to the basketball court. It was a decent court with wooden benches covering the perimeters. Beside it was the tennis court. I decide to sit at one of the benches to scratch some sketch on my note book. Not caring that it was now 11am.
While I was busy with my thought, I heard a group of boys howling. I cared not to lift my head and shower them with my attention. Then after a minute they occupied the basketball court I heard them playing. Soon they forgot I was there. The howling was for the game. I was disappointed at the thought but I was stubborn enough to stay there. I was about to finish drawing blue mimosa the ball hit my head hard and I fell on the ground between the bench. It was so embarrassing. My leg was up in air, my upper body was on the floor, God knows where my notebook was. I heard sniggers and a curse. Then two boys came to rescue. It was a surprise that they were Mongolian looking boys. One tall boy had an orange thin band around his head. He had a round face and small sparkling eyes.
He smiled apologetically at me “miss, are you okay?”
I was trembling with embarrassment and anger. I felt a warm gust of emotion rising on my face. I chose to stay silent as I dust off my jeans. The other boy was beaming at me like he was having the best time of his life.
I felt a sharp pain and realise that there was bruise marked by my pencil.
That silly boy clutched my arm and I realise that my arm hurt.
“Ouch, you idiot!” I cried.
“Sorry it was Tsujae’s fault, not mine.” He spit the truth out by pointing at the boy.
That Tsujae fella had the audacity to turn his back on me. He was about to score when the jerk looking boy next to me sold him out. He was tall and strong built. He wore his blue satin sports shorts and sport tees like everyone in the group. His hair was onyx black with a pale skin turn tan around his sleeve lines.
I was pissed that the boy who did me wrong wasn’t sorry for what he did to a girl.
“Jerk!” I said it loud so he could hear it. I saw the expression of the teammate. That Tsujae boy froze too. Then the cute looking guy next to him patted his back with a smile. So he was short tempered too. Unlucky you I can beat you in anger game.
I saw my note book at one corner and I had to rescue that piece of art I had just drawn.
“You!”
I heard the boy name Tsujae call me. It was not the voice of a 19 year old boy. It was a voice of a man coming out of his throat. Though it was muscularly coarse, he had a singing voice. I looked above to meet his gaze. He was indeed handsome boy with a perfect face and the ingredient to make him qualify as the next greek model. His nose, his eyes and his Adam’s apple were both attractive yet repulsive because of the aura he was throwing at me.
“Sorry” he said narrowing his perfect eye brows. I was appalled because his apology was like a forced one word speech. Was I suppose to thank him for knocking me off the bench?
Argh! What a Waste. So I rolled my eyes and I moved across the court to have  lunch. I could sense their eyes following me so I had to run away as soon as I left the court. I heard them snigger again and while I turned back. I saw him smirk.
Waste!

