Missed Oppertunity

I went to temple
door was closed

I tried to meet her
she was gone

I dreamt of heaven
but, god was no where to be found

spring

Far away in the valley
Below the rounded hill
A lonesome spring
rise, pause and fall
As time stands still

Beyond the mist
chirping the silence
the music of lonesome spring
as it rise, pause and fall
strikes loud within
the galingale

like a heart beat
lonesome spring
rise, pause and fall
carefree to the careless world

Heroism

Strolling in grass is good for health and refreshing to mind. But none of enthusiasm was seen on the face of Tiger. His face was full of despair which finally gave away to insouciance and thus a prelude to inevitable. A thump of fist in air and the green jacket adorned the so called “just a normal guy “-Zach Johnson. Masters came to an end. To the astonishment of pundits the result was different. Watching them putting aside their predilection and taking refuge to the old adage “Golf is amazing” was simply pertinent. Golf is amazing but its rule is indeed difficult. I remember during my childhood I used to think that the main aim of the golfer is actually finding the ball inside the hole. Because every time I watched Gillette World Sports the golfer would be seen picking the ball from inside the putt and with exuberance showing the ball he found to the audience. “There is no milk!” my sister yelled from kitchen. I was supposed to fetch it but got caught on commotion of final round of Masters.
Acquiescently I turned off television. The clock struck eight in the morning. The rain had abated and I was late for my morning walk as well. I looked around for my socks and they were no where to be seen. For me socks and their disappearance is the greatest mystery in life. Few weeks ago, journal Nature postulated new studies regarding evanescent positrons and its use for generating the energy using annihilation with their counterpart’s electrons. Similarly, Stephan Hawkins in his new book Theory of Everything predicted possibility of existence of virtual particles that will result in upwelling of real matter from within black hole making it less black. But these recondite lore of physicists appeared less abstruse than the reason behind disappearing socks in my room. Every time I buy a new pair to my utmost exasperation one of the pair of socks seems to vanish into thin air. Sometimes I wondered if there are any leprechauns hiding under my bed. But I am thousands of miles away from Belfast. Even if leprechauns really existed how they would travel across Europe, crossing English Channel, Ural Mountains, Pamir knot, Hindu-Kush and come to Kathmandu. Or will they hide inside one of those compressed chamber in the Boeing. Or do they have some teleporting device to transfer them like those shown in Captain Kirk’s ship. Even if they did reach my bedroom with some mystical powers what’s the use of my socks in their exchequer. Them being culpable for disappearance of my socks was simply non sequitur.
Annoyingly I looked under the bed and found a rolled up torn pair in a corner. Removing the dust moulds stuck in fabric I hurriedly put them on and head for the road. The chilliness in air brought about alacrity in muscles. In the corner of street a cat purred and a dog chased after him. The briskness of their action was enjoyable. A little ahead I descried a girl looking bit puzzled and standing in the middle of the road. She was fraught and was glancing in all directions. “Is it a cat?” I asked. She blushed and said yes. My surmise was correct. “Where did he cross?” I asked. Without saying anything her hand raised and fore finger pointed to me few yards ahead. “Are you in hurry?” She nodded. I have to disagree with Edmund Bruke that the “Superstition is religion of feeble mind” but her anguish did reflected the inveterate fear that superstition has engraved in our hearts. No matter how much progress we make and how urbane we become we still cannot emancipate from our deep rooted beliefs. Pretending as some kind of hero I walked across the spot where cat crossed the street. I didn’t look back but I knew the girl appreciated my gesture. Suddenly I felt magnanimous. But feeling of heroism was ridiculous. I told myself to snap out of this idiocy and be less sententious.

