HAPPY BIRTH DAY TO ME

And it’s my birthday. I love to take a big day off for myself in this particular day to celebrate but I never get the chance  as I want. Usually I don’t write in my birth day but  today I thought to pen down something about my birthday. Today I feel that my birthday is too long. I woke up late and wasted my whole day in office. It was a rough day and I would like to say it a shitty day. I struggled a lot to keep myself working in the office but work humdrum almost killed me and I am lucky that I survived with a smile in the end because its my birthday. I don’t know why this day gives different pleasure to me and I want to treat myself for being successful to live till this day. Every year I want to make my birthday memorable but I don’t know how to make it a special day. Somebody commented me that I am boring. May be I sound boring but at least I have to make my birth day a special day to remember.

 So I woke up little late today. I took a hike to a small hill in the very beginning of the morning. The view from the top was very pleasurable to my eyes and I sniffed a great sigh of loneliness one more time. My mind was filled with mixed emotions and all usual stuffs. But this year I have a very special reason to wait in this particular day. I can anticipate a gentle birthday wish from somebody. I woke up middle of the night to check my cell phone whether she has messaged me or not because it’s been a long since we separated in a way we didn’t like and we didn’t want. All I had was an empty message box and I slept. Throughout the day I was waiting for her small birthday message that would please me in a way I never had. I almost have compelled and trained my mind to forget her but this special day to me gives anticipation that she might call me or write me. At least we can shorten the day of communication break. We haven’t had any messages or calls since then. All my wait went in vein because it’s almost midnight and I have only few minutes left in my hands as my birthday. I wonder the life of human. We are slaves of time. Time happens to be so powerful that I never can halt my best days forever. I never could stop it when I was with her. I never could undo all my mistakes or rectify it. I wished that time would stop by then when we had the best days of our life, the best moment together, the best part of my life. I wish to make it immortal and live it one more time but it never happens because time is mighty and I can’t defeat it. Just for an example my birthday, I am wishing not to make this day slip away from my hand but it’s almost the end of my birthday this year. I have to wait another year for the same day and for the same feelings to live a birth day.

I am despair that she forgot my birthday. I got no wishes today. I felt bad and I don’t deserve that. People say I am forgetful. I forget almost every time but I remember her birthday. I remember every laughter and every word and every moment together. I remember that. I couldn’t  forget her and I think I can’t.

Now it is the end of today. Its 12 Am in my watch and my birthday is over. I am no more a birthday boy now. This very special day has ended and my hope too. I shall wait another year to live this day one more time and I hope that next year I won’t have this false anticipation of small HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU message from her. If time is this mighty, I request it to cure me soon, delete all my memories about her and make me possible that next year I will not be waiting somebody for a mere BIRTHDAY WISH.

WHEN WE SAY GOOD BYE

      I never realized how hard it is to say good bye to somebody you love. If you have kept somebody in your heart, your mind and in your imagination, may be this word hurts you more than any. Hours pass like a split of the second when we are with somebody we care and love. But every second tortures us if we are away from our beloved.

I can’t define love here. May be this love doesn’t exist or may be it does. I think the love is what when we miss somebody so badly all the time. We meet them in every imagination and in every dream. Every hour passes in a hope that we will meet, we will talk and we will be together some day. We don’t get sleep. I don’t know why we can’t sleep. We wait and wait till we die. 

A line message is enough to pass day and night reading it. A picture is enough to look at and talk to kill emptiness, the distance and loneliness. Memories are full with all the beautiful days we spent together and all those nonsense gossips and laughter we had. Every time when we pass by the place where we sat, where we laughed, where we walked, it feels that the souls are still stuck there in the same place, wandering in the same lane but invisible like the beautiful angels together. 

Every time he decides to forget her. He repeats the same words forget her, forget her and forget her. More he says forget her more she comes in his mind. Now it seems like it is impossible to understand the meaning of GOOD BYE to him. He is ignorant and doesn’t try to get the meaning of GOOD BYE. They said good bye to each other but why he feels like it is just a bad dream. He will wake up in the morning and everything will fall in the same place again. He wishes it were a bad dream and  he can wake up, find himself in a different state and say thank god it’s just a dream. JUST A PATHETIC DREAM.

