as i move through

Inching closer to the "2019", I am trying to remember what 2018 was like and I have to very honest and tell you this, I can't remember it all too well. It probably was a whirlwind just like 2017 was, and 2016, and 2015, and 2014 and also other years, for that matter. But yes, there isn't much that I remember about 2018. However, one of the things that I am taking away with me as we all inch closer to 2019 is that, I am going to stay closer to myself. Bits and pieces of whatever I can dig out of the year that's slipping away is that I enjoyed being a friend to me this year. Sure, it was tough and tiring and exhausting and draining and what not, but it was good. It didn't hurt. To be honest, parts of me actually feel at ease and I think that it is important. In 2018, I spent lengthy hours holed up at home, in my bed, under the covers.  In 2018, I walked for miles through roads I have known all my life, over bridges I hadn't seen before, on slippery slop...

Lake: A large body of still water. If you look up the word "lake" on the Internet or the dictionary, that is the definition that will be indicated to you. But the lake is anything but 'still'. I spent almost every minute I could spare during the past five days close to the  Phewa  lake - be it in the morning, or in the afternoon, or in the evening, or before the crack of dawn, or before the dusk settled in. I stood by the lake and listened to her.  In the first afternoon, I chuckled as I watched her and suddenly remembered studying the definition "A lake is a large body of still water" somewhere in my science book back in my school days. I would not use the word 'still' to define her. Instead, I would use the word - 'human'. Yes, the lake is human - as human as the word 'human' can ever mean.  The first afternoon that I met her, she took my breath away. None of the pictures I had ever seen, none of the paragraphs I had ...

~ ~ ~ मेरो त भगवान हराएको छ, मन्दिर गएर कसलाई खोजौं ? ~ ~ ~ ~ shuvangi ~ It has been years since I've found myself seeking at Basantapur. Over the years, I've grown familiar to the lanes here. I have vague memories of me typing and discarding notes I have written about the place - with an ever present hint of melancholy plastered around d the edges of each letter. I've spent many afternoons embracing the blaring horns, the squealing tyres, the soft murmurs of passerby's, the whiffs of dried spices and meat that find me in every alley. On those afternoons, I am away from my playlist. I don't need a mellow voice crooning a song on coming home when I am in these streets. Because this is where I've found my home. ~ ~ ~ "चिया खाने हैन?" भनेर सोध्न नथाकेकी दिदी र नाइँ भन्न नसक्ने हामी | ~ ~ ~ ~ sudip ~ Basantapur is a stranger to me. A stranger who stays put as if he knows I'll come find him either way. A stranger who will ...

Dai’s fingertips have a whiff of marigolds in them. Mum’s smell like fine mustard oil with a hint of garlic and ginger in them. Dad’s fingers are busy with the soldering iron fixing wires to light up the string lights. And my hands, well, they smell of cow dung mixed with a bit of red soil. Yup, my favorite festival of the year is now coming to an end and our hands will stop smelling the way they do until next year. When Dai and I were younger, we went to mamaghar to celebrate Bhai Tika with Mum, leaving Dad at home. At mamaghar , it was a grand affair - a lot of people with a lot of food. Dai and I followed mum there every year. However, I don’t have any memories of celebrating Mha: Puja . The best I can say about that is: ‘I read in Social Studies about it.’ Mum tells me we skipped the tradition religiously for over a decade or so; mostly because we didn’t have enough space at home for that. And then, one year, mum and dad suddenly decided that even if we had to squeeze in t...

“They say the soul feels bad if there’s anyone crying near the cremating body…” I overheard two young girls in a conversation as I stood in the terrace overlooking the Bagmati river while Dai and I waited for the evening a arati at Pashupati. Dai and I rarely go out together. Truth be told, we don’t really get to spend much time together. With our weird timings of college and work, we rarely see each other. And also, mostly because him and I like to keep to ourselves, we are rarely in company of others. And yet, today here we were- in a chilly afternoon, miles away from home, surrounded by one too many people watching the sky change its colors. “Why do we have to stay here and look at this?” Dai whispered out loud as he eyed the family in the riverside busy performing the final rituals of one of their family members. Dai insisted he couldn’t watch all of that. “I am getting all teary eyed. They are all crying,” he said. “If you don’t cry here looking at that, what will y...

Once I got the hang of how the shapes and pen tool worked in Adobe Illustrator, I made this cute little owl. As you can see, I had little knowledge about fonts and to be honest, I did not know where to download fonts from. Another trivia, I am bad with colors. Real bad. I did sketches when I was younger but colors were never my forte. Guess you can see my lack of sense of colors here too... I struggle with colors even now. But I am trying to get over that fear.

