क्या पता

जिस तरह से होंठ घुमते नही,
उस् आवाजका मैं रियाज करु
तेरे दिलमे गुम कोहि गीत, क्या पता मचल उठे

आज किसी और जुबानमे
तुझ्से प्यारका इस्तिहार करु,
तेरी दिलकी ठेहरी हुई कोहिँ झील, क्या पता सेहल उठे

The woman from Dillibazaar

​She measured the earth in multiples of the distance between her home and the farthest city she has ever been to,Dharan.  She asked me if where I came from was farther than her reference town. She looked at my face as if she could see the dirty ponds and the dusty streets of my home town, I looked back at her trying to find traces of Kathmandu, the city that has spawned her whole ancestry, but all I could find was a small intersection,one among many of intersections of Kathmandu, at most I could see parts of Dillibazaar .

When she smiled to bid me goodbye, her smile didn’t look like Dillibazaar, it looked like Dharan.

I wonder if, when I look into the mirror, I will ever be able to recognize the city I carry in my smile.

The it factor !

He sniffed himself
more often than not

Some times he wondered
if other people smelt it too,

In fancy hallways he felt at home,
Vanilla that rose up from white china cups filled the air,
These cups were full of it as well.
And he would wear all these bright clean clothes,
with saturated colors,
big bold rich names stapled to them.
He would wear these beautiful sparkling things,
that shined more than gold,
glittered more than the March night sky,
His clothes were full of it as well.

His speech was like an assortment of fresh green salad,
his acquired accent like salad dressings, overpaid for, from convenient stores,
These stores were full of it as well.

His walls were decorated with well composed landscape pictures
You could find him somewhere in the frame as well,
tiny and almost invisible, but some how he felt very big about this,
His engineering degree hung by the side,
As if someone had put a reflector in his sockets,
his pride glistening in his eyes,
Even his walls were full of it

He walked down the road with spring in his feet,
His hands in his pocket,
A well measured smile in his face,
Even his walk was full of it.

He sniffed himself more often than not,
He worried if other people smelt it too.

He saw me in the mirror the other day,
He said, “sh…
Don’t you tell,
don’t you tell nobody about it.
I am doing my best to hide it.”

I said- “Don’t worry bro, it’s not just you, everybody is full of shit.”

साइला दाइ

साइला दाइ- सारै रमाइलो मान्छे,

सधै उज्यालो

अनुहार पनि सूर्यमुखी फुल जस्तो

हसिलो, रंगले चम्किलो,

अल्गो, फरासिलो,

मानौ – खुसी नै बोकेर हिड्थे मनको झोलामा

किलो किलो !

 

मलाई याद छ –

कहिले काँही बाटोमा भेट्दा –

जब भै सकेको हुन्थ्यो -मलाई कलेज जान धेरै ढिलो,

बाटोमा मोटरसाइकिल रोकेरै बोलाऊथे – ” ए, एता आउ त हिरो !”

 

बुवालाइ कस्तो,

आमालाई कस्तो,

बुनेलाई कस्तो !

परिवारको बारेमा मात्रै सोधे त हुन्थ्यो नि

तिमि सँग सधैँ हिडीरहने नानीलाई कस्तो ?

जे पनि सोध्थे बुढाले – हासी हासी !

कस्तो राम्रो जुत्ता बाबु, महँगोकि सस्तो

मुस्ताङ्गको हावाजस्तो

शितल

हाम्रो टोलको साईला दाइँ

 

साइला दाइकि बुढी, त्यो हेमन्त राना कि साइली जस्तै,

त्यति सारो रुने चाही हैन, तर मिजासि,

उहा पनि त्यसतै,

बुवालाइ कस्तो,

आमालाई कस्तो,

बुनेलाई कस्तो !

 

उनको छोरोले कोरियामा राम्रो काम पाको,

अस्ति भर्खर दुइ वर्ष पछि, बल्ल दशैंमा टिका लाउन आको,

मेरो इस्कुलमा म आठमा पढ्दा- साइलादाईको छोरा, १०मा पढ्थे

फुटबल  खुब खेल्थे !