He and she have made a house somewhere in a dream land. They have children as he always desires a daughter with a pretty face like her and she desperately wants a small skirt to her daughter. Now it seems the dream is fading away. Every hope of them is shattered. He wanders around like a hopeless and homeless squatter. Tears of pain have washed away his beautiful colors of his life but couldn’t wash away the pain in his heart.

He didn’t believe in heart. He used to say heart is a part of our body. It just pumps the blood, purifies blood and keeps us alive. There is no such thing like love which is related to heart. But now every time when he remembers her, this heart gets constant and strong pain. He can’t control its palpitation and he can’t get relief from these ultimate sufferings of his life. One day this heart will stop and he will definitely get relieved from this pain and agony he has due to this little, crazy, insane, wild and lonely heart that learned to love, that learned to make him cry, that learned to make him suffer and he still doesn’t have any grievances, any complain about this little heart that has love in it.

And they said good bye to each other. He couldn’t control his tears and so did she. His throat sored and it couldn’t produce meaningful words further. It produced the sound of sobbing. Both eyes were not in favor of his control and constantly using its tear gland to drain out pain. I don’t blame to love for all these. It is that merciless circumstances which don’t understand the love and don’t spare lovers the life they wanted. I think love is not stronger than the circumstances.

He doesn’t know how he is sustaining his life pretending that he is happy and he has already forgotten her but her face is stuck in his mind, her laughter he hears all the time everywhere, her smile is his motivation to live and the promises are his commands to the heart not to fall weak. How can he hide this pain to live away from her? How can he hide this loneliness and pretend that he is the happiest person somewhere he doesn’t belong to.

 But now he has to. He has to make her feel that he has forgotten her. He has moved on and is a changed man. He is the one who betrayed and the one who doesn’t care. He does every possible trick to make her forget him. Otherwise she will take all responsibilities for what happened which actually was not her fault. He wants to bear all the responsibilities for what happened between them and what they have become due to this merciless circumstance. So, he lies, he pretends, he makes excuses so he and she have said GOOD BYE to each other.

He still dreams the life together with her. May not be possible but his hope and anticipation is not dead yet because his little heart is still beating with the strength and power of so called LOVE…. LOVE… LOVE……

subhash thapa magar

STORY OF TWO BOTTLES

          He finally got into a small shop where many bottles were kept for sale. In the first look his eyes went in two bottle kept in a row. They looked beautiful together like a pair. That gave him a pleasure to look at. He paid for one. He was about to leave but his eyes went to the row of bottle. This time the row was not complete because he bought one and another bottle was left alone. He did not feel good and paid the shopkeeper for two. Then he bought two bottles kept together in a row earlier and he felt good inside.

This is the story of two water bottles. He bought two water bottles. This is not an ordinary story of two nonliving water bottles but these two water bottles have found souls connected to each other. He broke the favorite water bottle of her. She used to carry the bottle all the time which was bought by her mother as a gift. He broke it. She was little despair. He decided to buy her the same type of bottle. That day he wandered around a lot to find the bottle in many stores but he couldn’t manage to get exact bottle. He planned to gift her bottle but his planning was about to go in vain so he decided to buy the bottle but of different type.

He had two bottles. He was about to gift the bottle to her and decided to keep another one himself. He waited her that evening. She did not show up. He had two bottles in his hand. The bottles were very happy to be together again. Two bottles used to laugh and chat and chat without any topic particular. They were happy together but the master was not happy that evening. The very next day he was about to leave the city and he desperately wanted to meet her. But she did not call. That evening he waited and waited but she didn’t turn up. He returned home with the heavy heart but he didn’t lose hope to meet her tomorrow. He kept those two bottles on the table. Two bottles got time to be together again. Two bottles had planned to stay together forever. They had plans to laugh together without any reason. 

Two bottles had great time together. They were happy but they did not know that they were about to separate. Finally the morning came and he woke up before the morning breaks because he hardly had a sleep last night. He was so lost in her that he did not even have time for sleep. He held one of the bottle and filled water in it. He was happy that he was about to meet her and that day was the last day to him in that city. He was going away and he desperately wanted to meet her. 

