दशैँ – दक्षिणा, आशीर्वचन, अशुद्धि र अनर्थ

फेरि दशैँ आइसकेछ! मङ्गलबार त दशमी रे।

टीकाको दिन धेरै रमाइलो लाग्थ्यो। तर उहिलेका कुरा खुइले!  बालवयको जस्तो उल्लास र उमङ्ग अहिले कता हुनु ?

अब प्रसङ्ग टीका थाप्दा पाइने आशीर्वचनको।

उहिले एक जना गुरुङ्बाजेको हातको टीका थाप्न गइन्थ्यो। उनका छोरा शाही सेनामा थिए। राजा वीरेन्द्रका अङ्गरक्षक। बाबा उनलाइ साइँल्दाइ भन्नुहुन्थ्यो। घरका भित्तामा X आकार बनाएर जोरनाले बन्दुकका जोडा ठोकेको थियो। देख्दा डर लाग्थ्यो।

साइँल्दाइका बूढा बाको शरीर अजङ्गको थियो। तर मान्छे भने धेरै फुर्तिला। नाम पनि फुर्तीमान।

फुर्तीमानबाजे दुई हातले अक्षता बोकेर निधारभरि पूर्वपश्चिम टीका लाइदिन्थे।

“धेरै पढेस्! शास्त्री, आचार्य भएस्! सन्तानले डाँडाकाँडा ढाकून्। धनएेश्वर्यले भरिपूर्ण होओस्?” आठदश रौँ भएका लामा जुङ्गा हल्लाउँदै फुर्तीमानबाजे आशीर्वाद दिन्थे।

ठाडो भाषामा बुझिने आशीर्वाद पाउँदा अचम्म लाग्थ्यो।

शुक्रराज शास्त्री, बाबुराम आचार्यको नामथर सुनिसकेको थिएँ क्यार। अनि केटामान्छेको थर बिहे भएपछि पनि फेरिँदैन भन्ने पनि जानिसकेको हुनुपर्छ। तर फुर्तीमानबाजेको आशीर्वादले थर फेरिने हो कि भनेर हल्का चिन्ता पनि हुन्थ्यो। 
“‘शास्त्री आचार्य’ दुबै थर कसरी हुने? केटीको जस्तो थर फेरियो भने लाज हुन्न र?” तर सोध्ने आँट भए पो!

ऊ जमानामा पाइने रु २० देखि ५० दक्षिणाले भने सबै चिन्ताको क्षतिपूर्ति गरिदिन्थ्यो। प्रायः नाङ्गै नोट हात पर्थ्यो। खामबन्द दक्षिणा भए सकसक लागिहाल्थ्यो ।  नयाँ नोट नछामीकन नगनीकन सन्तोष हुन्नथ्यो। अनि “ट्वाइलेट् जिन्दावाद” !

अँ …दशैँमा टीका लाइदिँदा दिइने आशीर्वचनमा “आयुः द्रोणसुते…” र “लक्ष्मीस्ते पङ्कजाक्षी निवसतु भवने…” धेरै चलेका छन्।

कतिपय ठूलाबडाले कनीकनी फलाकेको संस्कृतका अशुद्ध श्लोक “अर्थ न बर्थ गोविन्द गाई” हुन्छन् । तर कहिले त अति अनर्थकारी । आशीर्वाद हैन, श्रापसरह नै।

“शत्रुक्षयं राघवे”को साटो “शत्रु भवेत्* दानवे” रे! “रामको जस्तो शत्रुनाश गर्ने हुनू” भन्नुको साटो दानवको उल्लेख हुँदा के होला?
“विज्ञानं विदुरे”को साटो “भैजाने * बिधुरे” भनिँदा के हुन्छ? विदुरको जस्तो ज्ञान होओस् भन्नुको साटो विधुर (राँडो) भैजानू ?

