Passer By

Yes, you were right. To you, I was just a passerby encountered in a public place and nothing more! We were on the brink of moving on two divergent ways and directions. The time was drastically limited. Actually, it had begun with a greeting shown from my side. Only God knows how much effort I made to find a pretext to create such a relatively conducive condition to talk to you and make the eye contact with your stunning eyes for a few seconds. However, then all my endeavors to prolong this conversation proved futile when I saw you first body’s movement to pass me even though our brief talks hadn’t been finished yet. No sooner had the happiness and hope, formed by your fleeting smile, surfaced in me than the sweetness of the joy gave its place to the bitterness of leaving. You were right! There was no reason to let the talks go any longer, “I was a passerby only”.

However, the reality was that we were from two different worlds, dear. Your world is one in which its habitants try to make any decisions based on the so-called logical reasons and publically accepted rules only. The personal benefit is overriding factor, prior to any steps to be taken. They preferably want everything to be guaranteed before making any choices. Making friendship with someone of course is not an exceptional issue in your world. There should be adequately convincing causes to make such a relationship, mainly based on conventional rules. Many questions need to be perfectly answered before even thinking about someone as a partner. Logical reasons, compulsory qualifications, conventional rules… and again convincing causes, logical reasons… oh…, oh…when all these ridiculous words and phrases come to an end to let us hold our hands without saying even any word!?…

For this reason I have chosen to live in another world; “world of fantasy”,the world in which you don’t have to meet these meaningless criteria to make friendship or fall in love with somebody. You can’t benefit from your especial and suddenly shaped social position in every field of life, nor can you suffer from not having those so-called reasonable qualifications to do a thing you want to. Having unfettered life far away from all those irritating rules can only be an advantage. The different atmosphere in which human’s ear is capable of hearing the heart’s words and voice and there can be found a room for sentiment, affection, truthfulness or even love at first sight.

However, it is regrettable that I have to say there is an endless distance between your world and mine, dear. Even a flicker of hope of joining them is nowhere in sight. What is the main culprit? I might have been mistaken, yes! You were right, “I was a passerby only”

The “smart” phone Dictatorship

Last Monday afternoon, my belly was rumbling because  of hunger so  i called my friend so we could go to some place and have  some lunch.  After 10 minutes which felt like ages , the food finally came and  I thought finally I could stuff my belly up . As i was going for my food, my friend stuck a huge phone between me and the food and  started ” photo session” with it.  After few clicks and types  in awkward angle, the humble food was celebrity in his Facebook desperate for likes and comments.

As technology is getting better and stronger like some big  fat buff with cocktail of steroids, a mystical thing called  over “smart” phones have popped out and fallen into the hands of every next person. The “smart” phones have clutched us  like the vicious. tentacles of giant octopus and we also have welcomed it with both arms wide open.  The  phones  which was meant to be a means of communication has turned into  a  invincible device which has engulfed poor alarm clock, gaming consoles, television, radio, mp3 players and what not. Slowly, the invincible powerful plastic and chip gaint is also engulfing, dictating our life.

People ask  ” whats wifi password” before ” how are you”,   one cannot engulf a morsel without  taking the pictures of  their meal, toilets has turned into photo studio, “duck face” has taken place of ” smile” while capturing images, ” miscalls” has taken place of ” hi”. One has been so much addicted to their phones, that it has become another ” basic need”.  Technology has  made  world a global villages, communicating is cheap; the distance between you and next person 1000 miles far seems near but  they dont realize  distance between their family  and friends has turned so far.  People have been dictated by the “communication device” so much that they have forgotten solid one to one communication. Socializing  has turned into chatting and calling “electronically”

Children of 90s and before that loved playing outdoors. Now the device has engulfed “outdoor ” playing with the whole wide world of ” electronic play”  . Now days children can dribble, shoot, and run with their  fingertips. Children love the simulation so much that they have turned their face away from reality.One seems to forget the thin line between the reality and the simulation. Its sad to say this but, phones are getting smarter and turning people dumb. Technology has great use and so does the phone, but one should realize and wake up from their digital dream ” you control the “smart” phone, “smart phone” doesnt control you.”  The world is bigger than screen of your “smart” phone.

LOVE and LUST

 

Beyond my  skin, inside my heart

 runs a  torrent  of boiling blood,

Full of angles and demons.

Fighting, endless battle of soul and mind,

The battle of  fire and light,

Battles that  god of war would delight.

 

Angles want  love, Demons want lust,

I don’t know whom to support, whom to trust.

