I had the Fear of Losing you and I am Losing You

I couldn't say, "I love you!"

My heart is now sure

that no one can 

take her place in it.

 It imagines her 

being in its centre 

even after 100 years.

Yes, for thousand times, 

I've imagined her being my breath 

for whom I respire.

My ears
hear her voice
in the air.

These eyes look at a far distance 

they see her
coming closer and closer; 

when she passes by me,

she disguises

 as someone else.

My arms hug her every night

and throw the pillow away 

in the morning. 

I couldn't confess my love. 

I often wonder, 

"Did she ever love me?"

Please 'Gauthali!'

I had the fear of losing you 

and I am losing you;_

_if you love me, just tell me, 

I will jump over the sky 

and bring all the happiness in my soul_

_and will make you feel 

I was the only deserving shoulder 

on whom you could rely on.

@Suman Bhattarai

Weird but Wonderful Contemplation while Having the Job of Joblessness

 As it is..... :(

NEPAL 

"My country is the land of Gautam Buddha and Mt. Everest." This is all what we have as identity which we are carrying for many centuries. And we bloody fool people living under the shade of this country are supposed to be proud being Nepali citizen. We don't need economic prosperity, actually we don't want to have an amazing life. Subsistence and survival! Bitter but TRUE! We overemphasise this agenda and survive under the absolute poverty line. We don't have food to fill our stomach and still we are singing "Proud to be Nepali!" Hell YEAH... but NO!!

 It's been over three months since I am searching for a job to feed my belly and wear on some warm clothes for my winter. I am an educated person who can work under any pressure. But the fact is I have to be someone's cousin or cousin's friend; someone's brother or in law or close friend to get a job. My academic qualification and my work experience doesn't work, but I have to be 'HIS RELATIONSHIP'. This serves but not anything else.

Because of my joblessness, I am frustrated either I will be surviving in this city or not. What a pathetic situation one goes through when he doesn't have money to spend and bread to fill his belly! I had once pioneered one principle, "We sell bread to earn bread." But now I have come to realise that we can't always sell the bread. It demands someone's permission to do so. Otherwise, this earth can be no earth for you at all to live and cheer up the moments. This is all I want to say!!

"Tomorrow, the birds will sing! Be Brave!! Face LIFE!!!" A quote I saw in the film CITY LIGHTS. Long live Mr. Charlie Chaplin!! 

Bloody LIFE! I can't resign you. So, this is what I am hoping to happen TOMORROW!!

"Tomorrow, the birds will sing! Be Brave!! Face LIFE!!!" 

`नव खुसी´

कलेजबाट फर्किँदा अलिक ढिला भएको थियो। दिनभर पानी परेर झिँझो लाग्दो बनेको दिन एक्कासि गरम भयो। क्षितिजमा अनौठो चमक देखियो। एकछिन अगाडि माईक्रोमा भोग्नु परेका दिक्दारी पनि क्षणभरमै भुलेँ।

दादा-भाउजू पनि म घर पुगेको केही छिन पछि आईपुग्नु भयो। ठट्टाको भाषामा मस्कुराउँदै भाउजूले सुनाउनु भयो, "कान्छी दिदिले छोरो जन्माउनु भयो नि, कान्छा!"

मैले पत्याइनँ। उत्तिनै खेर भनेँ,"जन्माउनु भएर बल्ल म‌ैले थाहा पाउने पनि कहीँ कुरा हुन्छ? व्यथा लाग्न थाल्नेबित्तिकै खवर आउँछ मलाई। आखिर अस्पतालमा कुरुवा नै मै बस्ने हो।"

यसरी जिस्किँदा जिस्किँदै डिनर टाइम भयो। त्यस्तै आठ बज्न लाग्दा हामी मसरुम सुपमा बोइल्ड एग मिसाएर खाँदै थियौँ। मेरो फोनको रिङटन मेरो कानमा ठोक्कियो। हतारँदै फोन हेरेँ, कान्छो भिनाजुले गर्नु भएको रहेछ। हतारिँदै रिसिभ गरेँ र हेलो पनि नभनी एकै सासमा सोधेँ,"कता हुनुहुन्छ भिनाजु?"

