streaming

At times it is so very tiring to work, and then a bit of "some long forgotten lines" appear infront of your eyes and you realize that many things have been lost. You just sink in thoughts. A forgotten face appears, the face of someone who mattered like "hell"; and then you relate the difference.

It takes a big heart, soaked pillows to be able to say "i shall let go", but then again, you just cannot. You see that rust in your heart, clean it up with a nice scrubber, paint it fresh and say i let go... and then suddenly the paint peels off. It is all shabby, torn and rusty again. Sometimes, you just cannot help being yourself, being the weak, fragile, dependent one. And you squirm beneath all those smiles and jokes, the painted face hides away the tears, but that small pain remains between your lips. Then you bite it off, fight back the tears and swallow the sigh. You are ready for another joke, another prank, another fun.

With every "fight back with yourself, your meek heart", you keep repeating, assuring that this pain will fade away and you shall be able to "let go", but then again it stands there on your pillow, laughing mercilessly at your "not good enough determination".

You want it so bad. What? The situation to be in control. Again the face of someone appears, someone who patronized you, carried you in his arms when you were a kid. Someone who said the destination was nearby when you were tired, someone to held you, made sure you didn't go hungry in the long journey. Someone who even stooped down so that you could giggle and climb his shoulders. You are sad again... you've lost so many things in teh past, you just let those moments slip between your fingers. You never let him know what he was to you, and suddenly he is gone; you cant say you are sorry that you never "bothered", you cannot say thankyou for being "a part of my life", you cannot even say "i am proud to have been a part of you". You just type on the blog and fight back tears!

And then you promise again-- here onwards, i shall not let teh moments pass by, i shall cherish and live completely; another promise to be forgotten in the busy schedule of life. Another part of life lost in the money making racket!

You decide and then suddenly you are scared that you decided. You are scared to hurt; so you continue scarring yourself all the time; repenting, paying back, and suddenly you realize that you have so much to take- again you are scared to ask for what you have to get! You are scared to give lest you have given just too much. You start trading relations, give and take. You lost the trust, you want everything to be balanced.

You visualise someone who had always given you; without ever getting anything in return. Now you feel guilty to have never given. You want to GIVE now, without being paid back. You look for something that you can give, but just realize these are nothing of your own; they have all been given to you by someone or the other! How much have you taken??? O Lord, save me! You beg, unable to give, incapable of taking-- you are lost in coma, paralysed; and then you live in anaesthesia for longer and longer...

my purple tree!!!

School is fun, especially when one doesn't need to open the books or write long answers. All that one needs to do is pull out some crayons and draw. I loved the class, arts is what they call it and i proudly used to say my favrouite subject :Arts.

When the first time i drew a few petals and a flower pot, which looked the messiest drawing one would ever see, my mom thought I was a born artist. The uneven petals, rose, pansy, poppy and a few dried crumpled leaves made my mom proud of me. I knew it in my bones that one day i would become a great artist, in fact i already was one; at least for my mom. In exchange of my giant flower and thin stem that held the flower in the pot i got the box of crayons and a drawing copy.

I knew that my talent needed to be proved to the world, so i set out colouring my house. Starting with my notebook; then books and then to the window sill. Nobody could stop this budding talent in me and soon all the walls in my house started reflecting those colourful lines, which had absolutely no meaning. My talent surely would have reached the neighbors had my dad not stopped me.

"What is this", he nearly screamed, showing me the beautiful script on the wall of my parents bedroom. Though none of the letters were straight or even, they surely looked good because it was my colourful name. I was wondering if i should have darkened the lines when my dad hit me so hard that i felt i was hammered.

"These walls are not to be dirtied, you understand? If again i find anything scribbled around the house. I will break all your bones ", he shouted and left me alone. i just stood, wondering why and how could such beautiful colours dirty the house.

Then on, no matter how much i longed to write my name on the wall, i used my colours only on the drawing sheet.

A few days later, my dad took me out to the park, in every tree, there were names carved, sometimes just letters. I knew that these names were carved by the kids who were beaten up at home for dirtying the walls. "Who wrote these?" I asked my dad. "Some idiots, and now hop along and go home", my dad was neither interested on the tree, or me!

While i came back, it was dusk. The sultry day made the trees even better and-purple. The purplish black leaves looked beautiful and the big red ball called sun was hiding in a distance. What a sight to draw the next morning.