Angels seem invincible , they seem strong

Mighty demon pounces back, dear my, I was so wrong.

 

Colliding, thrashing, ripping and biting

Battle is gory, yet so exciting

I lay down , tired of the fight

My soul is bleeding, blood as black as  a night

 

Demon says, love hurts, Lust is what u need

Lust is sin, Angel disagreed.

Demon is losing, starting to stumble

Angle is hurt too, both start to crumble

Do hell with angel and demon, stop the bloody fight

Love and lust, both is my part, both I delight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FEAR

 

 

I fear that  day  when I lose my heart

When all my dreams,  pushed out from myhead

When all memories, feelings and will power

Lay in the  the bed of death.

I fear that day when I lose my identity

My my joys and my delight

All taken from me ,on one  dreadful night.

I fear l will lose my importance,

My knowledge , my skills and my virtue

No matter what I try, what I do

Its happening, and I know its true.

Epic Fail: One sided lop story

Sitting  beside “raju paanwala’s ssop” , Ram Bilas says to Gajothar “ see there goej  your bhabhi”. “ Gibhen the phact that Ram Bilas is a “gymwala” , no one ssud look at the girl becauz he will be beaten to pulp.

The poor girl doej not ebhen know tyat there ij a boy named Ram Bilas.

This story goej phaar beyond  that in the topic. I am sure you must hyab experienced it sometime or other.

Returning to write this story in normal form,< above lines inspired from infamous dubbed South movies > , people from everywhere are witness to this happening. The case with girls is not like the above mentioned story.  If there is a guy in her class, she looks across to him with puppy eyes , maybe once or twice and the boy is on that vicious circle of so-called love. In this matter, we boys operate very rudimentarily.

But the case with ‘ lop at first sight’ and no sight after that has  highest probability, I would like to say 99/100 times.   The famous (birdwatching or hunting) is a  national time pass for the  chiya pasal  boys  who look at the girls passing  by and label them with two names : Tero bhauju ki mero bhauju chomping over stale duunot and overly sweet chiya. Most of the time, the poor  “lop” is so shortlived that it can’t even last a cup of tea. Its easy to say but its a real challenge for him to find out details about her. (if he dares  and she cares).  But, once in a blue moon, he might even find that, but he multiplies the fact and says “ she talked to me yar” ,” Aja date ma gayera ako ma”.

But  as  I said, most of other times, I would like to say a Chinese alu ghadi  will be more durable than that so-called love. Do that in Bollywood or our own Nepali movie and you are screwed. Generally, hero and heroine strike at the college, heroine’s book falls down and eyes of both meet when both try to get that book.  After 15 minutes of story and a song , heroine and hero are (janam janam ko sathi) and  a maran-chyase hero is able to fight 10 mustandas alone for her .  But one must keep in mind a serious statement
(yesh katha ka sapai patra kalpanik hun ra bastavik jiwan sanga mel khaye ma samyog matra hunecha).

One-sided love stories are more fun for friends than you.  The wicked smile whenever she passes by, the continuous hit of dialog” uhh bhauju” when she is near!  We all have that one friend who gives lectures about relations to you and you listen to that poor fellow though you know s/he is miserable in the dating department. You might even scribble her name on class benches, public toilets or backside of mandirs; something like “ Bittu loves Munni “ to immortalize your love.

The best part of the one-sided love story is its flexibility There are no complications what so ever. If one story is failed then, shed a tear, share a beer, “ oh ! dear”  and move on to the next. One-sided love stories add spice to our lives. Whether it be girls swooning over the morbid, dull and emotionless (literally), Edward Sullen, Cullen or another vampire/wolves/dragon or the guys drooling over the lively, cute and oomphy Megan FOX. Come to think of it, they will never have eye contact!

After couple of cycles of  “ Dude, I saw an awesuummm girl today”…. to a friend saying ” leave it yar, she wasn’t meant for you…………… OAAAIII KTA HOO!!!! uhh tya herta”; we all grow up. No matter how short-lived, silly or cheesy it may be; a failed one-sided  love story is a good adventure, experience and great story to lament after a few pegs down with friends later.

BUCKET DONATION!!!!!!!!!!

There has been 2 things viral lately, one  being dreadful Ebola virus ; culprit of numerous death tolls and second ice bucket challenge.  The  virus itself is a very unfortunate tragedy of human kind and i pray god that victims get the cure ASAP and the virus gets eradicated from earth while i have mixed feeilngs about the latter “ICE BUCKET thing”.