"सुमन! सुन न म दिदिलाई व्यथाले च्यापेर उसलाई लिएर अस्पताल आको छु। लौ न, हामीलाई साथी आइदिनु पर्यो।" भिनाजुले पनि एकै सासमा आफ्ना पुकार सुनाउनु भयो।

नभन्दै दिदिलाई व्यथा लागेको कुरा मैले नैँ पहिले थाहा पाएँ र म नै अस्पताल जाने भएँ। हतारिएर `मैले जितेँ´ को भाषामा दादा-भाउजुलाई सुनाएँ, "दिदिलाई व्यथाले च्याप्यो र म अस्पताल जानुपर्ने भयो। लौ दाजु मलाई बाईकमा अस्पतालसम्म पुर्याइदिनु!"

दाजुले उहाँलाई पनि अस्पतालमा बस्न मन भएको रहर जारी गर्नुभयो। घरमा भाउजू एक्लै हुनुहोला भनेर मैले "म गएसि हुन्छ अहिलेलाई, हजुरहरू बिहानु आउनु न!" भनेँ।

दुवैेले स्विकारोक्ति जनाउँदै गर्दा भाउजू भने मैले झैँ जित्न चाहनु भयो, हार्न चाहनु भएन। भन्नुभयो,"मैले भनेको कस्तो लाग्यो कान्छा? आखिर दिदी अब आमा हुनुहुने भयो नि मैले अनुमान गरेकै समयमा!"

मैले मुसुक्क हाँसेर उहाँको कुरा मानेँ। त्यसै समयमा हामीले छोरा कि छोरी भन्दै बाजि पनि टेक्यौँ। दाजु र मैले `छोरा हुन्छ´ भन्यौँ। भाउजुले छोरी हुने कुरामा जोड दिनुभयो। दाजुले बाजि जित्नेले पाउने अनौठो रकमको चक्र प्रस्ताव गर्नुभयो। उहाँले भाउजुतिर हेर्दै भन्नुभयो,"मैले हारेँ भने म तिमीलाई हजार रुपैयाँ तिर्छु, तिमी कान्छालाई हजार रुपैयाँ तिर र कान्छाले मलाई हजार रुपैयाँ तिर्छ।"

एकलट हामी मज्जाले हाँस्यौँ। भाउजुले जिस्किँदै दाजुलाई, "तिमी कति चलाख, बू!" भनिजानु भयो। मैले पनि भाउजुको कुरामा सहमति जनाएँ।

दाजु र म अस्पताल तिर लाग्यौँ। डक्टरले दिएको मिति असोज ३ गते थियो, आज बल्ल भदौ ३१ हुँदै थियो। दिदी अगाडि नै हलुङ्गो हुनुहुने भयो। तर मलाई कता कता अवचेतन मनमा लागिरह्यो, `म पनि असोजमा जन्मिएको, मेरो भान्जो/भान्जीले पनि असोजमै जन्म लिउन्।´

अस्पताल पुग्दा भिनाजुको अनुहार अति नै निन्याउरो देखेँ। सायद दिदिको मायाले होला। दिदीको अनुहारमा झन धेरै डर र पीडाका चित्रहरू कोरिएका थिए। यसैबीच दिदी भिनाजुलाई खानाको बन्दोबस्त गर्यौँ।

१० बजेतिर दिदि लेवर रुममा एड्मिट हुनु भयो। लेवर रुमको ढोकामा पुग्नु भएको दिदिलाइ ढाडस दिँदै भनेँ, "नआत्तिनु दिदी, सब ठिक हुन्छ।" रपनि म आँफै पनि थोरबहुत आत्तिरहेको थिएँ। भिनाजुको अनुहार अझ बढि मलिन र गम्भीर थियो। भिनाजु सोही रुमको ढोकामा बस्छु भन्नुभयो, म बाहिर आएर म्याट्रेस ओछ्याएर आराम गर्दै आधा पढेको `गुलाबी उमेर´ कन्टिन्यू गर्न थालेँ।

नभन्दै कुर्दा कुर्दै रातको १२ बज्यो र असोज १ गति पनि भयो। यसरी बच्चा असोजमा नै जन्मिने भए पछि थोरै भए पनि म फुरुङ्ग भएँ।

प्रसुति वार्ड अगाडि अस्पतालमा कुरुवा हरूको खचाखच थियो। अधिकांश कुरुवाहरू निन्याउरो अनुहार लगाइरहेका थिए। केही अस्थिर थिए। भर्खर असोज लागेको भए तापनि रातको समय भएर र दिनभर पानी परेकाले आज अलिक बढि नै चिसो थियो। त्यसै कारण केही कुरुवा जाडो मानेर सिउसिउ गर्दै बसेका थिए।

त्यसैबीच उपन्यास पढिरहेको मलाई देखेर एउटी कुरुवा दिदिले सोधिहालिन्,"बाबुको घर कता नि?"