2. Make a friend
Few things to keep in mind while you are in college; make friends even when your roommates are super moody. At first I thought maybe I was being judgmental about everyone, my roommates were giving signs. Priya seldom talks. She is perky not in a good way. She has opinion about everyone and everything. She cannot be in my friend circle. And darn it she snores like a motor boat.
Choden is timid. It’s a dog eat dog world. You cannot be meek. When I ask her about her parents she stays quiet and she begins to change the topic. Her brother works at Chennai and she was suppose to go there but she opted for Bangalore. When she talks about her siblings, she can go on and on. She has six siblings and she is the youngest. Her eldest brother is married and has three kids. She has three sisters who are married too. The brother in Chennai is a bachelor. So I never ask her about her parents and I usually don’t talk about my parents. But it pisses me off when she goes all about her sibling adventure. I was always proud of being the only child to my parents.
My college friend was my roommate Choden, over the days she became my only friend. Maybe she stuck by me because she too was too lazy to make friends. There were many north-eastern seniors who would smile cordially at us. Lunch hours were entertaining. The cafeteria was flooded by the students of all department in it. I saw those four basket players sitting at one corner of the cafeteria, they looked eccentric. I noticed that they all had their left ear pierced. They looked pale and ghost like. They were sipping diet coke. The cute looking guy that stood next to that rude Tsujae guy on the basket ball court sat at the far end. His hair was jet black. He had beautiful smile. He wore brown lens making his eyes look bigger. His neck was long and of all the four boys, I found him smart and attractive. The boy with the orange thin band had swallow dimple. He was cheerful and shy. He had a silver ring at his left ear like everyone else. The idiot guy had honey blonde head which even made him look more foolish. He was gobbling down the burger voraciously. Again that Tsujae kid had his back on me. He sat lazily at the chair like the college belonged to his father. Get some life moron!
“Psst. They are freshers like us. I heard from Sakchi the other day that they are called N.E.S.T boy band. They are a big thing in music” Choden whispered to me. I don’t know when, how and where she gets to hear all these sorts of things. She is always with me. But darn! NEST, that’s a bird home. Why not change the name to CAGE instead, that would be much better if they are bird lovers. Choden corrected me, their names initials made up for their band’s acronym.
The cute and smart boy was Namsay Wangchuk, the guy with orange wire band was Emmanuel Kikon, the boy with the funny hair was Namsay’s cousin, Sangdhup Wangchuk, and last one was Tsujae I don’t know his real name everybody called him that.
My eyes were burning, I don’t have friends and while I was in school I wasn’t that popular. I think I had enemies more than friends and I don’t care if history repeats itself here. I wasn’t here to make friends. I was sure that this boy band here would always be my worst enemy, especially that Tsujae kid. When the boys saw me stare at them, that Tsujae Guy turned to face me. I saw his eyes, they were weary and he too wore lens. There was definitely tension between us, by now he knew I hated him. Hate is a strong word to say someone but every inch, everything about that guy and even his name made me hate him.
“Lets go Choden” I pulled Choden to leave then a guy dashed with me. I felt hot oats at my pink shirt. The four boys guffawed as I rolled my eyes.
“Who has oats at their lunch?”I told the boy whose lunch was at my favourite t shirt.
“I am sorry,” he apologized.
I don’t know why but I turned to look at Tsujae. He still had that antagonist smirk on his face.
What the damn hell!
On our second week in college, the seniors called us in. We freshers were escorted by a thin boy wearing khol in his eyes. The orientation programmes were finally over. When we entered the hall which was double the size of my school hall, the seniors welcome us with applaud. On the back of my head I thought “oh boy, I feel like lamb walking in a slaughter house”. However it was a different scenario. We were given the front seats. Some seniors wore white coat, goth make up, bikers jacket and gloves and magnolia brooch pinned at their chest. There were four people on the stage. One lean guy with the goth make up and mike in his hand introduced himself and the four clubs. Benjamin College was different from others. Here the power of administration was equally distributed amongst the faculty and the club leaders. Which was kind of good thing. Every year the freshers had to choose their club and based on your personalities, you got your club. It felt like being in Hogwarts except the sorting hat was missing. The club names were hilarious, as if the founders of clubs had decided the names on a lazy summer afternoon.
Geek Genius, also known as white coat or Greek. They would only take nerds. Most of them were from science department.
Punk Goth aka the black band or Punk. I thought they were joking when they called us, freshers and introduced these clubs to us. This club belonged to all kind of music fanatics and I heard they usually dominated the cultural fest held at the college and at the city.
Meteriods or steroids. Dominated by men. This club had least members. This club members wore bikers gloves. Though less in number, this club was good at everything mainly sports.
Magnolia aka sisters (I don’t know y they called this group sisters). The leader of this club wore a white magnolia flower brooch on her coat. She had familiar face. This club was for artists.

