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Poetry & Prose

Mendocino Avenue

There was nothing remarkable about the night. The streets were quiet but businesses were bustling, people spilled out of bars to light their smokes and restaurants were closing shop. More (10)»

When Birodh realized that he had cut one whole onion where half of one would have been enough, he also remembered the list of tasks he was assigned for the day and panicked about the extra handful of chopped onions. Upon reflection, he felt honest about the sting in his eyes, which scared him into thinking that the dangers he imagined were slowly congealing into a torso with real teeth and claws. More (11)»

Requiem for a rain

Are clouds up there—in the sky, reflection, knotted ball of emotional concoction ready to burst into rain on us—our soul, effect of which is usually seen through the crystal lenses that generate tiny droplets in our eyes? More (5)»

Half-revolution, and we are murderers

To correct one man’s blotched ambitions we must bloat another man’s? After blood lost, eyes lost, limbs and lives lost, we must settle for another half-measure? Are we in the game of cheering whenever one of the three thieving beasts gets the bigger share, although the flesh is carved from our chests? Wake up and see—a revolution is not a privilege: it is a punishment. More (5)»

An appetite for success

Around an impressive spread of Thai delights prepared by cooks in Kathmandu were seated the families of two men. To the disadvantage of onlookers and waiters who never offered it on the menu, a scuffle over the definition of success would be the main course that night. More (41)»

Strictly ceremonial

Pushpa put her face an inch away from the off-white wall and spread her hand slowly against it. Her skin was terribly wrinkled, her steady short fingers beneath the valleys, hills, river beds, puddles, and cracks of her aged skin. The whole place was damp, she decided, from days of sobbing her mistress had engaged in. The vapor of grief had completely soaked the palace. More (27)»

Farewell

“Drink it up, mujji!” Suman commanded. I hit upon the fact that “pubic hair” was not going to be a friendly curse where I was going, and I said, “All right,” finishing what was left of Tuborg from the tumbler. As fast as a drunk could be Prabin filled it up right away. He spilled as much outside the white fuzz fizzled in the dry wood of the table. The air was settling to its evening cool and the foreigners who occupied the next table were all red. Thamel was a swinging place at night. More (13)»

The imbecile

Ladies and gentlemen, pardon me for disturbing you thus, but I have a matter of utmost gravity that I must draw your attention to. It is not something that, at these times of trouble, will lift your spirits and bring smiles to your melancholic faces, but, unfortunately, I have to admit that, just like I had to hold my breath for what seemed like eternity as tears rolled down my cheeks when I came to know about this, this is not going to be any better than when you heard about how a certain orphan, who asked for a little more soup, got a whole lot more than what he had asked for. More (4)»

Falling and Rising

Tyranny falls its stamps / on heads, backs, faces— / and so you fall, friend: your / red drops are closer to that dirt / which is your ancestral ash. More (28)»

A Letter to Gyane (reprise)

Dear Gyane, I did not expect a response to the letter I wrote you a while back, but your unsatisying New Year’s message made clear that you did not even bother to read through it. Perhaps a clever courtier did snatch it out of your royal digits before you got the chance. Pity. Things may have been different today if you’d listened to a sincere appeal from a fellow Nepali, reflecting how I thought a considerable number of us felt at that point in time. More (261)»

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