मैले मुस्कुराउँदै जवाफ दिएँ,"उदयपुर हो दिदी।"

उनकै आमा हुनुपर्छ, अर्कि महिलाले सोधिन्,"कति ज्ञानी देखिनुहुन्छ, के पढ्दै हुनुहुन्छ बाबू?"

फुरुक्क फुर्किँदै मैले भनेँ,"उपन्यास पढ्दै छु आमा टाइम पास गर्न अलिक सजिलो होला कि भनेर।"

दिदिले भनिन्, "मेरो बुडालाई पनि असाध्यै पुस्तक पढ्नुपर्छ। पुस्तकको नशा पनि रक्सी चुरोटको जस्तै हुने रहेछ क्या।" उनले जस्तो नियतले भनेको होस् मलाई पुस्तकको नशालाई कुलत सँग जोडेको चैँ फिटिक्कै मन परेन। केही जवाफ नफर्काई मुहारमा मुस्कान कायमै राख्ने प्रयास गर्दै म फेरि उपन्यासमै लीन भएँ।

प्रसुति कक्षबाट चित्कारका आवाजहरू आइरहेका थिएँ। कति नारीहरू आफ्नै शरीर चिरेर `नयाँ खुसी´ देख्न पाउने आशा र विस्वासमा शरीरले सकेसम्मको बल गरिरहेका थिए। आमा बन्न सजिलो हुँदैन भन्ने त थाहा थियो, तर यतिसम्म गाह्रो हुन्छ भनेर चैँ पहिलो चोटि थाहा पाएँ।

मनमनै कल्पना र प्रार्थना गरिरहेको थिएँ, `मेरी दिदिले चाँडै हलुङ्गो हुन सक्नुहोस्, त्यति गाह्रो नहोस्!"

भवन नै उचाल्ने चिच्याहटहरुमाझ मन भने अति नै अस्थिर थियो। सोही कारण मेरो मनको प्रार्थनाको ध्वनी पनि मनमनै बढ्दै गईरहेको थियो, `दिदिलाई त्यतिधेरै गाह्रो नहोस्!´

बेचैनी धेरै नै बढेपछि म पनि प्रसुति कक्षको ढोकामा पुगेँ। भिनाजुले थोरै ढोका उघारिदिँदै दिदिको सैयाँतिर देखाउनु भयो। भित्र नियालेको मात्र के थिएँ, दिदी रुँदै बसेको देखेँ। मन थामि नसक्नु भयो, मुटु दुख्न पो थाल्यो।

"उफ! सिद्धि विनायक! दिदिलाई धेरै गाह्रो नहोस्, प्रभो!!"

माहोललाई सकेसम्म सामान्य बनाउने प्रयासमा भिनाजु बेला बेला ठट्टा गर्नुहुन्थ्यो तर उहाँकै अनुहार मेरो भन्दा बढि मलीनो र त्रसित थियो।

दिदी अरु आत्तिन थाल्नुभयो। दुखाइ धेरै भएर होला, भिनाजुसँग "म त आफै जन्माउन सक्दिनँ जस्तो छ, डक्टरलाई अपरेसन गरिदिनु भन्नू न!" भन्न थाल्नु भयो। उहाँ रोएको मैले त हेर्न सकिनँ। बरु आँखा चिम्लेर बाहिरै सुस्ताउनु उचित लाग्यो। भिनाजुलाई `केही पर्यो भने फोन गर्नु ल!´ भन्दै म त भागेँ।

