A desk of my own

There really is no competition to that moment when I start my computer and sit at my desk every day. I think it is the single, most happy moment of the day for me. It fills my heart with gratitude knowing I have the luxury of a desk and the time to sit at a desk. 

Maybe it needs to become the reason I wake up every morning!

It's Nepali naya barsha today and the new year's day is supposed to be an indicator of how the rest of the year will pan out. Today is going to be a busy working day for me. And I like it that way.

Except, I find that I am longing for some forest sounds and the smell of trees. If you happen to read this, I wish you those things and a storm to clear the polluted sky. 

Wishing you trees and wild flowers!

 

Bindu's curse

I haven't been able to stop thinking about the story Mamu told me about how Bindu Taama's curse might have killed a man.

When they were little girls, their home in Boudha had pigeons. Baajya had built a pigeon stand on the terrace and the birds lived in little house-like holes on that stand. The family fed the birds grains and talked to them. 

One time, a neighbour came over to ask if they could borrow two pigeons for a pooja. 

When they didn't bring back the pigeons for two days, someone from Mamu's family went over to enquire. And they were told they had sacrificed the pigeons during the ritual, because that was what it demanded. 

When they heard, the little girls-- Mamu and her sisters-- got very upset. They wept. And then Bindu Taama spat a curse. She said: Die! Sheema!

In the weeks that followed, they heard the man who had come to borrow the pigeons had hung himself.

Sometimes, I've done what my Taama did. Muttered a curse in anger and grief.

When my neighbours got together last week to cut down six trees in the hood, I went into a spiral of grief and I hoped the trees would become ghosts and haunt the men and women who had ordered the trees to be cut down. I hoped they would suffer from severe stomach pain and die mortifying deaths. 

The next time I ran into them, I was bowing my namastes to them-- muscle memory. And I wondered what had happened to the witch in me. 

randoms

I took a break from sitting in my room in Chapali to come to Sanepa to work. And I find that here, I get more done. I feel at peace here, like I don't have to worry about too many things. And while I've lost touch with the side of me that used to know how to write about these things, I still try to at least keep a journal. This is my journal. 

Back in Chapali, I still have the comfort of the clouds hovering over Tarebhir. 

That one tree on the cliff that always stands out when the clouds climb behind it. 

Can you spot it?

I've fallen in love with Hijjya river. Saddened by the growing encroachment. But no battles I could win here. I have tried while I could. Now, it's going to become a river of many bridges. I avoid the river most days because I fear it will break my heart.

I'm aiming at walking two kilometres every evening. It's not enough, but is something. And there's always the pipal tree.

 

Song of dying rivers

It was World Forests Day yesterday. 

 Today is World Water Day. 

Tomorrow is Earth Hour.

But every day, I see around me, dying rivers and falling trees. 

When we moved to Chapli, it was because there were trees here and rivers. Now, they're slowing disappearing-- the rivers are being covered by roads, the trees are being cut down. And I find myself muttering a curse at the men and women give orders for trees to be felled and rivers to be encroached on.