He was waiting her and many things were haunting his soul. Finally she showed up and he gave her the bottle he bought for her. He and she were about to depart. He felt like his heart is going to tear apart and shatter into pieces. With the heavy heart both he and she said bye to each other. The day was felt gloomy.

In the mean time I forgot to write about the bottles. This is the story of bottle not him and her. Here goes what happened to the bottles. That night two bottles were together. They chatted a lot. They were so happy to be together. Suddenly when he picked one bottle, filled water and took that away, another water bottle was left alone. It thought it could be together with another one after sometime but it never happened. He came back home, filled the bottle with water, packed all his belongings and boarded the  bus.

Now he stays far away from her. All he has left is the memories of past. He has beautiful days in his mind when he and she were together. He has beautiful picture of her in his mind. He is alone so is the case to that little bottle. The bottle is also alone. Both bottle and his master live together with the same heart and same feeling. They both have something in common. Loneliness and pain to live away from somebody they love. But what a pity bottle can’t talk to his master and his master can’t express his feelings to the bottle.

He packs himself in a small room every time. Sometime he smiles and laughs absurdly. May be he happens to remember the life he used to have that makes him smile. Sometime he desperately talks to the bottle but the bottle can’t reply. It has understood that his master is definitely in agony. He talks to himself. He wakes all night. There is no reason for the tears to roll down his eyes. That little bottle is the spectator of its master’s solitude and loneliness.

The bottle can also feel loneliness of his master. Now the bottle happens to realize that this is all due to the heart. Heart that loves. Heart that cares. Heart that suffers. It thanks to the god that it does not have the heart like his master has.

subhash thapa magar

ONE FINE MORNING

“Jack of all Master of none”, may be this defines me. Disguising to be a perfect, tried my best but fate has its own choice. Lucky to be alive but unfortunate to be alone. The way I choose is again the same: making my mood to money and taming my anger being agitated for the loneliness I deserve.

In the morning I wake up with a big smile on my wretched face, look into the mirror, happy and generously charming. The reason behind my rare smile may be: a sweet dream.

‘Dreams’ whatever you see and think will ultimately finds its way to be felt subconsciously, lively but imagery . That is dream. I like dreams. They are like franchising my soul to live, it loves to.

Sometimes it is spooky, scares the hell out of me, gives goose bumps even to remember. But sometimes, it is so lovely and lively; I wish to dream it over and over again, so beautiful that I wish to immortalize them. Awake but forcefully close my eyes to get back into sleep, plunge into the same dream, but it never happens.

I flip my mirror; turn it upside down because the reflection is not so handsome. Then, I try to grasp an angle that makes me the man I like, but it doesn’t. I give up. I curse the almighty, who is ruthless and merciless, who designed a wretched model and a piece of crap “ME”.

Life in the mid 20’s, better finds its value to an oldie in his late 60’s. Mid 20’s weighs more to other but not to me because that’s my age. My flair has availed my basic needs. Have to keep my clutches sharp to be a tiger, to be alive. If they are blunt, I no longer will be a tiger.

Tiger lives its life in complete solitude. Till it is strong, it hunts, survives. It gets older, prey gets faster. Sharp clutches rust and get blunt. It starves to death. I don’t want to be that tiger. So, I am toiling hard to make my future a safe side, but in the meantime, AM I FORGETTING TO LIVE MY PRESENT?

Just like a protagonist in the movie, what if my life has love, romance, tragedy and finally a happy ending. Don’t I deserve? I question my heart. Heart is speechless so my mind argues, “It is a movie, a carefully thought and scripted imaginary life, programmed by specialist, scrutinized and edited with professional hands. But I can’t program my scenes, retake my mistakes and edit my life.”

And I live a real life.

My monologues; my debate. My heart is a part and my mind is counterpart. They argue, they agitate, and they collaborate. I, a spectator and a true follower of them, whoever wins I am a slave. I walk, means an initiative to my monologues. They rise and fall and I enjoy them.

