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