I started my illustration journey last winter. I drew Sadness (From: Inside Out ) on the day I brought my new laptop home. Though I haven't been able to give more time to this on a day to day basis, I didn't stop practicing and getting feedback from family and friends. At work, I showed my work to senior designers and got constant feedback from them. At one point, a comment that a senior designer, Seetu, gave to me regarding my illustrations brought me close to tears. But she had a good reason behind it. Her words made me want to try more and draw more. But, even now, I get scared when I am asked to design or illustrate something because I am not confident about my work. But I am not scared to ask for feedback and guidance. And I am forever grateful to Seetu, Amogh Dai and Dipesh Dai for guiding me through my efforts. Thank you! A friend of mine in college happened to see my try to make a bookmark a few days back. Bibhuti asked to see some of my earlier work and show...

In late evenings, Basantapur bathes in sepia with a dash of fragrance of cigarette smokes and scalding, strong tea. On most of the evenings, as much I am enjoying the view, the people, the aura; I find myself trying to reconnect to a past that I seem to have forgotten. Almost always, I fail. The sepia undertone, the cinema-esque Basantapur- with all of it's humdrum, people, smoke and tea, plasters itself in my heart without fail. Just to say that it is enchanting would never do it any justice. For someone who avoids being close to people the whole day, the chaos at Basantapur and it's alleys attracts me like a moth to the flame. The noise is almost quieter there. The chaos almost muted. Like I said, a moth to flame. But this routine that I've had for so long doesn't seem to have a pattern that I can trace. I can't pinpoint what exactly I am looking for, or what I am trying to remember. But every step I take there is a walk down the memory lane that I don...

I faintly listen to the sounds of your heart from over the back of your shoulders. I feel warmth of you, my home, seep into me from over the space between us. We have the dark cloud of time looming over our heads. But darling, isn't it the same way for everyone beside us? We have a song singing our story to us and our four walls. Tiny blue lights shine on all the steps we take. We have our fingers finding each other like today meets tomorrow. An unspoken promise we keep alive with us. Fizzy sodas and glasses of creamy lassi build us a home of straws with cashew windows. Three wheels and a mechanical heart whisk you and me away to a world we love.

After college, I got to work at around 11:30 and headed straight to our then Storytelling-now-PR-Room almost ready to be welcomed by Shweta dijju's hi with her sweet smile, Saroj Dai's "Oh, hi!" with a cheeky smile and Shebu's "Hi Mamina!". But the room was empty. All of our 7 white topped tables and ten chairs were vacant. The water bottles were still at our desk, the plants still in our windows. Our blue cupboards still protected all that we'd sorted out together only a few weeks back. Everything was in place but everyone wasn't there. "I don't even need the lights if I work in this corner by the window," I said out loud to myself and fixed a spot in the corner. I swear I heard Shweta dijju's "Mamina, yei aau na" as soon as I said that. Memories... I could sense Saroj and Shweta's senseless banter and Shebu's quirky comeback. I heard it clear inside my head. But, more than that, I was sure I felt them there....

I have always enjoyed walking. My father has been my walking buddy long before I learnt how to walk. We have pictures in our photo album of my father taking me to temples- with me all dolled up, high in his arms. I have some vague memories of going to mamaghar as he walked around carrying me on his shoulders. Now, it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed- the city is different, my dad and I have grown up and old. But that's just how it is. These days, I find myself wanting to walk longer distances even when I have had a long tiring day. Thinking of this now, I remember days, years back, when my dad used to get home late at night after work. He'd always said he walked home from work. Even when his office was in Patan or when he was transferred to Baneshwor. Dad would say he left work on foot, went around Nardevi, Ason and walked all the way home. Most days, he'd have some sort of bakery with him. "It's tomorrow lunch for you and your brother!" he...

August 6, 2018. Saroj Dai, Shweta Dijju, Shebu and I have a weird dynamics running since our first day at Karkhana. We all stumbled into this at the same time but through different means and have shared an eerily similar yet different journey at Karkhana this past year. I wanted to sit down with them individually to talk to them about this past year and what more they look forward to at Karkhana and write about it. But things rolled out differently- now, all of us are diverging to different paths. Somewhere along the line, we’ll probably meet like we did here, at Karkhana. Getting to see someone grow and groom themselves throughout a whole year is a beautiful process in itself. We weren't really sure what we were in for when we first walked into those green gates of Karkhana. A year through, we can see where we stand and where we’ll go from here. Saroj dai and Shweta dijju are figuring out ways for further studies. Shebu is looking into ways how she can groom her eye for go...