Now we were seated at the first row. I was with Choden, beside us at the first row was the NEST boys (I will call them NEST, because the whole college calls them that). The club leader of Magnolia, a young girl probably in her early twenties came up to us. She had round face and with bob hair which even made her face look round. As she smiled and waved at us, we couldn’t see her eyes. She looked like the next generation of entrepreneur. Her lilac coat had magnolia brooch, she wore a white stockings underneath her gray skater skirt. Her ballerina shoes were so small it made my feet hurt.
She was friendly and was excited for us, well her eyes and attention was towards the NEST boys. She gave us each the Magnolia Brooch which was a code that we belonged to the club.
“But we haven’t selected our clubs” I had to tell her.
“Haven’t anyone told you? Magnolia is compulsory for Mongolian Indian like us”.
My dreams were shattered, I wanted to try bikes.
Later that evening we gathered at the club room for meeting.
The girl whom we had met at the hall was our club president, her name was Megha Zow.
She was enthusiastic when we entered the room. All the eyes were on us. I was kind of blushing by the attention they were showering. When I realise that the attention was for the four boys. I could see Magnolia had 80% girls. The other reason for their joy was the NEST.
Megha had clear scheme. She always dreamt of beating the Punks.
She happily announced that the autumn culture fest was ours now. I could see the Magnolia’s were blushing ear to ear.
NEST  boys were least interested in their schemes.
They were too soaked in vanity to present a fresher’s song.
Well yeah, the college was buzzing with fresher’s and the party the Punks were throwing. It was the year of black band aka punks. The posters were pasted on the fresh white walls. The theme was dark as the club members. It was a theme of vampire’s. Twilight, Bram stroker, true blood and vampire diaries were pasted all over the bright corridors.
For the first week it was interesting and exciting. Choden too was curious, Megha had provided us with the theme costumes details. Even though I told them we were perfectly okay in our jeans and tees. She was crazy about the customs that Benjamin College had for four years. It was to abide by their rules. The rules were to follow whatever the clubs decided. Democracy here was hanged. I got few clues that I was not welcome at the clubs.
At a club where there are female population over 80% and who steal glances and some glare at you, you can clearly picture how you would feel.

They were all over the new boy band of the college. Even the boys had their man crush on the members. Surprisingly, my friend Choden too disliked the band. Well I had my reasons and she had hers. Whenever we met the NEST boys at the corridor, her lashes would drop while my head would be extra strong on my shoulder. I don’t know why but the boys would snigger whenever they pass by us.

It was my second week on campus. I was full of energy and positivity. Most of the professors and my peers had prophesized that I was the next Megha Zow of Benjamin college. I was flattered because Megha is a pert. I like her because she brings the best in our club and in our campus. At first I was not confident whether I was even capable of the title.

Choden was supportive when she encouraged me to have faith on myself. I look at her sometimes and I watch her closely. She gives me advice, she gives me company and I feel like she is lonely most of the time. I feel sorry for her and I try to break the ice but she has kept herself within the barb wire. She doesn’t allow herself to slip outside her barrier. She doesn’t laugh too loud, she doesn’t smile too wide. She is limited at everything she does. She is an altruist.

The preparation of Fresher’s day was going smoothly except for costumes. We freshers would win the competiton if our costumes were best. And only the fresher’s had the right to wear the themed costume and make up. Megha gave me a Victorian gown. It was a dirty lilac cotton bush that an amateur designer had built in a hurry. I hated it the moment she gave it to me. Girl! She is tough. She told me straight, wear it or wear nothing. I was little hurt. Who was she to boss me around? One thing led to another and Choden had to sacrifice her purple satin gown with my ragged gaga gown. By now
I realise that I had messed up my first quarter of semester with my club leader.
The other members soon began to give me cold stares.
The NEST boys were having the time of their life. They were given best clean looking cloths. That Namsay guy got the best tuxedo in the house. We had to the dinner rehearsals with our costumes. Sangdhup proposed that since the theme was of “vampire” why not wear artificial fangs.
“Why are you being dramatic?” I told him. It irritated me because they were being too extravagant for fresher’s. My parents belong to lower middle class family and seriously I don’t want to be albatross around their neck. Extra something to me meant being profligate. I came here for better education not for fashion.
“Why do you have problem with everything Ms Rai?” Sangdhup teased me.
Sometime I feel like slapping his face but I can’t.
I saw Megha was staring at me from head to toe.
“Purple looks great” she examined me. “Do little goth makeup and hairdos”
She was avoiding Sangdhup’s crazy ideas.
The club room looked congested with the four tall boys overshadowing her judgements.
“What I am saying is that it’s too extravagant for Fresher’s welcome don’t you think? Costumes and makeup and all the crazy stuff as theme Fresher’ welcome.”
Everybody gasped except the boys.
“Look Rose or whatever your name is” said the girl next to Megha I don’t ready get the names right so let’s call her “the vice president of the club”. She had thin face and black circles and white teeth that made her look more dark skin. “…just because somebody told you can be a president of this club one day doesn’t mean you already are a president. Megha is the leader here, she decides what to do”
It was like a thump on my ego. How can people be so rude? I was just suggesting. My thumb crushed inside my fingers as I controlled my temper inside my fist.
Megha on the other hand was sneering at the statement her vice president had just thrown me into.
“Why? Can’t you pay for a fake fang?” everybody laughed I felt ashamed of my poverty.
“No it’s not that” I defended with my lie. My face however couldn’t suppress my shame and my lie. I felt hot warm blood over my cheek, I knew instantly that my skin matched with the interior of the club room.
“Oh forget it, the clubs pay for everything that is why we have quarterly fees for clubs”
Seeing the colour of my skin, she smiled cordially at me and rubbed my forearms gently.
“We can also wear lens?” suggested someone from the group. Everybody around me clasped their hands with excitement my lashes were down because my ego was hurt. I was ashamed of my family economy. I watched the boys and girls around me. They had beautiful cloths and hair extensions. They had expensive cell phones and loud make up. Their shoes looked new. My knees were shaking. Maybe coming to another city mixing up with other group of people who doesn’t speak your tongue, whose pocket money is greater than your father’s pension, was a wrong idea.