Almost have forgotten, I have to be ready for my office again, a daily routine. It’s Tuesday and still three more days for Saturday, I love Saturday. So………. I am getting up as fast as I can. It takes no time me to be ready. I am not a girl to waste a whole hour sticking in the mirror and painting my face with inorganic fancy materials. (Girls; please do not mind).

 I walk half the way to my office and take bus. My usual routine; Same nasty roads, crossing stinky BISHNUMATI River, same narrow lane of ASON and finally to RATNAPARK. My ways are so used to with me that feels like, I can walk all the way blindfold. I am so familiar to them and vice-versa. Same houses, same Junctions, same temples and most precisely, same “ME”.

So, I am walking all the way to my office. I feel little relief after climbing an overhead bridge at Ratnapark since I can behold the beautiful RANI POKHARI. Tranquility there really quenches my thirst of peace for a moment.

As I climbed down the overhead bridge, peered few beggars in rags. One is playing MADAL with awkward sound like clunk. My eyes reach to micro station. People are trying to navigate micro buses. Suddenly my eyes collide with a pair of beautiful eye. Of course she is waiting a micro the other side of the road. I cross the road and reach there. I pretend as if I didn’t notice her and so does she. Strangers rarely talk. That’s the philosophy.

 I am standing few meters away beside her. She is so beautiful, so fair and I feel she cast spell on me. I am unable to stop my head unconsciously turning to her. I plan to talk to her. I am searching my guts, but my heart is palpitating and my hands are trembling. “Oh! God! What the hell. Why this always happens to me?” No later I got a second thought, “she is so beautiful, so fair like an angel and me?” A big question mark. I left my idea to go and talk to her and I said to myself “She deserves the best and you are not the best”

“Baneshwor, Koteshwor,Kandha Ghari,Bhaktapur” Khalasi (conductor) yells. That sharp noise makes me awake from my dream. I am dreaming, dreaming to talk to her. I get into the bus. Bus is full. I try to cling on the bar. My hand barely fits. Once I read a story “Beauty and the Beast”, story about a beauty and a beast. It has happy ending. The beast changes into a handsome prince and they live their life happily ever after.

 But this real beast “ME” can’t transform himself into a handsome prince like in the story. He is in a real world, living a real life, not in the story, not in the fantasy…………………

subhash thapa magar

TOSSING TO BE A TEACHER

"Teacher" Sounds normal, the one who teaches, everybody knows it. Once someone said-“Everyone and everything is a teacher”. Sounded normal so didn’t have any note of decent. I nodded yes. There wasn’t any reason to probe whether it's true or false, so I agreed.

"Everyone and everything is a teacher". Why? Now I got a good reason for it.

Being a teacher myself, I feel proud to be called as a teacher but still afraid of not being able to fulfill requisition to be a genuine teacher. I am not teaching my students only the curriculum but also the way I treat people, the way I love people, the way I behave them and the way I speak. My every words count because someone is listening to me, may be trying to improve vocabulary, trying to copy my words. My every activity is being judged and they are likely to be repeated by my learning pupil. The way I walk, clumsy or careful, the way I talk is being imitated. The way I dress is being considered. So, everywhere I am teaching.

I learnt cycling from my friend in an old courtyard of ASON. That was my school and my friend was my teacher.

I learnt to cook food. My mother was a teacher.

I learnt to cry, my pain was my teacher.

May be "Everyone and everything is a teacher".

When I was a student myself, I often used to learn new words from my teachers using in the classroom. Next day the word would come in my exercise book used in sentences.

I was highly influenced by Albert Einstein. He was my childhood fantasy and idol. I wanted to be a scientist and Albert was the one who inspired me because I thought he is a super genius scientist. I was influenced the way he dressed, the way he kept his hair scruffy and the way he wore unpolished shoes. I copied Albert Einstein, I started to be untidy. I let my hair scruffy, left my shoe unpolished………unfortunately I didn’t become scientist. The mistake I committed was; I didn’t copy the way he devoted his time in thinking, reading, investigating and developing theories. He sacrificed luxury to enlighten himself. He gave mare priority to combing hair, polishing shoes and selecting costumes and devoted his entire life in studies and findings. I copied only the things which he thought useless and time consuming, so I failed.