After walking few more minutes, I contrived to take a long way than my usual route. Few shops were just opened. Some of the vendors were seen sweeping in front of their store. An amazingly their action were so singular as if all of them were trained in same sweeping school. But the disheartening thing was they all cleared the rubbish in front of their door steps and dumped into open road. Their dereliction was indeed appalling. Though government has time and again passed regulations to chastise the people who desecrate public spaces with filth and refuse, as usual no one abide by it. People say that laws are meant to be broken that’s why there is law in the first place. To me not being student of law it is just one of those esoteric subjects that few can actually divulge. To me lawyers, attorneys, solicitors are people who deserves reverence, as they are the only one who has perused the law book and can interpret its meaning. Funny thing is law is the only thing besides art, invented by human being which is subject to different interpretation. But interpretation of law has deeper consequences than art. Interpretation of art can only produce degree of appreciation. On the other hand law can vent various emotional outflows ranging from exuberance to lamentation. It can suddenly change ones expectation and also can put someone in fetters for some innocuous action. From time of Hamurabi in Babylonean period when there were laws like “tooth for tooth” to today’s politically correct law that advocates the rights of seasoned criminal to have fair trial, judiciary system has certainly evolved.
A sound of “thief” ran on the air. Someone broke the law again. In the corner of street below the electricity pole few people including what appeared as a policeman seemed to be kicking a guy with all their might. The alleged person was a ragged individual with dirty hair and squalid clothing. I repaired to the spot. Everyone was shouting and swearing. ”Lynch him!”- A guy in flannel shirt with no collar roared. A little kid with torn shorts was grabbing the thief in his ankle. Street dogs were howling and barking. With the commotion it was hard to discern what crime the individual actually committed. I asked a middle age woman with crooked nose the reason and she told me in mildly curious and mildly indifferent tone that the culprit stole the pressure cooker form a nearby eatery near the junkyard. The eatery was itself a dingy place, where low income worker from junkyard usually hanged out. From what I learnt the ruffian used to collect the plastics and for some reason he committed larceny. The policeman who I usually see every day on the corner of street was yelling at top of his voice. His eyes were fiery. He threatened the guy and grabbed him by the muffler in an attempt to choke him. The owner of the eatery, a swarthy and muscular guy was looking very ecstatic by the proceedings. He was entreating the policeman to hit the thief harder and was dubbing him a hero. The thief on the other hand was covering his bloodied nose with his hand with contrite look in his eyes. He appeared worn out. I really felt sorry for the guy. I couldn’t even imagine his disparity. He didn’t look like some professional thief, he was just a common man trying to make his ends meet, caught of in circumstances. But there was no mercy. A police van arrived and the thief was thrown into it. The constable appeared very much pleased at his effort and every one was cheering him. I wondered if the real criminals, those who have high political influence, ever get that kind of treatment. Those who call themselves people’s leader and who rob them ever get to the clutches of law. I doubt.
After the van left, the policeman was piggybacked by the entire crowd and was escorted into the eatery for fine morning breakfast that it was to offer. “Tea in the house”- the owner shouted with applause from the crowd. It was time for celebration. He was indeed hero of day, far outshining my heroism when I passed the street crossed by the cat and no less heroism than that of Zach Johnson.

Last Evening

Moriarity was in news again. The outspoken US ambassador who was known more to his blunt political remark than his diplomatic goodwill, again grabbed headline by calling the Maoist cadres who called themselves as young communist league as vagabonds of criminals. The state radio, which before peace accord used to blast Maoist for their every action, which all of a sudden has taken drastic U turn and has become kind of mouth piece, was reporting the remark with top priority. Some knee jerk critics were saying that the offhand remark can possibly derail the peace process, some remonstrated it as officious to domestic issues, meanwhile those that trust Maoist as liver malady called it very sagacious. “What’s the meaning of sprachgeful?”, the sound waves from radio was interrupted suddenly and my brain started to scan its meaning. Another voice said “the character of language, an intuitive series of what is linguistically appropriate”. I was simply amazed by both the question and the answer and wondered the relevancy of sprachgeful with the news. Then I realized that my friends were at it again. They had begun another question answer round for possible GRE verbal questions.

I looked at them and found them totally indifferent to the news that has just turned to reporting another slaughter of a civil officer by one of the several rebellion groups currently spreading violence in terai region. They want autonomous state, a break away from Nepal, governed by the indigenous people of that region, which was being told. Some said they are King’s men trying to spoil Constituent Assembly election, some said they are working for India to spread its hegemony, some said they are renegades from Maoist rebellion, some said they are just gangs of thugs, some said they are freedom fighters. Both Right and Left wingers calling themselves virtuous were blaming each other for the turmoil. Whatever was the reason the violence was up and Nepal was bleeding again. But oblivion to the entire crisis we were sipping coffee in one of our favorite hangouts.