*मान्छेपिच्छे फरक शब्दले अतिक्रमण गरेको हुनसक्छ।


कि शुद्ध उच्चारण गर्नू कि नेपालीमै आशीर्वाद दिनू! किन बिरालो बाँधेर सराद्धे गरेजस्तो गर्नू?
गुरुङ्बाजेले दिएजस्तो सोझै बुझिने भाषामा दिए भैहाल्छ।

 

यहाँ

लक्ष्मीस्ते पङ्कजाक्षी निवसतु भवने भारती कण्ठदेशे।
वर्धन्तां बन्धुवर्गास्सकलरिपुगणाः यान्तु पातालमूलम्।।
देशे देशे च कीर्तिः प्रसरतु भवतां कुन्दपुष्पेन्दुशुभ्रा (दिव्यकुन्देन्दुशुभ्रा) ।
जीव त्वं पुत्रपौत्रैस्सकलसुखयुतैर्हायनानां शतैश्च।।

को समछन्दी भावानुवाद गरेको छु।

 

लक्ष्मी तिम्रो घरैमा धनसहित बसून्, कण्ठमा ज्ञानदात्री।
फैलून् ती बन्धु सारा, सकल रिपु उता भासियून् मध्यनर्कै।।
होओस् देशान्तरै कीर्ति जगमग गरी चन्द्रको, फूलको झैँ।
भोग्नू सन्तानसाथै सकल सुख सधैँ, आयु होओस् शताब्दी।।

 

तपाईँहरूलाइ अर्थ बुझ्न काम लाग्ला कि?

उता ट्विटर्‌मा अनुवाद गर्दै, हाल्दै गरेको थिएँ। अनि यता केही भूमिकासहित भण्डार भरेको ।

जाँगर चल्यो भने “आयु..” पनि भोलिपर्सितिर अनुवाद गरौँला। नत्र यो दशैँलाइ यत्ति ल।

तपाईँको दशैँ “खत्रा” रमाइलो होस्। :)

धन्यवाद।


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ephemeral, but life moves on, quite quietly

 

Dolakha-tomato

life moves on

i’m a bit of a recluse, and it had been quite a while i stayed off. that is to say remained quite. as usual.

my muse was already dead; i didn’t want to resurrect it from the grave of the past. the graphic devastation that the 2015 earthquakes brought in, however, literally shook my inner self.

i would literally weep at times. for unknown reasons, and involuntarily. tears were not under my control, they never were. but they would trickle without my knowledge. poetic expressions and plots of what i would believe as amazing stories would flit through my mind. i would be flying in the flight of ideas in no time, as if i was a maniac or a substance abuser.

love, affection, fear, greed, ego, and aversion were all but the mundane traits that would couple with cryptic personality quirks, and further make me weaker in one fell swoop. but then would come to my mind how thousands of people and monuments lost their state of being, not just their vainglory of contiguous past, in a blink of an eye.

death is obvious. they say all roads lead to rome. i would take rome for oblivion here. then i would flash back. and realising that how vain i had been, on the other hand, would make me numb and irresolute. i would want to say sorry to some. but i never did. probably because doing so would hurt the intangible and abysmal ego, which probably overwhelmed me without letting know me its being. another layer below it, give it any name, was urging me to say “let bygones be bygones”, and to move on.

well, what i just wrote above is a stark evidence of how verbose, and nonsense for that matter, i could be. duh! i ended up beating around the bush — unintentionally but habitually. old habit die hard?

what brought me back are these tomato berries (seen in the photograph).

they have a story. it touched me when i heard it.


they are wild tomato berries. as big as my thumbnail. fully organic — no pesticide, no man-made genetic modification.

a family from dolakha brought the wild fruits to kathmandu. a member of the family gifted them to my sister. my sister brought them home.

my sister’s friend lost her house and a family member when powerful earthquake struck dolakha on may 12. it was a colossal loss.

time flies.

wild tomato plants grew on the rubble. they fruited also. 

recalling the horror during the mega earthquake days and the family’s tragedy, i tasted the berries. they were tasty.


