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Posted on Tuesday, April 29, 2008 04:06 NST in Short Stories
Jose and I had been best friend since high school. I lived in Queens while he lived in his double suite apartment in downtown Manhattan. We went to the same university in Waterbury, Connecticut which was about two and a half hours drive from where we lived. Jose had Colombian descent while I was a Nepal-born Indian. He had a great singing voice while I was a good dancer. I was even going to evening Salsa classes after work. We had lots of similarities, and perhaps that was the reason that held us together. Notwithstanding the fact of him being a pure veggie who grumbled over my incessant craving for non-vegetarian food, we buddies went along great. Year 2004. It was the beginning of a beautiful summer in the Big Apple. It was our last day of the first semester and we were all prepared for two long weeks of holiday. I had a lot to do - needed to go to Florida, find a full-fledged job and start minting some quick money. How could I afford to waste my time? I had always wanted to live like any other teen - go to pubs and discotheques; shoot tequilas and martini and groove along the disco beats. I feel sad sometimes; for I never got to do all those but wouldn’t complain about it at all. Jose was not a typical big daddy’s son, too much of money around but still he was good, polite and obedient. His father owned one textile company in Mexico, twenty-five gas stations in Texas and a five star hotel in San Francisco. Nothing more he wanted in his life. I had left my parents when...
Filed under friends, usa, new york, high school, campus, work · 0 comments
Posted on Saturday, March 22, 2008 03:22 NST in Short Stories
21 March 2008 I can feel her. I can sense her. It’s like I’m talking to her: one-on-one, face-to-face. It’s like the two of us, walking very long distances, musing idiotically over each other, blushing, tumbling and making the most stupid faces we’d never dare in this conscious life. But I can talk to her. Laugh at her jokes, feel sad when she cries, take her by my arms and give her a warm hug. I can, because I want to and nothing can stop me and my heart. Our distances are so close that three continents, two oceans are mere nothing, and living almost fifteen thousand miles away from each other, the two of us can still feel the power of love: that searing hot burning fire of love. 16 June 2006. The chill had just set in. I knew she’d got her I20s and all that stuffs with ease and eventually she got everything ready with the ease of smooth. She was prepared, fastened her luggage, buckled up her shoes, bid every person she knew good bye, attended lengthy farewell dinners at relatives, met eight shifts of people a day, collected presents from everyone, smiled, cried and heartily accepted jwano and tejpat from relatives to hand them over to their children when she arrived in the US. But she didn’t call me. Perhaps she’d been too occupied with her fellows. I waited those endless hours putting my hands in my pocket to check whether my cellphone was up and running. I waited for days, weeks but she did not call. 22 August 2006. I knew she had tickets for the following evening. ...
Filed under love, usa, i20, abroadstudy, kiss, teen, students · 0 comments
Posted on Monday, March 03, 2008 10:47 NST in Poetry
आँखामा आँसु छ, छातीमा घाउ छ । दिल यो टुट्'या छ, साथनै छुट्’या छ । जति दु:ख भए पनि, जित्न म युध्द जाँदैछु । तिम्रो मायाले बाँच्'या छु । भावीको कुरा कसले देख्'या छ, आजै यो मन बेचैन छ । सम्झाउन खोज्छु, बुझाउन खोज्छु, दिलासा कुनै बाँकी छैन । कालै आज आएपनि जित्न म युध्द जाँदí...
Filed under love, war, grief · 0 comments
Posted on Wednesday, February 20, 2008 09:05 NST in Opinion
The present day crisis in the country is far worse off than it seems to be. I’m writing this piece, with my clock ticking by the side because in twenty minutes or so, I’ll have no electricity – for four long hours. That’s a daily routine, eight hours a day, fifty two hours a week – I’ll have to stay in darkness. There are no vehicles plying in the roads because there’s no fuel. A fellow formerly in the most wanted list of criminals is daydreaming about his virtues of being the first “president” of the country. Many people have no food, no fuel. You always get a busy tone in the telephone. Work is getting difficult day by day. Deadlines won’t be met; promises can’t be kept because the devices will simply not work. The devices of an efficient state are dysfunctional at the moment. There is chaos and uncertainty looming all over. There is very little hope that the elections in April will be conducted with ease. There are a group of people out their exasperated, desperate and infuriated. The roads have been blocked, life has been paused. The terai region has simply halted in all senses. At time point of time, when everybody is supposed to be looking forward to smooth elections, groups of people, probably puppeted out of somebody’s vested interests are destroying social and economic stability in the country. We, the Nepalese were proud of one thing that we never raised issues of racism and regionalism in the country. It was something I especially was proud of. I had Madhesi frien...
Filed under politics, conflict, war, kathmandu · 0 comments
Posted on Monday, February 18, 2008 10:55 NST in Announcements
Lets get to know each other. Are you into writing or do you just like to make new friends? Do you want to find the incredible lives of new people? Come on, I know you do -- and lets give friendship a chance. I have opened a brand new place where we all can hang out, have fun and share out thoughts, likes and dislikes.
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Posted on Monday, January 07, 2008 02:14 NST in Short Stories
My first high school crush, Ugh! I still remember that. What a lovely feeling it was. Indeed, falling in love for the first time had never been that glad. I never imagined I’d ever fall for a girl. I was fourteen when I first took notice of her. No, we had been in the same grade from a long time but it was only then I had started taking notice of her. She was a pretty girl, moderately built – not petite but people liked to call her “shorty.” That was what all her girl friends called her. She was the shortest in the group but she never paid attention to whatever the people said. Just like I had been in love for the first time – at least I suppose it was so; it was very natural for her to be attracted to a guy. No, I am not going to give you good news because this is not a happy story. She was falling for another guy. Well, of course the rich and famous type. People would preceive some sort of gayish tendencies in me if I said he was in fact, charming but I would not defer from truth. He was charming, and that’s what made women attracted towards him. So was Isha. Isha was deeply, madly, extremely, boisterously riotously in love with this hunk. I wouldn’t even bother to tell you his name. I mean what’s the point? I liked her, but that never meant I owned any rights over her. So I had to let her go. She went, actually, they went – and they went out, a lot of times. In fact, that’s what they did the entire year. They went out. Girls envied Isha’s luck, but I silently cursed her. ...
Filed under love, relationship, grief, pain · 1 comments
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