Earlier that week I was blooming with confidence. Today I felt like a loser and everyone who was laughing at their own jokes made me feel like they was jeering at me.
I sat at one corner playing with my phone. There was a certain urge to call my parents and to beg them to take me away to my paradise. I fought with that strong urge. Choden was doing her hair. Divyani ah yes that’s her name, our vice president was doing her makeup and hair.
My eyes were at my feet when someone called my name,
“Rosie, are you okay?” I looked up to see him. Namsay had the most beautiful smile.
“Can I sit with you?” he was gallant too.
It was confusing. I hated almost everyone in that boy band except this beautiful creature.
I looked away I didn’t wanted to chat with him. Half of the girls around me froze as he sat next to me. I saw the rest of the boys. Emmanuel was watching Divyani and Choden. Did he want to have a hairdo that Choden was getting? I wasn’t sure.
Sangdhup was having the best time of his life with the girls, who were hovering around him like bees doing his makeup. I saw Tsujae staring at the mirror. Surprising no girls hover over him. He was alone staring at the mirror and I realised when our eyes met at the mirror that he was watching me with grim face.
“Why is he always like that?” I asked Namsay. He laughed a short laugh and said, “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover”
We had a little chat. Namsay was from Bhutan but his parents had settled down in Delhi. Sangdhup was his first cousin and currently he was staying at his cousin’s place.
I don’t know why I wanted to know more about Tsujae but I had no gut to ask.

Choden was not beside me, I felt lonely in the crowd. So I decided to visit cafeteria and have some fresh air there. On the way I heard some giggles behind my back. I felt exactly like Hermione Granger when her friends made fun of her at the beginning of her days at Hogwarts. The only exception is that she was a witch and I am nobody.
At the cafeteria I ordered a coffee to Joseph. “What are they laughing at?” he asked.
And I had no answer. The giggle started as I turned for my class. I ran away I heard Joseph shouting behind me my name.
After that I returned to have my Psychology class and I saw that everybody at the corridor was giggling at me.
Have you ever dreamt of being naked? I felt like I was stripped. They were laughing too loudly. My temper was safe inside my fist.
I entered my class room and they started to laugh at me. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. My tears were at the brim of my lashes. My lips were trembling. What had I done? I had no idea. Hopefully I saw Choden at the front row with the same look as Joseph in the cafeteria. I raise my eyes to see the NEST boys who were not laughing at me except for Sangdhup. Namsay waved at me, Emmanuel had his hands folded on his chest. Tsujae was watching me through his grave eyes. He had leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and his lips sealed by the hand on which he had rested his head. I sat beside Choden and the laughter began to reach at the peak.
“What’s this?” she pulled out a sticky note and cartoon sticker of a red angry bird off my back.
I had never cried in public and the tears at the brim of my eyes would not stop for a second. They laughed and they laughed at me except Choden who stood up at her chair and led out a loud cry.
“Who did this to her?”
I had never seen her that way. She was as red as me and I saw her veins throbbing at her temples as she demanded to know who the culprit was. I ran away because my throat could no longer hold my cry. After a while I was crying at the ladies common room.
My mother doesn’t cry. She has I think castrated her tear bags. I have never seen her cry in my entire life even when muma(her mother) passed away few years ago. I don’t have a friendly relationship with her. My father is a cry baby and my mother is a rock for both of us. I know she loves me when she used to put an extra lump of momo she had saved for me. I was missing her at the moment because whenever I cry she is the one to cheer me up. I missed my home. The tears wouldn’t stop. My eyes were red and swollen so were my lips. My nose burned because I had rubbed it for too long. I heard Choden at the door.
“Things are taken care of no need to worry” I heard her concern voice.
And that’s how Choden Bhutia became my best friend for life.