I have now lost the bands of my first ever wrist watch. My first watch was pink, had red buttons and digital display. I had to adjust the pin to the first hole on the wrist to prevent the watch from sliding out of my wrist like the gold painted bangles my mum bought for me. Now my wrists are way too big for them and I have grown less fond of bangles since I outgrew them. It was years later that I started wearing my mum's watch. I liked how the aluminum felt cool against my right wrist. I loved how in this watch, I could see the second hand moving and tic-toc sound it made. Most days, I concentrated on that sound to practice my breathing when things weren't good. The tiny labels of the watch were a contrast against the black painted at the base. Mum had recently stopped wearing the watch and had placed it with millions of her poteys , decorated as an artifact in this ancient wooden, black painted cupboard at home. It was probably in one of the whimsical afternoons that I...

Nivedita and I will dance to the songs we like. I will tell her I can't dance, yet our hands will find each other and we will giggle and dance (read, attempt to dance). Nivedita and I will run at places we like. She will tell me her feet got cramped, yet our hands will find each other and we will giggle and race like no tomorrow.  It has been three years now since we have learnt to live far apart from each other. Before she went to Bangladesh, we were both scared. Not because we'd forget each other, but because the circumstances would be different and we'd be pushed through difficult times. The time difference wasn't weird but the distance was. Nivedita wrote to me then that she was scared of all that was going to change. How she wouldn't be with Nikita for years, how she and I would be meeting different people and growing up in our own ways. I was bracing myself for the numb days, my guard was building up. The first couple months, I got through with calculate...

I realized that I fall in love with Kathmandu in bits and pieces for different reasons. This afternoon, I fell in love with Kathmandu as the horizon glowed with a faded yellow light of the setting Sun. Given, the dust was still swirling in rage on the Ring Road as I watched the city dwellers commute to and fro. The sky was painted in shades of blue. "This is my favorite time of the day," I whispered quietly to myself as the light afternoon breeze passed by me. I also felt myself smile a little as a light sadness seeped into my heart. Oh, this city in the afternoon light. To my right, was the west horizon where the Sun hid behind an off-white Cumulus cloud. The clouds rested lightly on the blue hills. The concrete jungle was there too. I don't really mind it. There is also this slight rumble of a large lifting machine roaring at a distance where a new mall is being built. I can also see the blue tile of Bhatbhateni and I remember that there is some grocery shopping th...

And sometimes, all it takes is a simple "How are you?" to push one through a tunnel of what-ifs, hows and whys. Sometimes, it's just a simple "How are you?" that leaves you speechless. Sometimes, it's just a simple "How are you?" that makes you ask yourself "How am I?" Most often, you choose to say that you're okay - mostly to convince yourself. On most days, you choose to answer back with a "I'm fine" and the common courtesy of asking back how s/he is. On most days, you own't even realize that you are not saying that as an answer, you are saying that to make yourself believe that you are even on days when dark thoughts have been eating you- inside out. On most days, you are okay to say that you're okay even when you're not. And maybe that's okay. But maybe it's not. Today was not most days for me.  Rupesh asked me "How are you? Honestly." and here I am rambling on and on in a bl...

What is it like to have your heart broken by yourself?  Nivedita said this to me two years or so back, that I wear my heart around in my sleeves - it's too easy for me to let anyone walk into my heart, step and waltz on it without a promise. She never said it was something bad. She just said she was worried that it would put me into a lot of hurt and pain one too many times. And she was true. She still is. But did I stop carrying my heart around in my sleeves? No, I didn't. I have just raised myself up to be someone who believes that the world will be a better place with more happiness and love in it rather than hatred and hard feelings. And, today here I am, 20 years old dreamer who walks around with her heart in her sleeves. Today, here I am, a giddy, light headed 20 year old girl who gets her heart broken one too many times. Most days, I don't have any complaints for myself about the way I am. But sometimes, I like to question - why does it have to be only me w...

"Life is like a bowl of ice cream. Enjoy it before it melts." *** I am at Putalisadak right now- in a dairy/ café, typing furiously on my cell phone as my double scoop ice-cream (in a bowl) melts away. Like everyday, I have 50 thousand thoughts running circles inside my head. If you count those that were in my head as I walked here from Gyaneswor, the count would be even higher.  Even as I am typing, I am thinking of my mum back home- wondering what she'll cook for dinner. I am thinking of my best friend who is days away from coming home. I am also keeping count of how many days I have till my Board exams begin. I am also thinking of going all the way back to work so that I can wait a little longer there and maybe come here some other day... I am thinking about people, about goodbyes, about little infinities, about the sunset, about long walks home, about what the current song on my playlist is trying to say, about the phone calls I didn't answer this mornin...