घर बार ऋण गरेर विदेश गाको,

“साइलाको छोरोले- बिस्तार पैसा तिर्ने आटो” –

टोल भरिमा कसको सन्तानले के गर्यो

यस्तै हल्लाले भरिएको हुन्थ्यो मेरो टोलको बाटो,

 

चोकको भित्रि पसलहरु- जहाँ वडा कार्यालयले फत्ते लाउन नसकेका मुद्दा

सब मिलि फत्तेलाउथे,

त्यो पसल छेउमै साइला दाइको घर,

सारै मिलेको, मानौ चिठ्ठामा परेको जस्तो

साइला दाइको त्यो घर भित्र बस्ने परिवार,

 

तर धमिरा लागेको उनको मनको बारे कसले अड्कल काट्यो,

सब ठिक छ नि बाबु- साइला दाइको यो प्रश्नको जबाफ- honest भएर कसले उत्तर  साट्यो !

उनको हासोको उज्ज्यालोमा तिरिमिरी भएको हामिले, किने उनको त्यहि

सुर्य जस्तो चम्किलो, आँखाहरुको

दुइ centimeter माथी चिन्ताको रेखा – कसले देख्यो !

 

“चिन्ताले चिता सम्म डोर्याउछ ”  भन्थे –

साइला दाईले अस्ति एकान्तमा – एक्लै

भाउजुलाई सधै एक्लै छोडेर गए रे

मर्द भएर होला उनलाई यो समाजले रुन पनि दिएन

मन त सबैको कमलो हुन्छ, उनलाई एकछिन पनि कमजोर हुन पनि दिएन,

सारै रमाइलो मान्छे साइला दाई, साइला दाइलाई कसैले रिसाउने नि दिएनन्

जिन्दगीको भारि त गार्हो नै हुन्छ, कसैले भारि बिसाउन नि दिएनन्

भन्छन्- कायर भो रे साइला दाइ

बौलाहा जस्तो के गरेको यस्तो !

 

सायद कसैले सोध्ने भ्याएनन क्यारे साइलादाईलाइ-

ए साइला, दाइ !

तपाइँलाई  कस्तो,

घरमा कस्तो !

छोरोलाई कस्तो !

किन हो साइलादाई तिमि दुब्लाएको यस्तो

थकित देखिन्छौ त साईला, किन हो यस्तो !

ए साइला, दाइ !

तपाइँलाई कस्तो !

Recurring martydom

I was killed by the “rising sun”

that promised me

land to yield and a place safe

i was instead given a tongue less mouth

even which i kept

then i was asked for a few years

to make things right

i said”why not”

a few years will pass out

swiftly like a summer night.

 

years later nothing changed

then i was told,

it was all but lies

i do not believe what i hear

but i gotta believe my eyes

there was no tongue in my mouth

no sense in my head

no guarantee i would not be taken a prisoner

while i wake from my bed

i said”ah hell ! this has to change ”

 

and change it did,but i didn’t see

you see,  i was the foundation of what you have with thee

i marched the street like a mad dog

 

i was armed with slogans

while i was facing bullets

my words would pierce hearts

but couldn’t stop them damn bullets

 

in the end i was shot,

in the leg first and when i fell

in my head, bang bang

two shots to make sure.

i wouldn’t rise again

killed like a mad dog.

again and again.

 

duihazar sixtythree ,  dui hazar fourtysix and dui hazar-seven

i am your recurring martyr

i die again and again.

 

-May 17, 2011

Trade Deficit

What we are doing love, it does not make sense to me.

Why are we making these horrible trades, oxygen for oil, life for paper ? We gave up kisses and we gave up hugs, we gave up our loved ones for pictures and jet journeys. The years of our youth for AC rooms, for whistles and beeps. Why would anyone give up chocolate and take only the fancy chocolate packaging in return? It does not make sense to me. What I wish is we looked at stars the way we look at cars. I wish we looked at hearts the way we look at malls and marts. I wish we looked at tree like they were jewelry. What we are doing love, it does not make sense to me.