Next on HE IS NOT MY FRIEND
Freshers day a disaster for Rosie. How could I be friends with the beast? He is malechavinist, a pervert and socially incompetent. Who put the drugs in our drinks? Who?…..

<a href="http://Awe“>http://Awe

The Silence

image
The butterfly or the orchid tree. Local name-Koirala

From a deep sleep I awoke,
My room all perfumed,
The fresh fragrance,
The sweet serenity,
The faint whispers of the pegions
The quiet rehearsal of the songs
In some unknown regions.
The tranquil wind,
Her dance unseen and unheard;
Soft leaves applauding,
The world slept undisturbed.

Hundreds spurs beyond,
The silver-grey horizon,
Starting to blush,
Her scarlet face bursting,
Resplendent redness replacing the silver lines.
Beauty peeling off her melancholy cloak.
Clad in the golden armour,
in a golden chariot,
The heroic entrance of her lover.
Slowly removing her silver veil,
He kissed her and
The Heaven glowed as their colors mixed,
Sparks of red,orange,yellow and vibrant,
The earth was being crowned.
Their light shimmered and slowly spread.

I could now see the source,
From where the fragrance came,
There she stood tall,
a spectacular figure on earth,
Dressed in a Purple gown.
The green fairies decorated her hair,
O! The ‘orchid tree’,stood before me.
Pregnant she was carrying,
Thousand purple daughters ,still in buds,
Waiting to flower like her.
A mother to many I asked her name,
‘Koirala’ ,said she, suddenly a brown thing fell,
A withered leaf mimicking a butterfly!
The mirror gazing at me, I saw myself
A closer look ,my silver hair!
The silence now faded in the air,
Only a loud silence in my mind prevail.

Blank

image

Being born with a Blank mind,

The mind so fresh and new,

New was I to the world,

The very world where I grew.

Where was I before?

My memory all erased?

A new life within my mother,

In her womb I existed.

Before a Blank page,

Now a volume of novel,

Memories written so innumerable,

Not all of them do I remember.

My mind before a Blank blackboard.

Have consumed and chewed chalks,

The best I tasted,the rest I  rubbed

But the dust in the air,

I breathed and coughed.

The mind no longer crystal clear,

The rhythm of life making it heavier,

The same sweet sad songs,

Its music becomes the Lamp I hear.

And now do I see the blank space above,

The space is but a grand universe.

http://https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/natural/

My dream friend

image

(pic source- pinterest)

Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
I was there to chase you,
Every night ,while I closed my eyes
I wished to see the best dreams,
Gifting me with magical smiles.
Sweet Darkness more sweet,
When dreams delighted me,
The open window ,the starry night
Folklores and Fairy tales fascinating,
Happy children happy to relive in dreams.

Every passing day and year,
Dreams are so close and near.
A friend in dark hours you have always been,
Thousand sleepless days and night,
Thousand enemies hard to fight,
Thousand hours wishing to hold you back,
A Healthy and a sound sleep was my need;
Ready to take off; You boarded a flight,
Leaving a friend in dark?

I took the pain, to chase you again;
And  I realised, I was wrong to blame you
For it was me, nursing doubts and fear,
Instead of flying with you.
You are not a thing to be chased and caught,
A constant companion, in an eternal sleep.
A true friend  you are and have always been
Now its days and nights you acompany,
For now I am a dreamer,dreaming new dreams, Each day and forever.
<a href="http://Dream“>http://Dream

The Lost Generation

image

( pic source: google)