In the drawing class i was happy because i was going to make a landscape. Two hills with the top like the tip of a sword, the sun setting, throwing orange coloured light all around and that beautiful tree with purple leaves standing out with the gleam of reddish light at the backdrop.

Proudly, i showed my drawing to the teacher but instead of complimenting my talent, she slapped me. "Where the hell do you see a purple leaf"? "Don't you know that the sky is blue, not red"?

I tried to explain the teacher that sky was red and the leaves were purple last evening but as the tears welled up in my eyes, i lost my voice too. My humiliation did not end here, the devil-teacher showed the paper to the whole class and made sure that each student in the class jeered at me. Later when my father came to pick me up after school, my teacher made a point to explain him that his daughter has absolutely no common sense.

My father just looked at me and gave a deep sigh. i know he wished for a smart daughter who had a lot of intelligence but he had a senseless girl if front of him. Somewhere, i had insulted him, his blood. Controlling my tears all along the way, i broke down as soon as i reached home. A born-artist died before she could show her talent to the world.

Many times after this incident, our devil-teacher asked us to be creative. "Arts is about creativity, imagination and ideas. Make something on your own", he would tell the whole class. I never made anything on my own again because i knew creativity meant stupidity and senselessness. Making something on my own would mean a slap and humiliation. Imagination would result to disgracing my father. I struck to the simple formula-sky is blue and leaves are green. For years i wondered if our devil-teacher had asked us to be creative only so that he would have that golden opportunity to beat us up.

During my drawing class, I learnt the simple rule be creative and:

- Sky is blue.

- Leaves are green.

- Sun is yellow or orange.

- Stars have five or six sides, neither less nor more and

- Any house should have a fence with a gate.

The only problem no was: blue and green crayons finished off fast.

Moment

Am a lil sad, somewhat lonely and quite lost at the moment: yet it feels nice to be above that, living the moment.

I like to trek... do u?

This is something i have been wanting to write since a long long time...

Apologies to all the ones who feel i have offended their feelings or moral thoughts....

Being a trekker i have realized all the ppl that come to Nepal to reach the mountains or nearer to the himalayas have been acting in a funny (my definition) way. I mean why the hell do you need to distribute the poor Nepalese kids living in the Himalayas some sweets and pencils? Just so that you can cleanse your conscience and feel great about doing some great act of humanity. Ever thought what that kid would do with that pencil when there are no schools around? play with it, scribble something on someone's wall and then throw it way... it wouldnt do any good, but does anyone realize what bad it is doing?

Nepalese are poor, yes and most nepalese survive in about 2 dollars a month (USD)... Yes, it is very good to see the English speaking foreigners in Nepal, talking to the kids, kuchipooing them, but many dont realize that they are psychologically making the beggars out of the poor nepalese kids. Please... Stop it.

If there is something that anyone feels like doing, sponsor a kid for one year education... that would cost about 100 dollars (the money spent on chocolate bars and beer during half of the trek)... or sponsor a kid to a school in the city... that would also be much less than the luxury expenses... but please please, dont gloat over the idea that there are a bunch of kids with running nose and bare-foot, wide opwn palms for you to drop a candy or a pencil in them.

What is worse about trekking? I will tell you... its nice to see the pictures, the scenes and all that... but many of us dont know the real picture... why would we? We need to trek, make the best out of those 10 days... we can always pick up a trekking agency in Kathmandu and then everything will be done for us... even we can be ported if we get tired in the mid-way. What fun!! So, what do we do... pay about 200 dollars to the trekking agency and we are free for the week. Out food/staying/walking/sleeping, everything is looked after and we have a great time. Do we realize that the porters who carry our baggages and all our load, (right from our tent, dining table, food, stove and sometimes, even US) are being paid about 3 dollars a day, without any benefits, no shoes, or jackets... and in the end, when we give a tip of about 20 dollars to the trekking guide, we feel all our sins are cleansed coz we have helped a troubled man.

How many of us know that all the porters who carry our loads during trek have no medical or health benefits. That means if they fall sick in the mean time, there will be no one to take care of them and they will have to find help for themselves or just rot in the way. While we have nice cozy tents and warm beds to sleep at night prepared by the same workers, they have to find caves and sheds in the route to sleep and have to feed themselves some stew or boil something so that they cane save that 3 dollars a day to help maintain their family.

Tourism brings about a huge economy in Nepal each year, but every year i go trekking, i find the same porters, living the same misery while the trekking agency owners have a new car every year! Hilarious!!!

The prayer flags while sun sets down for the day!