Being marketing student myself,at first i loved the marketing concept to run a donation campaign. Millions of dollars has been raised while also generating awareness about disease called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS) .”FACEBOOKIFICATION” factor  has exponentially increased the exposure   of the campaign but lately i feel it also has been  degrading it.  The beautiful campaign has turned  into  ugly wet T-shirt Facebook contest.

Keeping the marketing tactic one side, donation is the offering from “halves ” part of society to ” halves not” part of the society. The main message of the campaign is being pushed into the back and, the “fun” of tagging friends and wetting yourself is being the highlight. As flock of sheep, everyone is following the Facebook fad and forgetting the  very own concept of  alien word called “DONATION”.

People in Africa are dying because of dehydration ;They wait hours in scorching sunlight to get a liter of water; even i dont have to go far, people in my country walk hours to get a bucket of water. But in the name of  “beautiful cause” people are wasting water In any book , i haven’t found donation being associated with “wasting ” anything. Irony is , we are wasting precious thing like water for concept like  donation.

If you want to donate, donate that bucket of water to the needy ones, if you want to donate, donate a bucket full of food to needy ones, if you want to donate, donate your one day pocket money to  needy ones.  No matter how small your contribution is, it still is million times better than wasting anything. As mother Teresa said, “It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.”

Hazy Dreams

Hazy Dreams

The typical hariyo Parda , the unique character of any Bhattis in town, where few of us dared to enter and the authentic taste hugged the soul so badly that we keep going there. Sekuwa, Bhutan, Bara with a big gulp of sweet chyang shared with friends. Nothing can beat that feeling.

This is a story of one of the typical Hariyo Parda  Bhatti run by  Motti didi, mid-aged women with a well-built body complimenting her nickname, warm smile, and typical Newari tone. Her piro alu, spicy momo and sweet chyang were famous over her regulars. Business was doing well.  Motti didi has a son whom everyone calls Ramey but due to his immense love with Sylvester Stallone’s movies, he likes himself to be called Rambo. The young chap  never wanted to be in that Bhatti. He felt like dirty walls of those Bhatti were a cage that would engulf him and he just wanted to get far from that. The advertisements of employment opportunities in the Middle East was a perfect gate away for him. He had heard dreadful stories of the desert but the big bold letters are written in Salary column always lured him towards those posts.  To fuel his fire for the middle east was one of the regulars of Bhatti, Tikaram Bajey. He claimed himself to be an agent of a big recruiting company in the middle east. Though he was Bhramin, he never hesitated to gulp down the delicacies of Bhatti that other Bhramin race would claim “impure”.  Bajey implanted seed of the middle east so strategically inside Rambo’s head that he was ready to pay Bajey a huge sum for the necessary documents and visas. And the icing on the cake was Bajey never had to pay a dime in Bhatti. It was his “consulting fee”. Maybe that’s why he grinned so much, showing his disgusting teeth rotted by regular use of khaini.

Opposite of the Bhatti, there is a finance company where Vishal;  is working as a finance manager.  The 24-year-old chap didn’t get the post due to his extraordinary CV or experience but through ‘gift” by his father who also happened to own that place. After working a few months, the same “ gift” seems “torture “ to him. He never wanted to work in the first place. He misses his bike rides, dates with young women and late-night parties. The rich spoilt brat was brought from lavish life to the tie suit; 9-5  environment and as Rambo, the neat and well architecture walls of the office was engulfing his ambitions and youth.

The discrepancy between these kids and parents’ ambition would result in often quarrel and unrest; Moti didi’s threshold limit crossed and she handed over her lifelong savings to the Tikaram Baje. “Tero life set vo mora” Bajey grinned and promised to be back in 15 days.  Vishal’s case was different. His thick-skinned dad had little effect no matter how much he protested. Vishal could not take it anymore and that night he snuck in his dad’s room, stole a bundle of cash and ran away.

On that 15^th day, Rambo wore his best cloth, packed a bag while whistling his best song  “Don’t worry ama” he said “ You don’t have to work anymore. I will earn double what you earn a month”. Motti didi was listening to her son while trying to control her tears. Rambo wore his new boot and said he would call her mom when he landed in Qatar. Tika Ram Bajey had promised to meet Rambo at the Airport at  5pm.

Vishal  had flown away from the cage. He  had pocket full of money and  heart full of ambition when he left his home. A few days went smoothly with this regular party, booze and girls. The thick bundle in his pocket got slimmer every day. Everything started to haunt him. His ambition went haywire, dream jumped off the roof and he was left alone with 100 rupees note in his pocket. He had no other option, no other way out. He was strolling with heavy heart and empty pocket when he reached in front of his office. He stared at his office with eyes full of tears.  He wants to call his dad and beg for forgiveness but he is too ashamed and scared. His morality was killing his soul.