  I was studying in class five or six, I guess. Vaguely do I remember the exact year when I first saw her. We used to look at her with a steady gaze of wonder and curiosity. Of course we laughed seeing her and then we would say ,”bichara ka bata aako hola ,  Ko holai? Usko parivar tai ka cha holai? ( where on Earth has she come from?  Who is she? Where is her family? ). And so on our quieries would bundle up unanswered. It definitely was not the time of social selfies or famous facebook and although I have no picture of her I hold a very clear vision of the woman deeply engrained in my memory.
Her uncombed, tangled, dry and dirty hair was cut short perhaps by the local people around who rescued her from her long battle against the tiny mighty mischievous minions sharing their long habitat in her head which was their home .  Most of the time, she  always wore a smiling face, giggled when someone teased or called her with her single” bugs bunny” teeth protruding out her dark lips. She didn’t have a sharp nose nor did she have big eyes, but her small tiny eyes seemed heavy with lines lined up with her ascending age ; her features familiar to the faces around. If an artist had used the earth to create an exact figure like her, then her skin color would be no different than the earth used. Apart from her face I do not remember because most of the time she sat in a yoga position with an old rugged  blanket covering her whole body except her face. Her dark tanned face did attract a hundred curious eyes. So not everytime is fair and beautiful attractive but her attraction was far different from them.
In a time when dark clouds hovered above, tempting the Earth to drink more of it, when road pits seemed more like tea pots containing milk tea, and the drains seemed cooking something awful , I saw this woman in the same place beside the same old yellow building, this time with a yellow plastic shielding her from the continuous rain,  and she looked more  like a  chameleon as if absorbing the yellow colour of the that building. It was an amusing sight for us as children and we laughed looking at her and she in turn laughed looking at us.
I have no idea exactly for how many days or months and years she became a parasitic part of that place. There were  rumours in the air about her history that she belonged to a good family and it was only after the death of her husband that she was degraded to such a beggarly state. But only God witnessed her past. Perhaps her family still existed or perished away or perhaps she did not belong to where she was now, no one knew. Whenever we passed by her she always exchanged smiles with us. Her eyes glowed with joy with her rich smile; her smile being the only makeup she could apply. Nowadays people carry smiles in their wallet I suppose.
We were used to seeing her in the same place posing like an ascetic but she did not stay there to gain enlightenment rather she was deprived, deprived of everything,everything that a normal person enjoys.  But she was not like other beggars in the street because she never begged and to her fortune the local restaurants did help to fill her appetite and other than that she  wanted none except a home but not a single person came claiming a relationship with her.
We know there is a lack of old age homes in our country and admist us lives people without any shelter. Her family abandoned her ; I abandoned her ; the society and the world around abandoned her, except the street dogs who themselves were abandoned and homeless. Her presence was  lost among the generation who were lost in their complex cultivated universe.

Years after when I passed  by the old corner where once she breathed the impartial air with her rich smile, I saw the vacant space, the yellow wall renewed and refurbished but still missing the presence of the same old frail and fragile figure which once had been its Sunakhari (wild orchid) and now a part of ”the lost generation”and only a subject of my writing. At least the wall did not abandon her.

<a href="http://Survival“>http://Survival
Posted from WordPress for Android

Superstition – the fear underneath

– Puja Rai

image

In a world where we brand ourselves as the modern people, where the gifts of science and technology lightens our daily work, still do we carry the very old and heavy load of Superstitions from the past.The hereditary chain of superstition never ceases to end and it is superb in its performance from the day it was born. The roots of this tree has buried deep into the soil and its branches are spread far and wide,  the only difference is that it does not produce oxygen that would help and benefit the entire living beings on Earth. But sadly the seeds were sown by no other than the human hands.

Merriam Webster dictionary defines superstition as a belief or practice resulting from ignorance, fear of the unknown, trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation. In our country and in all the corners of the world we encounter a variety of superstitions; some are minor like we think a cat crossing our path might bring bad luck, so we  usually  stop until and unless another person walks before us. So, it kind of ignites the selfish nature within you and sometimes it is major, a super societal issue, like a woman , accused of being a witch and so she is burnt with the unanimous approval of the whole village or the sacrifice, be it of animals or babies and children for what a superstitious believer would call “for a good purpose”. Actually it is the fear within us that drives  the superstitious impulse of men. As far as we are alive, we do not want evil of any kind to befall upon us or our family. And so we believe in superstitious manuals or the magical remedies of what we call in our vernacular, the Dhongi Baba’s and other people who are  skilled in manipulating the uneducated lot. Sometimes even the educated lot fall prey to their art. We can get pages of information about the consequences of superstition in the Internet. Until and unless people uproot the tree of superstition (whose fruits we have been eating and drinking down the ages) and think in a more rational way, it will continue to stirr the fear within and stay as a social stigma, a scar in a civilised society.
 