`मनको आँत दरिलो होस्´ भनेर अस्पतालको क्यान्टिनमा गएर मैले तीन खेप कफी सुर्क्याइसकेको थिएँ। भिनाजु भने केही पनि खान मानिरहनु भएको थिएन। बरु दिदिलाई बेलाबेला सुप लगिदिइ रहनु भएको थियो। हामीले सल्लाह गर्यौँ, `बरु व्यथा लाग्ने अौषधि दिइहाले हुने!´ दिदी छटपटाइरहेको देखिरहने धैर्य नभएर यस्तो लागेको होला, नत्र त हामीभन्दा डक्टरहरू नै धेरै सिपालु हुन्छन्।

प्रतीक्षा कक्षमा बसेरै मैले `गुलाबी उमेर´ पढेर सक्काएँ। थोरै ट्र्याजिक सेन्स लगाएर हेरेँ र थोरै इन्लाइटन्ड पनि भएँ। तर मेरी दिदी अझै हलुङ्गी हुन समय लाग्यो। बच्चा प्राप्ति पछिको दिदिको इन्लाइटन्ड फेस हेर्न केही समय अरू कुर्नु पर्ने भयो।

आठ बजे बल्ल डक्टरले दिदिलाई क्रोनिक व्यथा लाग्ने अौषधि दिए। त्यतिकैमा भिनाजुको सल्लाह बमोजिम म घर आएँ। बाटोछेउछाउका बुढानिलकण्ठका खेतहरूमा झुल्न थालेका धानका गाभाहरूलाई देख्दा पनि दिदिकै सम्झना आइरहेको थियो। दिदिको बच्चा शारदीय हुन लागेकोमा मनमनै खुसी पनि भएँ।

नुहाएर आफूलाई सफा पारेँ, हलुका बनाए, अनि मनमनै फेरि भगवान पुकारेँ, `दिदिलाई छिटै हलुङ्गी बनाएदेउ प्रभो। उनको पाठेघर भित्रको वजन जति सक्दो चाँडो काखमा सरोस्! त्यो पहिलो चित्कारले दिदिको बारबारको चीत्कारलाई शान्त बनाओस्, र दिदिले मुहारमा मुस्कान फुलाउन सक्नुहोस्!´ यस्तैयस्तै चिताएँ।

अनि जब अनिँधोले गलेको शरीर ओछ्यानमा पुग्यो, भुसुक्क निदाएछु।

ट्याक्क १:४० बजेतिर फोन बज्यो। व्युँझेर हतारिँदै रिसिभ गरेँ। "सुमन, ल बधाई छ तिमीलाई, तिमी मामा भयौ।" भिनाजुले गमक्क लवजमा सुनाउनुभयो।

एकदम खुसी भएँ। हतारिँदै "म आइहालेँ!" भन्दै फोन राखेँ र सोचेँ। हो त म मामा भएँ, दादा पनि मामा नै हुनुभयो, भाउजू माइजू हुनुभयो। लक्ष्मी/सरु/अनुजा दिदी ठुलोमामु हुनभयो। शंकर/दिनेश/सञ्जय भिनाजु ठुल्बा हुनुभयो। उता भान्जाद्वय हार्दिक र सजल दादा भए, भतिज इम्रन पनि दादा भयो, भने भान्जीद्वय लीमा र अन्ना दिदी भए।

सानो भिनाजु चैँ धरतीमा पदार्पित नव शिशुको बुबा हुनुभयो।  मुख्य कुरा त बच्चा जन्मिदै गर्दा दिदिले पनि नयाँ जन्म लिनुभयो- "आमा"। संसारमा सबैभन्दा जटिल काम नै आमा बन्नु हो र आनन्ददायी पनि। यस कर्ममा दिदी सफल हुनुभयो। उहाँ "मामु" बन्नुभयो।

 नर्मल अवस्थामै बेबी बर्थ गराउन सक्नुभयो। यसरी नयाँ खुसी हेर्न, देख्न र भेट्न हतारिँदै-अतालिँदै म अस्पताल पुँगे। सबैले सबैसँग गला मिलाएर `नव खुसी´को स्वागत गर्यौँ।

"कान्छे! मलाई बहुत बधाई!!  तिमी `कान्छे´ आमा मात्र भइनौ, म `कान्छे´ मामा पनि भएँ। अनि यिनी नव कान्छे मेरा भान्जा र तिम्रा छोरा भए।" दिदि पनि पीडाहरू भुल्न खोज्दै मुसुक्क कमल फुलिदिनु भयो।

