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Poetry & Prose

The Good Priest’s Death

“Not too tight, now!” her voice almost rose to rage, as if her commands hadn’t been satisfactorily obeyed. She regarded her husband with two blind eyes squinted hard behind improbably thick spectacles. Her pupils magnified thirty times and flitted across dirty, dense glass. Then she turned her attention to the men who were strapping her husband onto the funereal ride. More (3)»

Kasthamandap

4AM, Kathmandu. A day contorting in indecision attempts to awaken a town in repose. Foggy streets refuse to let go of the night’s dirty deeds and hold onto prevailing calm in desperate bid to stop the slumbering organisms from peeling eyelids. Kathmandu floats within a dithered space at 4AM, hovers listlessly, indecisively in icy December-morning air. More (7)»

Come, let’s go

We are traveling during the week of municipal elections, an occasion the Maoists have decided to celebrate with a week-long bandh. We could’ve entered the district of Rolpa by driving up to Tila from Dang, and from there walked to our destination, Thawang. But given the bandh’s schedule our vehicle would’ve been unable to return for an entire week. So we take a flight from Nepalgunj and land in Musikot Khalanga, Rukum instead. More (60)»

Black Day at Basantapur

February 1st, 2006 marks the first anniversary of the king’s takeover. The eight student unions are to march in from various parts of the city and converge finally at Basantapur in protest against the monarch’s regression. When we get there at around 2, no such convergence occurs. There is little or no action, but finally some commotion. More (79)»

An open letter to the organising committee

Dear Sirs, As you sit to discuss yet another development or lack there of in Nepali socio-political setting, I would like to request that you take this opportunity to not only focus on the political turmoil in Nepal but also the social alienation of Nepalis in the United States. More (16)»

A New Year’s eve with the dead

If it wasn’t for the repeated “What are you going to do for New Year’s eve?” leading up to the last day of the year, December 31st would pass without significance. I make a conscious effort to attend a small gathering, tempted to see friends I haven’t seen in months. More (6)»

Yield!

Over and over again our generation is discredited. Those who claim to have tasted the real world laugh at our supposed immaturity — and for good reason, too, because most retort to such ridicule is knee-jerk hot-air hormone-drivel. More»

Thanks to Mechi Tea

There were thousands of voices. Each pair of eyes saw and each mind spoke—after all, such were the times. Trembling hands searched beating chests and tear-trailed faces. Blood soaked soil, and blood soaked soil became flowerpots where a tentative, cautious future took roots. More»

The Ascendancy of Gyanendra Shah

In 1947 C.E., Lachhuman Das Kayastha of what was then a mosquito infested Nepalganj had a mean mother who despised her daughter in law and berated that the firstborn would be a girl, through constant taunting forcing Lachhuman’s sixteen year old bride Sona Devi to make the two day bullock-cart journey to her parental home, across the border in Rampur. Sona Devi gave birth to a son; the priest named him Rambharosa Das Kayastha. More»

Gyanendra Shah’s Death

The unthinkable happened circa 2013 — China decided that it wanted to be the moral guardian of the world. Many foresaw that and beat their heads and chanted the name of their political and religious saviours, but the Americans were too arrogant — when McCain was elected to the white house after George W. Bush, even the democrats smiled and pretended to be dignified losers, but they also took the American art of navel-gazing bit too far and laughed at China for suddenly clamping down on restaurants serving sushi on naked women. More»

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