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
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
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
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
Friday, November 2, 2007
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.
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.
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