कस्सम त्यतिबेला, मजति खुसी कोही भएन जस्तै लाग्यो, भिनाजु जति खुसी पनि कोहि भएन जस्तो लाग्यो। र दिदी मामु हुँदा उहाँजति खुसी झन कोही भएन जस्तो लाग्यो। यसरी हामी सबै `नव खुसी´ साक्षात्कार गर्न पाउँदा बराबरी धेरै खुसी भयौँ।

©सुमन भट्टराई।
😍😍😍

गजल

यसरी   पनि    मुस्कुराउन   सकिन्छ
बूढो  वृक्षले   घर  बनाउन   सकिन्छ

रातो  माटो  लाई   खरिद  गर्नु  पर्दैन
जसले तिम्रो सिउँदो रङ्गाउन सकिन्छ

यस कारण  म   रोएर  पनि  खुशी छु
म  रुन्छु  ऐनालाई  हँसाउन  सकिन्छ

जतन साथ  राखि राख्नू मेरा पत्रहरू
भोलि जहाज बनाई उडाउन सकिन्छ

सकिँन्न  त  केवल जानेलाई फर्काउन
हर-रात  दियो  त  जलाउन  सकिन्छ

©सुमन भट्टराई।
(२०७२/१२/२४)

गजल

भनेथे    कसैले   गरौँ   भर  चराको
कहाँ  रैछ  अड्डा,  कहाँ  घर चराको

कहाँ   सम्म   जाला   पराया   बनेर?
छ  घैया  यतै  नै  छ  फापर चराको!

पिडा  हुन्न होला कि दिल  छैन दुख्ने
नभा'खै  नयन माझ सागर  चराको?

यिनै  छन्  उडेका  परै  भागि  भागि
समिप  रैछ मान्छे,  र पो डर चराको

खुबै  लाज  ढाक्ने रहर जो छ तिम्रो
कहीँ  छैन   बुर्का   र घाँगर चराको!

नोट: भुजङ्गप्रायात छन्द

@सुमन भट्टराई।

Poem

`A Lie´
-Suman Bhattarai

Index finger
Pointing towards the Venus
Our Baby-boy asked-
"Momma, What is that?"
I couldn't stand not
Pronouncing your name
Hobby, please forgive me!

These rainy eyes
Until turned swollen,
I did gaze upon that planet
Reminiscing you
every single night!
How could I disobey you-
I couldn't lie to our son!

कविता

`तौलिया´

जुन तौलियाले
दुनियाँको मुहार पुछ्यो
पाउ-पाखुरा पुछ्यो
त्यही तौलियाले
आफू अडिएको
किल्लामा लागेको खिया
कहिल्यै पुछ्न सकेन!

@सुमन भट्टराई

कविता

`शुभारम्भ´

उकालो चढ्दै गरेका पाइला
कतै रोकिए भने सोच्नू
उकालो ओरालो हो-

हिड्न सजिलो पर्छ।

माया बद्लियो भने सोच्नू
घृणा माया हो
र, माया घृणा हो-

सहन सजिलो पर्छ।

चर्पी बसिरहेको बालकले
`शौचालय स्वर्ग हो!´
नभन्ला भन्न सकिन्न-

जहाँ ऊ असीमित आनन्द पाउँछ।

खेस्रा टिप्दै गरेको लेखक
साफी एकदिन अवस्य बनाउँछ
जरुर विश्वास गर्नू-

हरेक रुख विरुवा जन्मिन्छ।

चड्कन हानेर नदुखाउनु आफूलाई
बरु उकास्नू पौरखी बन्न
सुरुवात नै नगर्नु पो मर्नु हो-

आज जिउनु त भविष्य जन्मिनु हो!

©सुमन भट्टराई

गजल

गजल~
,

मसँग   दिल   जस्तो   दिल   छैन
धुमिल   मात्र  छ,  झिलमिल छैन

सुन्नु  त  हुन्थ्यो  नि तिम्रो  आवाज
कौवा  कर्कश  छ, कोकिल  छैन

बोलेर   यो   देश    बन्न    सक्दैन
मार्टिन  लुथर  छैन,  चर्चिल  छैन

मेरो    मायाले    न्याय    पाउँदैन
त्यो दिलको अड्डामा  वकिल छैन

रित्तिनु  अघि    पोखिएको   थिएँ
बुझ किन आँखा  टिलपिल  छैन

©सुमन भट्टराई
२०७६-०२-०८

Story

 “A Shallow Dish”

Suman Bhattarai

My final exam was nearing. This semester was surprisingly short. Teachers were supposed to take 32 classes each but they were able to take hardly 25. That is why, they were unable to complete the course assigned to them. Consequently, we students had been burdened to work harder than other times.


