Oblivion!

 I am in the back seat of my car. Waiting. Listening. Singing alone to the melancholic tunes Hans Zimmer put his soul into. Yes, you might think that he doesn’t sing, does he? No, he doesn’t. But I do. It’s different waiting in the car. I am not sure what I am waiting for. Life? The red light? Both seem equally unobvious here where I am. I got liberated, you see, with my cold feet and warm hands, with my notebooks and a little epiphany. Is this where I spend the best of it? Contemplating the tiring desires of me as a person, questioning my role and slowly letting the time pass by amidst the travelers who are waving at me, thinking I am experiencing this moment as a stranger. Oh, how I wish they were right. Pardon me by the way, I don’t know the difference between a stranger and an outsider. I feel like the latter one today. Perhaps, every day. Perhaps I don’t know what feeling means. But I will get there.  Sun is setting, and my feet are lifted up on the steering wheel. I can ...

  How miraculous it is that with every one of your mundane deprecating thoughts for the self and the moments of the selfless harming, demeaning, terrorizing and a sheer trepidation that follows in the alterity, the monstrous antagonizing reciprocity of my immanence so subtly  written in pages of anonymity devours my love for life in the name of a pretentious freedom! I play with words – with the eyes of dissonance, despondent is this soul of a clueless symposium in fault for being existent, for being a being with flesh and hope. With bougainvillea in the background and bamboo leaves – shading the turmoil of ever sore Kathmandu  from the details of broken houses and shedding griefs.  I stand alone in the somnolent hue of the dust,  diving along to the chatters sunburnt kids easily burst in rhyming games, to the tales of the old man  who sits tight in the vindication of him never being like them.  “Why am I so different?” In the myths and bouquets of sun...