As he turned back, suddenly his eyes were on that hariyo parda which he had seen million of time but never it looked so inviting. His foot started to walk itself and  led him inside. Before the bold act of redemption, he wanted to get drunk .“ Sauni” he said  ,” ek glass chang”.   Motti didi served him with her signature smile. As Vishal was gulping sweet chyang, his eyes stopped at a young chap cleaning dirty dishes. He tried to figure out who it was but the cigarette smoke-filled room was too hazy.

Seeing this moti didi  smiled said” Tyo mero choro, Ramey”

Tikaram Bajey never came.

Hyaa!! Lecture Sidena vanya

Among the crazy game requests, “like for good or bad luck” posts and crazy status I stumbled upon the quote of Mr. Abdul Kalam  that said “The best brains of the nation will be found in the last bench of a classroom”  Being a backbencher myself I was proud for a moment then I started to scratch my head thinking ” have I got the BEST brain!!!” I don’t know if I have or not but I wanted to share my experience of being a backbencher.

I bet everyone in their life has been a backbencher except a rarity case that you belong to the  “nerd” race  :P.  Ever had a view from the last bench??? It’s awesome. You can have all those pleasures you get watching a natural scenery. Unlike bikes where “ objects in mirror are closer than they appear” which sounds freakish, but from the last bench everything is far and harmless. You can see everybody in the class. “Last benchers never look back” 😀 This is one of the most prestigious things about them which they take pride in. But the phrase remains valid only during normal classes. During exams circumstances compel us to seek help from all directions. We have a strong CV. I mean Ctrl+ c and ctrl + v. We guys are very innocent. Innocent in the sense 0% technical knowledge. In my case,well it can be -2%

The speed of sound is 330 m/sec approx. Theoretically, a distance of 5* 102 cm from first to the last bench won’t make much difference, but practically it does. By the time the priceless signals from your lectures transmitter reach your ear, the signal gets weak and degraded in quality and pitch like our own NTC, so you turn off your receiver. That’s why there is so much peace and harmony in back.  The “angry birds” ,” Temple run” or any other games will give you a wonderful company and 1.25-hour class goes like that. But rest 5 min, you get very active; for your roll calls.  It’s like a treasure moment for them. They feel like national anthem is being played in the background. As soon as the teacher calls names aloud, they raise their hands high enough; as if they are to receive the Olympic medals. At the end of the semester, if one fails to collect more than 70% of the total such hypothetical Olympic medals, mark my words that s/he won’t be able to enjoy their vacations.

Just imagine if such backbencher society is ever transferred to the alien world of the front bench to attend a lecture. They will feel as if they are the only ones in class. Everything is so zoomed in and in focus that your head starts spinning. The teacher who looked like “ Bam” from the last bench now looks like a giant. The board which appeared to be crystal clear from the last bench now seems to have the entire Ramayana inscribed in it. The teacher constantly looks into your eyes and you get hypnotized. You also look deep into his eyes to create a good impression. You try to prove that you are from among the brightest students of the class which, in fact, is a total fallacy. You are like the second-hand fluorescent lamp powered by those duplicate “made in china” batteries which can go off any moment. But you don’t care about that. You nod with every word he says with utmost concentration,” yes sir…. Yes sir, ya, ya, ya exactly…….”

Sometimes if you are scared enough to sit on the first bench, you may get a strong urge to answer Nature’s call, like I generally do when I am tensed. But you’re in college now. Unlike school students, it’s weird to go and ask  “ excuse me, sir, may I go to the toilet?” if you learn to study under extreme pressure and a traumatic environment. In case the pressure reaches a certain value called CRITICAL PRESSURE  and things go beyond the limit of tolerance, you get the creepy feeling that your pants can get wet any moment;  you finally venture to ask the teacher the above luxury.

Some teachers are intolerant about the last benchers. I think they see us as villains like “ Mogambo”, “ Gabbar “ or “ Dr. Evil”. They consider themselves as the “RAMBO” or” Dhai kilo wala  Veeru” and try to terminate the EVIL. Thus, there’s every possibility that he or she might ask you some alien questions that you have never heard of. The last sem I fell prey to our of our beloved sir. I was sleeping quietly in the last bench when he caught me red-handed and empty-headed :P. So last benchers have a risky business. BUT like a hero we say proudly “ Jaani, ham bhi khatro ke khiladi hein” 😉