Few thoughts on how females have been down looked
(My view: No objective of harm to any women from me. Apology on any defamation while stating my views)
1) The word FEMALE is the combination of male and suffix “Fe” for this matter. Unless you write male, the word female won’t form. Indeed, female is the offspring word of Male, like my surname- My sons and daughters shall have a surname as Bhattarai, no matter how many generations down the line.
2) The words like AUTHORESS, POETESS,HOSTESS,MISTRESS and etc(means- end of the capacity(etc), LOL) show that first males and then females. Without the word POET, you don’t have POETESS.
3) The word CHAIRMAN, SPOKESMAN, COWBOY, POLICEMAN, FISHERMAN and etc also show that men have been the superior species on earth.
4) He/she: We never write SHE / HE because men were considered superior. First write HE and then, SHE.
5) The phrase LADIES FIRST AND: This is just the opposite of HE/SHE System. Many people might feel that ladies are respected by saying so. Infact, they are disrespected. Where ever you are to take food, ladies are allowed first. It silently means men can eat whatever is left because they are strong while ladies should take good food for they are weak”.
6) The statement, DON’T BE A FEMININE PERSON to the man when he cries or shows sentiments-meaning girls are weak.
7) ETC,ETC AND ETC

Random thoughts

Priyaey timro samjhana, (The memories of yours, dear, and)

Bhobesay kalpana, (the imagination of future)

Mutuma bokey ra, (Carrying them in my heart)

Pardesai jandaichhu(I am setting off to urban)

I   don’t know what is embedded deep in these lines, but they have the capacity to make me feel low. These lines take me to those days when life was all set. There was nothing to worry about or plan for. With the rising of sun and setting of the same, hearty meals prepared by mum would make everything good. Walking through the heaped border of the terrace dragging the reluctant goats to be tethered, it was never a big deal to fix them and if I didn’t know where to tether them, I would shout at mum and ask where I should fix them. “Ama kahan banu ho?” (Mum, where should I tether them). Or sometimes, if the herd of goats tried escaping on their own will, I would simply cry and leave them for mum to fix. There was no sense of responsibility in me. At times, I can vividly remember now, mum would scold me saying that I did not even break a stick for the day-meaning there was nothing useful that I did. Infact, there was not compulsion for me to do, either. If I didn’t do, my mum or brother would do. In short, those were carefree days.

Today as I play this song, like a bottled pickle that spreads its smell when opened its lid, memories are diffused. Over the air; over the room; over the heart and blood, I have memories screaming at me. My sentiments stirred and as I pen these feelings, I feel suffocated. How fast time passes by. Those lovely people of my life with whom I have learned to live are away from me. Those moments when my grandma was still quite young, perhaps at her late 60s, would be a fun. Our moments were lovely-indeed, something i don’t want to forget. My elder brother and I used to fight physically. My elder brother was just a difficult -to -please kid. Indeed, it was the time which was not so good but was normal. Today everything had faded-my normalcy and dormancy. Like a snake which has lost its venom, I slither with the little hopes in life. Ahead of me, beckons the reality of life. I see a bigger responsibility lying ahead. Perhaps, I am moving gradually. Perhaps I need to move consistently. Perhaps, I don’t know what is happening in life.

Old age-a paradox of long life (From the perspective of an old woman)

“Happy birthday to you; many, many, happy returns to you. May you live long!” As I read on the face book wall of my friends, it takes me to the time I have seen old age is more of a curse of the wishes than the wishes of blessings. Long life is not a synonym of a happy life; rather long life is a repercussion of good wishes of the well wishers that fate takes the otherwise. Everyone wants to live long but I know a very few will have thought of the paradox of long life.

Smooth skin on the beautiful face that once shone becomes folded in many wrinkles. Your cascade of hair that you once maintained and added to your beauty gradually falls. Your head gradually marches with the speed of time into being barren. Your gums that once grasped your beautiful teeth that polished your smile will fall off. Your smile will become less attractive and what you used to be will be long gone. The beautiful and dynamic torso will succumb to the curse of nature-your back will curve like a bow. Day by day, your height seems growing smaller and your age, bigger. Infact, life is like anti-parallel line-as age ascend, your height descends.

