The God of Small Things,

an afternoon that doesn't slide,
cushions
and water dripping down uncombed tresses

-just a few things I covet

Some afternoons

are as quiet as this- the construction noise next door spinning a faint headache, the washerwoman flipping wet linen in a tub and the distant sound from the TV show Baa watches. Always, this silence makes me want to leave. And if it wasn't for Mamu's bangles that jingle against the kitchen counter, I guess, I'd have left. Now, even Kanchu seems to be able to nap away in this silence without wondering if I'm still at home.

dogs

and i somehow, have always found each other, even after i decided never to adopt one again.

i don't know what to do with phucche kale. he whines if i don't give him food, or carry chhori in my arms. and chhori loathes me when i feed him. baa thinks i've taken in all the dogs in the tole.

how does one not feed a hungry dog, though?

Anger week

I've had a very very angry week. And much of it has everything to do with the Nepal Literary Fest.

First, I was mad at Ajit Baral for taking me for granted and expecting me to fill in the spaces just because Taslima Narsin opted out. But, I guess your closest friends do that- take you for granted and you never unlove them for doing that. It's just friendship.

Then, I heard how someone had asked Ira Trivedi whether she thought her face was prettier or her boobs. And that made me furious because how the hell do you ask anyone such a question?! I feel like asking him if he thinks his balls are nicer or his brains, that invents such a question. Why just Ira, who's a published writer- no human being should have to entertain a question like that! Just because you have the floor, doesn't mean you ask a question to humiliate someone.

I also heard Ira succinctly said it's like asking a mother which of her two children she loves more and was glad she handled it that way. But I was mad no one interrupted and said that question did not deserve an answer. It was unwarranted for.

I'm also mad at the organizers for not defending their guest.

Then, there's all this super touchy shit about Nasrin "Tweeting herself to controversy". Can we behave like adults for a change? Thank Heavens, there are still people like Dinesh Wagle who makes sense in their social network messages.

Dinesh Wagle: d way some narrow minded folks responded 2 her misinformed tweet is disgusting. Why must she 
know abt Nepal b4 coming here? I don't knw abt Lesotho, so what? Blind patriots, grow up! The blind patriots shld know that u can't issue or reject a visa (threat) 2 a visitor based on her knowledge (or lack thereof) abt Nepal. And for @taslimanasreen to cancel the Nepal trip just coz of some morons' childish tweets is so unTaslima, contrary 2 her fighting image

Before the rains

Looks like the rain has stopped for this year without finding me. It didn't realize how I had started out with the dream to drench before it began.

I'm standing here. Dry.

Of course

I don't like these mornings of heavy eyelids and painful limbs. But these are familiar mornings that come after a night spent wondering.

Just get me off my mind and slip me back in bed.

The thing

about this is that it will always be your own battle. Your own. No one else's. Not even your mother's.
The silence of the house is yours. The cords- of the laptop, of the cell phones, of the camera- entangled; they are yours too. And the slight thud in your temples that gives you that familiar headache. They are all yours. You've tried so often not to be in this place. You've tried. But when you get here, it always feels like the names on the contact list of your cellphones are just alphabets and what they spell could never be people in blood and skin. When you're here, everyone shuts you out. Everyone has friends. Everyone is happy. Everyone. You do not know how to deal with this place. You know you've been here before. Left. But you do not know how to, while you're here. You know you're being dangerous to yourself. You want someone to call. To reach out and tell you anything at all. But it's the only times when you have no emails in your inbox and no text messages in your cell phones. The landline won't ring. Even he doesn't understand. Or perhaps you've becoming so good at it, he doesn't realize that you're not. So he just decides not to write down a prescription. Only talk. But you come home and you're in that place again. Again.