In the mean time, my dad got sickened by diarrhea. He was working in the rice field and mom used to serve lunch at the site he was working. It was perhaps the food that was contaminated by the bacteria available around the field. In the evening, he arrived home having his face weak and bleak. Suddenly mom started sobbing when dad told, “I have got diarrhea since the afternoon.” Due to poverty and persistent labor, he was already a thin man with low stamina in his body.


Mom came to me running restlessly, “Hari, please visit the health post and call the doctor to come.”


I rushed to the health post. It was 45 minutes walk away from our home. When I reached, I found it locked. A neighbor, Samser Dai, informed me, “The doctor hasn’t come to the health post since so long,” and he added “as I heard the doctor wasn’t willing to stay in our village because of its remoteness. So, he left.”


I asked about the CMA madam. He hesitatingly said, “She has gone to participate in a marriage ceremony of her cousin sister.”


“When will she come back? Do you have any information?”


He answered, “I heard the marriage ceremony was today. So we can speculate and expect her arrival not within more than two days.”


I was puzzled for a moment about my doing. ‘What can I do?’ I returned home and informed everything to mom what I had been informed by Samser Dai.


The condition of my dad was worsening. We kept on giving him the water time to time. But he wasn’t getting any better. Now he had become too weak even to go to the toilet himself.


Despite our disability to serve him with doctor and medicine, mom brought ‘a shallow dish’ near bed where dad was lying down. We ended up sleeping near the bed of dad that night. In such fettle, another day also spent. We couldn’t find any doctor or the helper at the hospital the whole day. And I happened to bear the bereavement as I lost my father.

Since that day on, my mother became the widow but the villagers started to assume her as a witch that she ate her husband to death, they would say rigidly, and also they blamed her she haunted people. Whoever died around the village after then was thought to be dead because of her wandering evilness.


It’s less hurting to forget the pain my mom and I tolerated in the aftermath of my father’s death.

.....

Now I have become the doctor and willingly been working in the same locality where my villagers live. My mother has been the ‘Doctorni Aamoi!’ And we often wait for our dad to come home lighting candle every night although we know he won’t come back from where he has gone. We hope he won’t call us as early as he went there untimely.

Beginning of My Writing Career

Suman Bhattarai

14 September 2018, Nepal

           I was born in the year of Maoist initiation to revolt against the system of government (1995). After 7/8 years, still there was the movement going on and I had been growing my intellectual senses. As the rebels would come and go they would leave some books and while their stay, sing some revolutionary communist songs. I wasn’t influenced much but, I don’t hesitate to say, it obviously had certain impact on me. The books they left used to be found under the pillow or bed or on the ceiling beams of our wooden house. I didn’t dare to read those books at the very moment but I would love to compile them in the bookshelf. Later on, no doubt, I read some of them which grabbed my interest. One of the finest books they left and I read was Simone De Beauvoir’s The Second Sex.

           Whatever I remember now is I started living my literary environment since my childhood. The ‘Morning Loris’ sung by my mother while rotating the ‘Jaanto’ are the most memorable ones. I think I was 4 years old, since then my father began narrating me the folktales that were, off course, childish and were for the children’s mental development and would give moral lessons. In between the transition of going to bed and falling asleep, my dad used to narrate me the stories often; and sometimes he would recite poems as well as songs he would sing in a low but sweet voice that would evaporate the positive vibes on my mind. Happily I would fall asleep after then. This was in a sense duty of my dad I had given because I was such a persistent guy that wouldn’t sleep until he would be opportune to listen to those stories.

           I was more intimate to my mom than my dad but still she could not be able to tell me stories because she, most of the times, would be busy doing household activities and chores. In the evening before sleep, she would prepare dinner for us all. We were seven children altogether and it was really a big family. She had the burden to feed the cattle too. So, since she woke up till bed, she would respire the breath of busy times.

