My Voice

It was summer holidays; my parents had decided to make me join the Art class. Sharing an interest on the field, my enthusiasm was at the peak. The in-comprehensive water painting and clay piece had created zeal of learning in me.  Imitating the seniors’ work of art seemed the right way to move towards a successful artistic future. This was the moment when the answer to question that all poking relatives would ask about my life was, ‘I want to become an Artist when I grow up’. The chain of Dream had just begun; I had come to a stage where there existed only one practical occupation in the world. Having to visit to Doctor every next month and getting inspired by their dedication, the occupation came to become as the ultimate goal. Being a teenager it didn't take me time to change my mind frequently. The fad of reading books had become the medicine for survival. Pulling away my thoughts far away from the climax of my life, books became my best friend. Every book seemed ...

We have seen it all; from a ten years long civil war, 2001 royal massacre, Abolition of monarchy for a free democratic country and to having no constitution till date and now to the massive Earthquake of 25th April. Throughout this time, we have been guided by persistent optimism in future. The common goal and the common history we share as Nepalese have helped us unite, for getting over these national tragedies. Reflecting back on the past one month, after the great earthquakes struck in Nepal, here we saw different people showing their humanitarian and patriotic responsibility, came forward to help. The neighbouring countries also joined hands to help in our difficult time. Despite all the glitches made towards the unplanned government procedures, its support cannot be curtained. In this time different people came together to share their story of loss, sorrow, survival or heroism. Stories came from people of different background; but all uniting with a common gr...

On my return from a battle, Crowd smiles to welcome me, Colleagues offer solute on my honour, Young bride cries on my return, Father feels proud on my victory... But who knew the war wouldn't have an end, The walls with my weapons hung would also scream of being innocent, Reminding of the blind shoot would leave me deaf. The summer wardrobe hiding away my uniform would also take its odour, Reminding of the bloodshed would leave me depressed. The proud hat which I wore would have no meaning left... The reason for my fight seems a mystery now, Has my life’s purpose met with someone’s loss! Has the victory been counted on number of deaths! Has the nomads land shifted just to show a difference in map! Or has the religion we followed been declared the lord of the lords! As I realise, The illusion in our sense of victory, The delusion in the cause of death, ...

A girl lying down on the street, Advertising her disability, Stays quiet just staring at the faces showing sympathy, Amazing she is, covering her whole body, Except the part that makes her look needy... What is the real cause of the fate she lives? Is it because she looks ugly, Is it because she is illiterate, Is it because she is lazy, Is it because she has lost her consciousness, Or is it because with her legs she has also lost a space in society.... Looking at this only from one side makes me feel judgemental, But as a human I believe, She only needs an opportunity! Opportunity of learning, To build up her capabilities And make a difference in her life. Opportunity of experiencing friendship, To make herself feel happy And to find the purpose of her life.

Having recently experienced the brutal Acid attack on students Sangita Magar and Seema Basnet in Kathmandu, the fight for safety of Girls has become the central issue for discussion. The story being covered in all local Newspapers consider it having being in the direct relation to gender issue triggered by male honour, rejection, dowry, and many more. This has put the understanding of its actual cause and cure of the act as unattainable. Being, socially responsible, we as a citizen should discuss issues which are often ignored in society. Rather than hurting someone’s view or to blame others we should come up with solutions for change. Acid Act being a showcase of “Masculinity as harm for Men”, we need to stress on the cause of such violence. Majority of the men being emotionally weak, the dominating reason of such violence is their irresistibility towards the rejection to a proposal by women. Such psychological trauma can be prevented by early therapy. Their Aggressiv...

In a scene of twilight, With an expected ray of bright sunshine, A beautiful dream opens my eyes, Acknowledging the beauty of the sight, As practised in the rehearsal, the windows are open. The unnatural silence of the crowd seen outside, Arises a range of negative thoughts, Imagination takes its peak, The end of the world seems a minute behind. Rushing towards the door i see a loss, Loss of the only soul close to me, Soul which had never been felt so precious, Now brings me to the dusk of my life. Here all characters assembled in the garden of hope, Makes the unseen visible. God playing a strong role  Even in its physical absence Remarks its presence in each dialogue. Life that had made my existence possible, Life whose unhesitant sacrifices were for my happiness, Life whose sweat was for my healthy life, Seemed to have left me behind. Wishing the play could have had a fairy tale end, A kiss of true love could had ju...

Lying down in the parks of Ratnapark,  Gazing towards the sun, Basking in its rays, Observing beautiful arts of clouds, I am found dreaming of an American Life. ‘SLC passed’ is the degree I carry, So now it’s my chance to play the blame game, Political instability makes me feel  insecure , The working condition makes my interest dry, The wage earned makes me feel worthless, Complaining of being in a land of no opportunities.. I am a local! As i have no other opportunity here, I Dream of a life waiting for me in abroad With a work of so called pride, A pride to have left home behind For an illusionary life of having earned Money for a fruitful life I am a local! Selling the inherited is the plan, Borrowing is the choice, Leaving myself tangled in unpaid debts  is the game I will play, I am a local!

Photo Source: Gurera's Tribute to Laxman Studying the political functioning of the biggest democratic country in the world is with no doubt has always been an hideous task for us CBSE students. I still remember it, long lectures with matter hard to visually imagine in one screen, names of states and there capital and over that understanding the functioning of a dual polity system of central and state governance and each state having its own panchayat with its own leaders has been taking a long hours of students hard work. Though this was tough, we had our all time favourite cartoons made by Sir. R.k. Laxman to make the subject look interesting. With due respect the shadings we used to put on his cartoons and re-draw it all over our copies are few moments that cannot be forgotten. Making concept look and sound easy his hands have created the finest cartoon in the Indian history.  The role that the Legendary cartoonist R.k. Laxma...

When asked of my first crush His is the face that comes in-front of my eyes, His is the voice that echo's in my ears, His is the heart that i feel deep inside... He is not a friend sitting besides me at present, He is not an old friend, He is not an acquaintance, neither he is a stranger, But he is one, once seen in a first trip in train. A story he owned, A story of an engineer whose placement was done in a town of new people, A town away from home, A town where he had no other choice except making new friends. Though he shared the same story as every other person in the crowd there! He was different. He carried a smile to make everyone feel happy about, He possessed a charm to look as amongst the known one's, He wore an attire of innocence that could be trusted, He was with a brilliance speaking of things that we hadn't ever heard off. Innocent i was, Didn't realize the short period of his presence. With a half open eyes tryin...

Big and round,  With eye balls moving up and down , Just as a bell ringing and echoing the beautiful Unspoken words… She has been gifted with voice! But a voice unheard, She murmurs, She is scared of the consequences of her words…. The day she was born, She was left alone on the road, She was used, tortured and beaten. She is afraid, She wants to run away from this world, She speaks no more, Has no trust. It is her eyes that reflects her pain,  Asking for help She is not brave, But somewhere in her heart Hopes for a better life. And hope is what keeps her alive.

Why do I run so much that I get tired in my path? Why I have the habit to win that I get sad when I lose? Why these thoughts don’t stop that my note pad is left without pages? Why my life is full of joy that I get scared of sorrow? Why do I have this life that I don’t want death? Why do I have so many people besides me that I can’t be alone? Why am I a girl who complains of her possessions that  now I am a girl with eyes full of tears……….