Your brain cell will gradually start dying and once again you go into childhood. Your thinking capacity will deteriorate and you can barely remember things. Your act will become an intermediate between that of a child and a matured person. The same you, who once grabbed the hands of a child and walked as if nothing is burdensome, will become tired with a little walk. A small step you make forward will tire you to death. Panting and puffing, you will curse yourself.  

As you sit on your bed and calculate your age by bending your fingers, you will feel that you have reached to the peak of life. The dried pillow on which you lay your head for the comfort will become drenched with the silent tears-the tears that fall off at the thought of how you used to be once upon a time. Perhaps, then you will have been one of the people who could catch a flying bird or one who could run a hundred miles with ease. Perhaps you will have been one of the most beautiful persons of your time. Life, like an ebb and flow of a sea, keeps running forth, never to be back again.  At the mere thought of your death, as it is sure at an old age, will make your night sleepless.

At times you will feel like talking with others and share your emotions but you become too alien for them to understand what you wanted to say. You will talk with others at some occasions but no one will pay any heed, rather you will be laughed at. You will want to stay with others when you fee low but they will not bother to have you by their side. Everybody will neglect what you speak.

My grandma back in the village, whose sons and daughters are scattered all around the world, must be going through a series of painful moments. I can assume it but all I can do is sympathize with her. I often remember her feeling lost and at times smoking. I know the kind of burden and the paradoxical situation one will go through. I wish a good health of my grandma and rest old people around the world.

i miss it

I miss my village

In whose womb rests my house
And In whose heart relaxes my home-
The home where my parents dwell
And my entirety survives,
I miss them.
The terrace of paddy field;
The ephemeral stream that churns
And flows right in front of my house;
The winter on whose lap egrets play
And incessantly hunt meals,
I miss them.
The summer which invites patterns
Of Scorching heat
Of Fluctuating down powers
And scaring rumbles on the sky,
i miss them
The autumn that turns nature naked,
With greens crying beneath the trunks
Of trees
Of shrubs
And grasses,
i miss them.
The spring decorated in blooms
Like a well dressed lady,
In green
Blues
Red and
With various pattern of hues;
Whose beauty the bees consume
And angels envy their beauty,
I miss them all-
I miss my village!

Disparity among siblings

Disparity among siblings

Of one womb housed in one mother,
We are born;
On the same luxurious lap
Of a mother,
We wept and moaned for further warmth.
Of the same home
We have been the same kids
Fate has spectated,
Lord has bathed in his wills and
Time has brought in its pace.
Like the fruits of the same tree
We are the extension of the same parents;
Yet in thought
In deeds
In dreams
And in the daily schedule of life
We seem different-
Like the odd option among
The order of a logical question!
Beckoned by our own conscience and intuition.
We run after our own muse;
With the hunger of our own desire
We seek our own meals of goals.

Ode to a beautiful face on the street

Ode to a beautiful face on the street

The skin depth soaked in

Divine angelic visage with falling cascade

Of silky hair down the shoulders;

The fragrance of a perfume

That diffused through me into my nose

Drove me mad.

In flashback as I move back

When my sight collided with her moves

And bruised my feelings

Thousand children of craze are born

In the warm womb my imagination

And expire

In the grave of my sensitive heart.

Now I just gaze in thoughts

To look for her

To embrace her tight

And feel the slippery cascade of hair

Again

 with the fingers of my mind.

Where are my dreams

Where are my dreams?

Where are my dreams

That once dwelled in me

And showed me a way to stroll?

Where are my dreams

That once inspired me

And woke me up to realize it?

Where are my dreams

That once stirred my entire childhood

And made me sleepless?

As present merges into the past,

As today becomes yesterday,

I seem living with hollow pipes

Of hopes

Trying to fill the water

Of vanity into it.