The afternoon rain had settled and twilight was fading. Despite the looming night fall the air was hot. Humidity was the villain for the rise in mercury. Despite the heat, people were enjoying the Friday evening at New Road, commercial heart of capital. I and my friends from college generally get together every Friday evening at same café trying to put the hectic week into rest. After we graduated we had made kind of pact to keep in touch with each other every Friday. But after nearly eight months this routine was getting kind of boring, each sip of coffee accompanied by the same old story about hardship at work, girl problem, family problem and of course uncertain future. It seemed we were always going through same vicious circle and no escape appeared in horizon. The mood was mixed.

I looked around the café. It was a cheerful place, filled with smell of roasted chicken and bacon. The walls were filled with paintings of some unknown artists and few pictures of old Kathmandu. One picture in black and white showed the photograph of Kal Bhairab, the large stone idol of Lord Bhairab that sits at Hanuman Dhokha. There was a small writing indicating the year of picture taken, 1901 AD. The picture also depicted few children playing in the street. They looked happy and I wondered whatever happened to them. Did they grow up to be leaders, farmers, soldiers, martyrs or did they disappear in face of time. Did they ever hear about capitalism, communism, democracy, green cards or did they settle down with a bright eyed girl in neighborhood. Did they ever thought during that game of theirs that sometime in twenty first century some one will be watching that private moment and trying to figure out what they became. These questions will perhaps never be answered.
As I was musing, waiter brought in bottle of bear. We all drank and the topic changed to politics again. My friends were certain nothing good was going to happen to this country. Hopelessness ranked supreme. Everybody seemed to want to leave the country and catch the last minute train to US. It appeared as if the discovery of gold by John Sutter and the news of subsequent gold rush that had transpired have finally reached the ears of people living here. One of my friends told me his aspiration of reaching America, becoming rich and starting the charity for the country. Another friend interjected with maxim that brain drain is better than brain going to drain. It seemed all of them have made up their minds of going abroad. I didn’t say anything. I was caught in this dilemma whether I should stay and serve the country or become one of those in exodus leaving for better opportunity.
Hope is greatest feeling. Being embarrassed of your own home is the worst. And today many youngsters were embarrassed of their country. Who is to blame for that nobody knows. The news in the radio didn’t help either there was only negative. But isn’t negative ness is that what makes news. Even the US news services are negative. Whether it is NewYork times, CNN, Fox news every one is spewing the grim future in Middle East, economy, environment, health care and list goes on. But we don’t care. We don’t care about the filibuster in American Congress regarding the privatization of Social security or veto by President on time limit for withdrawal of coalition troops from Iraq. We don’t care if Joe Bidden wants to break Iraq to three factions or Hugo Chaveze’s rhetoric. All we care is getting the visa to land where hope presides over all the fears. And this indifference makes things more worrisome. What is the meaning of Deipnosophist . Another question and I didn’t answer. I just drank more and the sight got blurred. Before I knew I was in my bed putting another hectic week to rest. It was midnight; I knew I couldn’t face the challenge of sun tomorrow.

Morning and Guilty thoughts

I like morning. Everything seems fresh, birds chirping and cool breeze in the air. I might have overstated it bit, cool breeze is thing of past. But still the breeze is better than the choking feeling you get in other time of day. It was a typical Saturday morning but it was bit different than the other time, different in the sense that I overslept. Usually I am up before the day break but today somehow I didn’t want to wake up. It’s been a long time since I slept this long. The thing is I feel kind of guilty whenever the sun rises before I rise. Of course, there is no such thing as sunrise it’s just that the side of planet where I live has started to face towards the sun that’s all. But I do like to believe that sun is starting to do his duty and I am always earlier than him. This competitiveness against sun makes me proud in some obscure way that I cannot say.