 

when i gulped down the raw berries — they are sour and sweet with unique wild aroma — they probably were telling me how resilient life force is.

destruction is an integral part of nature. more often than not life springs back. there’s no other choice.

it’s ephemeral
nevertheless life moves on
quite so quietly

amen!

sky and peach blossoms

magh-sky-kathmandu
sky too rejoices 
as peach tree blossoms all-rose
luring waxing moonmagh-peach-chabahil-flower

—————————- Continue reading

save frogs

from an old dairy

hello!
planet earth here!

rd5: amphetamine

cued in veritably
maybe it’s a headway
i’m all ears

when dead tired
you count me out
oh
exhibitionists

for rupticism
what’s your hunch?
bad rep
you tailed him?

add up

hello folks
curse me for this rigmarole
but
save frogs and toads
i like their croaks

stashed away for years
my assets
have gathered dust
and
become a safe haven to silverfish
they rule in there and procreate
but i doubt
if they could swim in knowledge or taste sanskrit verses

i like mud and lotus and frogs
they deliver love and knowledge and wisdom
i want to swim in
from their puddle to ocean

grow flowers and give up guns
love frogs and stop hating others

high time indeed
to end the hibernation
and start singing like frogs
the esoteric songs
(of love and love-making)

when will it rain?
i need some muse again

(NaPoWriMo Day 30, Post# 31)

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

i promised my eyes a life

                           (National Poetry Writing Month Day 13)

i gazed at my eyes
i forced myself to see
what they were up to
i tried to listen to them

browbeaten by bothersome brain
and
well-worn for want of repose
they remained silent for a while
and
looked back at me innocently

with an innate brightness
they naively
spilled
curiosity and will to see more

that is to say
they protested
what i was up to
ignorant of what they actually did

then i promised them a life

all have to die some time or other
be that as it may
i shall live
i shall live at least for my innocent eyes

i’ve  promised my eyes my life
i’ll live

(NaPoWriMo Post#13)

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

lows and a high

i tasted
two new flavours
one for you
the other for me

the breeze
that blew
to cool the heated evening
is the witness

though sweet and soothing
the treat
started tasting bitter
at the crossroad
where you left me high and dry
once upon a time

instantly
gripped by an anxiety bout afresh
then
i started measuring the path
towards an unknown safe haven
hurriedly
drenched in sweat
and drained of all energy

only to get over the low
i decided to taste
something that i’d never taste
as a gatecrasher

something is crawling
under my skin
i’m numb and irresolute too
but what i want to happen is
a magic – a black magic in fact
with a sweet aftermath

not to choke anymore
i’m readying myself
to stop breathing
but still living

this bloody air is contaminated
with
all dark and pungent smoke

can my olfaction
smell it sweet some day?

(NaPoWriMo Post#8)

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

thunder monologue


thunder thunder big big sound
pour down pour down king of cloud
what i want is heavy rain
this stormy night of april fame

thunder strikes with flashes slight
takes off whirl of dust for flight
pigeons fly to reach their nest
midway spring is at its best

(NaPoWriMo Post#7)

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

worse than death

as luck would have it
i survived
despite what stars portended
but
i died every moment then
while living with the fear of death

with reasons galore to run away
i feared of hurting you
and failed to communicate properly
it followed that
what i did or what i didn’t
hurt you even more

now
you’ve made believe yourself
i don’t exist
which is worse than any form of death

death has a history of existence
nonexistence is but void

maybe
this was the best way for  you
to punish me and
quite quietly
heal the heart that i hurt

(NaPoWriMo Post#1)

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

not living in the present

BUBBLES AND RIPPLES

BUBBLES AND RIPPLES

when nebulous memories of the past lives
start gripping you
when you get to
foresee sporadic events of future
and they turn out to be true
you forget that
you have to live today too

in this jumble
of reality and clairvoyance nonesuch
you fear of being mocked as a mental
and
distance yourself from the others

you struggle with the self to be normal

then
you get to comprehend
the esoteric relation
between coincidence and fate
and
impermanence of mundane existence

you feel
it’s like water bubbles and ripples
forming in a muddy road
contaminated with spilled lubricating oil
and disappearing instantly
during a drizzle

your reflection on the bubbles
breaks loose and
gets swept away along with the ripples
only to form again
and repeat the cycle

though you complain of unfairness
you know that
what you feel or say goes in vain
because that’s the second fiddle’s fate

———–
dude, what you know to do is
either dreaming or complaining only

———–

i wish i could go back to the past
and
stop you from meeting me
that no moon night
to prevent the present miseries
that the filthy mouse inflicted on us
oh, blue butterfly!
Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

———-

i will fuck this fix one day
and rescue you
on the fifth phase of waxing moon

but when?

let me dream again

please don’t wake me up
for the time being
i am sleeping…

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

black hole in the making

last time
i had to burn myself
to get over the darkness
that you brought in

now
what remains
is a smouldering bod
sans soul

though invisible
black holes
can absorb everything
light to matter notwithstanding

a collapsing star
i could be a black hole in the making

if it happens,
next encounter whatsoever
won’t be as amiable as the last ones
because
the light
that is to say you
would have to fall into me
and lose your existence

Moon कि जून?