            I suppose the very first story my dad narrated for me was the mischievous activities of Lord Krishna when he was a child, but not the pervert acts of him he did later when he was turning to frisky youth that I read when I was grown up. “Story of Shishir Bashanta” was the most painful story I heard on my bed. I could never imagine my life without mother since then. Further, Muna Madan in a narrative form he presented that also touched my soul with pain, grief and compelling guilt which I myself read later maybe more than five times.

“Story of Madhu Malati”, many other fairytales, stories like “Tortoise and Rabbit”, comic and also diplomatic stories of Akbar and Birbal, “Rope of Ashes”, “How Much Land a Man Needs” and such stories I heard when I was too young and those stories were all narrated by my dad after we would go to bed.

Ramayana, Maha Bharata, Bhagabata Geeta and several times I heard and read Swosthani. Those religious texts were so very nicely knitted and the acts within the lines were such a mesmerising that I used to be dazzled and puzzled. Our culture is even such a rich culture where we get to hear ‘slokes’, slogans, songs and religious stories that tell the story of Gods and Goddesses and that inspires us to live our life as such or accordingly.

Before I completed my school, I had read around fifty novels and some anthologies of poems. I had been addicted to listen to radio. Many poems, stories, and songs I heard were from radio. One of many radio programs was “Shruti-Sambeg” that I stayed tuning when I was in plus-two level. Achyut Ghimire’s voice and the novels and stories he presented were more that heart touching. The school and college courses were also designed in such way that would encourage one to read literary texts. As a student of literature, I suppose I have read around half a thousand books or more now. And the most significant thing is that writing career comes adjoining to reading one. When we read other’s text, we are inspired to write.

And the most  funny and interesting thing I suppose you are going to hear is I started writing love-poems when I fell in love that was one-sided, no doubt, in class 9 and I think most of you also wrote such poems at least once in your life. Some of you may have kept on writing and some stopped that is the different matter.

As I would read, a mysterious voice would evaporate inside me. That suffocation, that fear and that enthusiasm to rehearse those characters in read texts might be the ones that pushed me to write. At the beginning, I wrote essays as it used to be compulsory for us to write and submit them to our teachers in school-level. Gradually, the trend of writing poems I adapted as my brother and also my dad were habitual in it. As influenced by the stories and novels I read and the sequence of events in them, I started imagining similar kinds of stories that are existed in society and I wrote them. The poems, short stories, lyrical poems (Ghajals), and the life-narrative I often create. Some of the ghajals and also some short stories of mine have been recited and read from the radio programs respectively. And still I am writing which I don’t think I will stop but I will be reading and writing more and more often in coming days.

14 September 2018, Nepal            I was born in the year of Maoist initiation to revolt against the system of government (1995). After 7/8 years, still there was the movement going on and I had been growing my intellectual senses. As the rebels would come and go they would leave some books and while their …Continue readingBeginning of My Writing Career

Mercy Development!

Suman Bhattarai

21 April, 2018

           To imitate something, there must be something. A parrot caged inside the cage also can create her own world but who dares to feel she is born for living such life? A man can stand even if there is nothing accessible around him but the walls walled all around where he learns to stand still imitating the erecting walls. But to stand still is not a true evaporation of life. Today’s human is similar to those standing walls that are totally artificial, voiceless, tasteless, and neither does that give any fragrance. And it has been indeed the choice of so called modern human who chooses to breathe through oxygen cylinder rather than the tranquil breeze hovering around the poplar field. First we give a touch to a pigeon, pluck its wings, and blame it later for its inability to fly. While defining development and musing modernisation, merciful misery has been manipulated which lead human beings might repent in coming era which I don’t think is so far away.

            Some days ago, while wandering through the street, I saw a girl walking with pride wearing a T-shirt printed ‘This Bitch Laying!’ in front. What should I understand and how should I react seeing such literature printed in T-shirt, I don’t know. But, yes, obviously I can speculate that the notion of shame of 20^th century women has been their glory these days. To be modern is to accept offensive manner normally; this is what I can establish in my mind finding such change around the city I dwell currently.