Anyway this morning was different. For the first time I deliberately relinquished the challenge of sun just for the comfort of warm blanket. The rain was beating on the glass pane of the window which was nearby my bed side. Watching rainfall without getting wet is really a comforting feeling. It was one of those early rains of monsoon season. The dark clouds were gathered and ominous down pour seemed eminent. The clouds blanketed the sun and I felt as if sun also felt the same way as I did and gave up the challenge for the day.

A black crow completely soaked and soggy was gazing towards me from the top of the ledge of my neighbor’s terrace. I felt kind of guilt that he wasn’t inside. But his indifference made me more uncomfortable as if he didn’t care for the nature’s wrath and he was more superior and strong willed than I am. Then I thought of course we human are weaker one, though we consider ourselves superior among all. Who knows what animals might think of us? This whole feeling of superiority is really callousness. How can we judge and put ourselves on the top, there is no objectivity in that. We haven’t been awarded this title of superior being by animal kingdom instead this is our self-proclaimed vanity. When I look at my dog I feel as if he is far more satisfied than I am in all the way. At least he isn’t bothered by anything and seems contented by everything he has. But look at us humans always worrying, always striving to achieve more. But what ever we achieve isn’t that made by man himself. Look at the money, it’s created by man and most desired item in anyone’s list. We judge peoples success with money, we feel inadequate because of money, we are taught to go after money and riches. Money buys everything we say but does it buy happiness. Of course not we all know that, ask any rich guy. But still we like to believe happiness can be bought. Look at the animals have you ever seen any animal running after money never have and perhaps never will. Even if there is life outside this planet, which is of course plausible, I don’t think these extra terrestrial will care for the green dollars or cold hard cash. That’s the difference; we run after the thing that we created and become miserable of our own doing. I remember in sixth grade I read a wise quote form ancient Sanskrit “Santosam parmam sukham”. That is contentment is greatest happiness but as George Orwell said “happiness is notoriously hard to define”, I felt puzzled by this paradox because we all know we can’t be contented. Being derelict of desire may lift us to heavens but how long can we be afloat.

These wise thoughts really were disappointing. I just squirmed in the bed and cover my face with pillow. The darkness under the pillow made me feel better. It was escapism from reality. There is nothingness in that darkness, no one to judge you, no one to praise you and no one to condemn you. You and your thoughts left alone from the outside world. Detached. But snooze hit me and the dream of worldly vanity grasped me and threw me to abyss of despair. I saw in my dream some one I know losing entire money he won in lottery and I became schadenfreude. Even the dreams are impure and the feeling of insensitive joy woke me up. No escapism there either. These invalid thoughts brought the feeling of resentment. I threw the pillow and looked outside again. It was still raining and the crow was still gazing. But his gaze turned into the stare and for a moment it seemed he was mocking at my desperation. It was less comforting, I was being judged by a stranger. And all of sudden the crow flew away.

I may never see that crow again. Even if I saw him, will I be able to recognize him, I wondered. The answer of course no, I have never been able to distinguish between two birds of same species what was I thinking. But more worrying aspect was that the crow was sole communion of my guilty secret. What if he will tell others and my depravity will be notoriously famous among crow community. Worst what if he becomes witness during my judgment day and he will vouch for my debaucheries. I wished I could tell him that I will edify my thoughts, but too late. All of sudden my bedroom where I had ensconced became a crime scene and witness is on loose. How ironic. My expectations looked grim and I promised myself I will try to redeem.

A low soothing music played outside of my room. The door was left ajar and the music penetrated. Entered my ear, processed within my brain, touched my heart and soothe my soul. It sang “sun just slipped its note on my door and I can’t hide beneath my sheets”. It was Norah Jones magical voice. How apt I thought and I was feeling the same way all over again. I was redeemed.

Death of Benoit

Chris Benoit died today. The guy was a good man. Why bad things happen to good people.

God bless him and his family

many years ago when I had this feeling for her

My love for you sees no bound
In your eye is the only heaven I ever found

Your smile chase away all my gloom
and show me the place where asphodel bloom

Your presence never make me falter
Your grace humbles me to god's altar