I myself can be an apt example. This way we learn either good or bad. This selection ultimately leads to success and failure of life.

In order to teach, one should not be a teacher. A dog can teach how to recognize its owner where a son doesn’t recognize his father, mother and let them die in an OLD PEOPLES’ HOME. A five years old cutie can teach you how to be happy with her doll in contrast to all available gadgets and possessions we all are eager to compete, buy and to be a so called HAPPY ONE.

It’s all about learning which doesn’t have time bound, no age limitation, no gender prejudice and no racial hatred. Learning is free and inevitable.

At the end…………I dedicate this article to my known and unknown teachers, who and which made me able to write this.

subhash thapa magar

A Song

I returned from my office. Work pressure was overcoming my grace. My life had become hectic. How much I tried to get rid of it, I was more and more into it. My optimism was in vain. My desire was strangulated and I was suffocating.

As I entered into my evening class, I was half an hour late for the first lecture, so thought quitting it.

I came to balcony of my two storey block and entered in an empty class. I was with my ear piece on and trying to enjoy some songs in my mobile. Solitude in the room was like a boon and a sigh of immense relief towards hostility of my life. So I kept enjoying it.

My song was spontaneously playing.

“Ma timro sahar chodi tadha tadha jadai chhu                                             (I am going far away abandoning your city

Timi sanga kahilei nabhetne kasam khadai chhu”                                         I’ll never meet you I swear)

“Timi lai dil dida sajaya maile paaye “                                                             (I gave you my heart so I’m banished)

I plunged into the song, visualized myself in the character. I felt as If I am the protagonist in the song. Now I am about to leave my town and going far away from her. I kept promise not to meet her ever.    

What a song, so sonorous, so heart rending and depicting picture of pure tragedy and loneliness. My surrounding became so nostalgic then. Sadness filled in my face. Once my friend Beejay said “Songs are reflection in the mirror “. That moment felt like I was looking in the mirror. I was diluted into the song.

My eyes were outside the window in the tree. A bird was trying to pluck a balled fist shaped fruit. Whether its beak was weaker or its inevitability that, it should not desire and dream impossibility. I couldn’t stop laughing at it.

May be I was literally laughing at me……………………………………………………………. 

That’s why it’s called family

I hated my sister. She had always a tricky and manipulative mouth for what I do and what I choose. She always intervened in my personal interest and choice. When with T.V, it used to be like a battle for the shows. If I thought she is enjoying the show, intentionally I changed the channel and she did too. I never liked to go school with her together but was my compulsion. (When I grew up, I caught my friend’s troop to go with). My parents used to give money for our Tiffin. My sister used to carry the money because I wasn’t worthy enough in comparison and she was eldest too. She used to buy me food what mother said to eat, that really used to irritate me.

                One day I asked my mother for my part of money. Surprisingly she gave that day. I was happy that I could now buy food by my own. We had separate money that day. I felt I was independent now. I grinded my teeth as a victory sign. In school, I was just waiting for break, showed money to my friends because that was a matter of prestige in childhood. I was really pompous that day.

                When sir left the class, I was the first to line up in the canteen. I ordered my favorite samosas. My hand sneaked into my pocket but it was empty. I was paralyzed. I ran into my classroom and searched the whole class but was empty handed. I felt like crying. That cry neither was for any demand to parent nor to win over sister. It had a different taste and pain. Now I was frantically crying. I had no money left to buy food and that made me much hungrier. Somebody reported to my sister and she appeared in my class in no mean time. I told her everything and she quietly gave her money to me. I was tremendously hungry. I wiped my tears and ran to canteen. Finally I ate my samosas.

                In that panic circumstance and a strong hunger drive, I forgot my sister about what she would eat because I expensed her money. I had completely forgotten that she gave her part of money. My freak childish mind. When we came back to home, my poor sister ran hurriedly inside. I became really suspicious that she would tell to mom. But instead she cried: “Mum, what’s there to eat? I’m bit hungrier today”.

And I felt really guilty that day for what I used to think about my sister

subhash thapa magar.