Every Dashain I write a reminiscent note,one that smells of nostalgia;the days that were and thus can never again be. This Dashain I wanted to writeanything but nostalgia,but when the October sun struckboth cold and warm,shivery and humid at the same timeit ushered an unnamed feeling. Something happens to the citywhen it gets silentlike an…
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Dashain makes me a little sad.It starts with nostalgia and endsin an abyss that offers no understanding.It is the change of season;the fluttering kitesthat do not quite reason.We could tie our phone with the thread and launch it instead. Dashain makes me a little sad.It might be the loss of powercrisp new clothes would otherwise…
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In the first lockdown in 2020 after the start of the covid pandemic, I was lucky to be invited to be a part of a group of artists friends, and together we designed a workshop spanning different topics from calligraphy, painting, photography, writing, etc for interested participants locked in their homes to learn something new.…
Read MoreIts 2077, the Nepali New Year. Yesterday was New Year’s Eve. The city that wouldn’t be able to sleep due to the lights, music, and people are devoid of the very thing. The wind growled a little louder through the empty streets. The asphalt wasn’t made for silence, but it might be a good listener…
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“What does a rhombus look like?” the teacher asked. “A Kite!” the students replied unanimously. A rhombus in our heads was always represented by a kite. And a kite, was and will always be about Dashain, one of the most important festivals of Nepal and Hindu devotees around the world. I have been trying to…
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No, I am not kidding. Sure I didn’t do the finances and while teachers may not appear much on Forbes list, they undoubtedly had hands in getting the names on top. No sugar, no chocolates. No butter. Only what I’ve felt for a few years, not because I teach, but because I had the opportunity…
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The Wordcastle 