In my home town in the hills of Darjeeling, superstitious beliefs are still in vogue but it is not of a major kind. Many stories are told by our parents hinting us not to be superstitious and I remember them, the most touching one was the story of a very old woman in a village who because of being very old with a shaggy wrinkled face was accused of being a witch; she lived alone in a small hut. She had a son who after being married had left her. Children in the village were scared with her but sometimes they would go and peek through the door. One day to her surprise, her son returned home with his wife and her grandchild. How happy she was to receive her family, more happy to see her grandson. But happiness did not stay long in her home because  when the child caught fever, her daughter in law thought that it was her witch mother in law who was ruining their life. So the next morning they left her once again alone and empty. No body cared, except few who sympathised with her grief. That night the sky poured down heavily accompanied by thunder and lightening. The next morning, the weather was calm and quiet and the whole day there was not a single sound from the old woman’s house. In the evening few children curiously ran towards her house to peek in through the window and saw her pathetic old body lying on the floor, cold and lifeless, only lices in her hair seemed alive. She had tried to warm herself with few clothes and sacks she had. All the villagers saw what was before them but it was too late for them to realise that they had ignored a living flesh for some kind of superstitious beliefs.
This story filled my eyes with tears.  And we would think the son must have regretted too.
The most common form of Superstitions in most of the families is that when a girl is healthy and bleeds each month, she is considered impure to participate in any kind of prayer service and she is prohibited to touch the alter or visit any holy temples, unless her menstruation is over. I was somewhat shocked when a friend of mine once told me that during such time, she is not allowed to go to the kitchen or touch any other utensils except hers. Furthermore, she is not allowed to serve the meal to any of the male members in her family. This was surprising and new to me because our family is very liberal regarding such beliefs. Did God prescribe such rules? What is a healthy menstural bleeding to do with prayers? Later I came to know that this happens all over the country.

Superstitions in our vernacular is called ‘Andhabishwas’ or simply ‘blind-faith’. We would ask our Thulobaba (Grandpa ), “ठुलोबाबा , तपाईलाई अँधोबिस्वास्  मन्पर्छ ? ”
(Grandpa, do you admire superstitious beliefs?) And he would narrate one anecdote from his life. He said , ” it was our tradition to organise sacrifical ceremony in memory of our ancestors whom we believe would look after us after their deaths. I still remember how our baba and your great grandpa sacrificed animals like goats and hens and the blood offered to the ancestral spirits  upon a rock, impersonated as our ancestors in order to please them. There would be blood everywhere and the sight was not so pleasing to the eyes. I did not belive in such superstitions so I had made up mind not to follow it and so you all never got to see it.”
Unlike others, grandpa never did believe in dhami jhagris or local priests so he never took any children to them, instead he chose doctors. But my grandma would secretly take us for the local check up when we fell ill. But without superstitious beliefs, some fraud people would lose their share of profit. When I was about fourteen years of age, my Ama had shown my birth horscope paper to a local pundit who planted in my Ama’s mind that her daughter would get married at an early age of sixteen and to avoid such ill circumstance, he had prescribed her some remedies and in return had received some good number of cash. My poor anxious mother, she did all the remedies. By now I would have become a mother if only the so called future prediction was true. Thus, I believe that the Fear sometimes of future provides fuel  to superstitious beliefs.

image

  Now in the present scenario , it is the hot time of Elections and not Superstitions. But the branches of superstitions have stretched towards the political arena and it is able to showcase a magical  mirage before the majority that is similar to the works of  the fraud priests and babas , manipulating the minds, earning maximum Votes and laughing out loud after they have succeeded in fooling the public. But it is in the power of the public to see through the knitted hole what has long been knitted by the political parties and polticians by shedding off their long old veil of Superstitions and ‘Andhabishvas’ or blind faith we have in political parties and their sentimental speeches. In a world where trust  is hard to find , we must be rational , careful , smart and witty enough to judge what is right and wrong because our precious votes voices our hopes and aspiration.

image

(Pictures compiled from Google)
<a href="http://Superstition“>http://Superstition

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect"