If only…

But I am a stupid woman for I haven't seen Greenland or Iceland. I wouldn't know which is greener or colder. I too have heard few lies but different from your truths. I am insane for I look at the dying sun and feel anew. I see a new night coming in with stars and moon and breeze and love. I am a fool for I do not walk by the set rules of practicality. I walk the road less trodden. And I do not know the algorithm to live the coded life. I know I will either make it or break it and the chances are high that I will break it. I know!

Someone you should know!

She is someone who cries a bucket of tears when someone else has a break-up. She is someone who has zillions of friends (see I told you I am working my way up!). She is someone who calls a rough ride near-death experience. She is someone who loves bitching, not because she hates anyone, but just for fun. She is someone who has just been married but says she doesn't feel like one. She is wonderful. She is Bobby.

A love letter

One day when I was teaching, I saw tears rolling down her cheeks without her own notice. Her face was mystical in that particular moment because her tears showed no grief and her plastered smile showed no happiness. Her face expressed paradoxical feelings- she seemed happily sad and at the same time sadly happy. She was like my Monalisa- keeping two opposite secrets in perfect harmony with each other.

An observant session

If you opt out some grey hairs, a protruding belly and a small patch of bald head at the back, he could be one of those sci-fi agent “Men in Black”, fighting the alien named bureaucracy using his guns of words, bombs of ideas and arrows of finger gestures. And after he is finally convinced with his attack, he slides that right hand into his pocket. A moment of silence and a grin smile mark his victory. His eyebrows remind me of “Yakku” in Chandrakanta, always doing the cruel deed and lolling around with his tongue stuck out. But my speaker seems far from Yakku in character and knowledge in education policies, of course.

Language of Love

As I look back on the series of my life events that made me uncomfortable with my own language, I remembered my school. I studied in a small private school in my early years. I had 8 subjects in total and 7 out of them were in English medium. The Nepali book, as its name already suggests, was the only one in My medium. I wrote my exams in English for all seven of them. The worst part was we weren't allowed to even speak in Nepali during the entire school hours. Then came high school- 10 subjects in total and 9 out of them were in English medium. And came college-40 courses and 0 in Nepali medium.