            I was born and grown up to 18 years in a remote village. I still have some reminiscence about my childhood of imitating dove which helps me being nostalgic too. We all the cousins used to gather in a particular place at dusk where the trees would dance with pleasing wind. The purpose behind get-together would be to play, ‘pretence of dove.’ The older brothers and sisters would climb the trees easily and construct the artistic nest of dove with their enthusiastic skills but we the small ones would remain at the ground because of incapability to climb the tree, we would dig the small holes in the ground and knit previously collected straw in the shape of dove’s nest. We all the cousins together would sing, “Kurle Dhukur Kur Kur Kur…!!!” Nowadays, children don’t play such games connected to nature. It is not surprising because to imitate dove, first one must see a dove and observe its living but there we see no dove around villages these days.

            Doves aren’t seen in the corn field. Sparrows don’t fly around the roof of our home these days. The grains scattered in the front yard get rotten but it is not swallowed by any swallow. Those cuckoos that would sing ‘cuckoo-cuckoo’ unseen under the trees aren’t heard and those hiding trees are also excavated. Only we hear is the sound of partridge. We are opportune to hear the partridge because we haven’t stopped planting the corn yet and they feel safe enough to chat in the corn field. The isolated and wild animals and birds are burned with the burning fire that is put by the human in the hope of getting new grazing field after destroying the eco-system of Jungle. The human-centered worldly benefit is hampering the animals, plants and also the humans day by day that seems to be unknown to human but in fact it isn’t.

            The place of Dandi-Biyo has been snatched by cricket, those collaborative marriage-games where the soil used to be dish of marriage-party have been overtaken by wrestling, and the video-games are in existence in place of making-house-of-sand game. Cow is imagined by a child watching documentary about cow, but she is never encouraged to visit the cow-ranch. Following occidental concept of modernization is creating the existential crisis in Eastern culture, I feel.

            Such a change in ten years duration wasn’t imagined even in 100 years by my brain. But it happened. This happens, I am sure, because we see fall of Icarus but we don’t see those intrinsic meanings that particular painting is flowering. Only the trees that are assumed and worshipped as representative of God are protected/untouched, remaining most of the trees even of the isolated places are cut down. The areas covered by dense forest are used for cultivation. First, the trees are chopped, then the land is plowed and the saplings of corn, banana or potatoes are grown there. Simultaneously, in some places, the lands which are owned by the landlords are left barren. The people of villages prefer buying rice from the market rather than growing it in the field. The organic food isn’t found and the organic vegetable is grown only in front of their house but not in their agricultural field which is not even partly sufficient for the family, the vegetable survived by the use of pesticides and chemical fertilizers is sold in market that is purchased in high price as it looks very attractive, fresh and without any touch of diseased insect.

            Last month with the purpose of writing this essay, I visited my original district Udayapur, where I had spent my childhood. Udayapur is popular for Sal-tree. Those iron-like strong Sal-trees are very few now because of its trafficking to India; I came to know after my visit. The road (Madhyapahadi Rajmarg) I go through to reach my village is constructed by Japanese government pulling nature into consideration of not destroying it. But the neighboring districts, such as Ramechhap, Dolakha, Okhaldhunga are connecting this road to their headquarters without any contemplation of preserving trees if possible. Only the goal of them is to dig a road which needs to be as short and straight as possible. Those districts are already desert-like due to less rain and only the leafless shrubs are seen mostly in almost all seasons. And now those shrubs are also excavated. I am confused where this development leads us up to!

            Calmly speaking, I don’t see any compassion between a mother and child even in my village. Each and every individual is busy indulging with internet and technology. A son goes closer to his father only when he needs money; in the same way a daughter goes closer of her mother only when the dinner is ready. While having meal also, everybody is busy liking the photos posted by their friends or relatives on Facebook or in Instagram. The medium of conversation and meeting is performed through Messenger, Skype, Viber or Whatsapp. I have a nephew of age 10 who normally doesn’t talk only for a single minute in a whole day with his dad or mom because he is mostly busy studying science fiction and watching those movies related to science fiction.

“Mercy to so-called Development!” I wish to yell that shrivels under my throat. Even if I do that I know I will be excluded from this modern world as I will be taken as a clown who can’t be fit in the developed world of today’s modernization.

21 April, 2018            To imitate something, there must be something. A parrot caged inside the cage also can create her own world but who dares to feel she is born for living such life? A man can stand even if there is nothing accessible around him but the walls walled all around where he …Continue readingMercy Development!