मातेर यो नीरव रातमा
तिमीलाई म Moon भनौँ कि जून भनूँ?
हाँसेर खोलिदेऊ
छाती त्यो छ क्या नसालु!
ममात्र त हो नि जागा
अब गुन भनूँ कि बैगुन भनूँ!

✿˙·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿ (¯`*•.¸,¤°´✿.。.:*
शुक्लपक्षको जून
वसन्तमा आरूका फूल
✿˙·٠•●♥ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ♥●✿ ●✿(¯`*•.¸,¤°´✿.。.:*

Image

Birgunj Diary: Graceful teaman

Grace

Sagely style

Despite his age, the grizzled gentleman –sporting a long, white, stylish tache– was making tea at a small stall.

A stove was burning and vapour covered the space above the sauce pan with boiling water. He pestled something on a small mortar and spiced up the already ready tea.

There was a big crowd of morning walkers as well as bikers, busy chitchatting with a sip of tea or waiting for a cuppa, near his stall. Some had hogged the porch of other adjoining businesses that were yet to open in the foggy morning, while others were standing on the road.

Not very far was a giant stray bull — chewing the cuds– and making an impression that the road was his dominion. With a dingy, cotton-bandaged leg, a haggard horse –probably deserted by his master after meeting with an accident while pulling cart– was limping down an alley.

I don’t remember the name of the locality but it was close to Ghadiarwa Pokhari. We had just made a round of the famous pond that lies at the heart of Birgunj. That morning we were exploring the city on foot.

Tea was being served, more often than not, on clay cups. But there were some people who were holding white, disposable “plastic glasses” too.

Bablu Tea Stall

Bablu Tea Stall

I abstained from tea for almost two decades. It’s hardly been a couple of months that I decided to (at least try to) quit coffee. I’ve started  drinking black tea these days, though sparingly, and forcing me not to dislike its aroma.

When my buddy Girish Giri, who knows the nooks and crannies and inside-out of  Birgunj, revealed that the tea at the stall is ‘very famous’ and people come there from far, faraway also, I decided to taste  a cuppa. “Euta  black tea, euta dudh chiyaa,” Girish jee ordered.

We occupied a bench in front of the Bablu Tea Stall.  I took out my camera hesitatingly, and focused on him. Pouring down vapoury tea to orangish clay cups from the pan, he wore a smile and gazed at me. He was not uncomfortable at all; I could see his sparkling eyes and brightness on his face instead. Then, I took some photographs.

A boy served us. When I was handed a plastic cup, Girish jee ,in no time, said, “Plastik maa? Maato ko kap  maa khanus na! Ye bhai, eutaa maato ko kap lyaaideu!

I was provided with a clay cup also. I poured half of the tea into it. Swaaaaaiiin! I could hear the sound as clay pores absorbed water due to capillary action. The level of tea decreased before I could take a sip.

First sip, second sip… Wow!

The drink was awesome. What condiments he added? Cardamom, cinnamon, black pepper… and what else? I did not dare to ask his business secret.

————————————————————-
Later in the evening, I happened upon him once again. At a party that I crashed.

Lo! he could recognise me and smiled again. Maybe that was because both of us liked each other’s appearance.

Was it moustache chemistry by any chance?

“Hadn’t we met in the morning?” I broke the ice.

He nodded in affirmation.

Gestures were what we resorted to, to communicate, as loud music — popular numbers inside and traditional shahnai and drums outside — was being played in the party. It was a pre-marriage party from bride’s side.

Strangers we were but we got along in the second encounter. I greeted him Namaste before parting our ways; he greeted back and forwarded his hand to shake.

What an amiable person with elegant composure he was!

————————————————————-

I hesitated to ask the graceful teaman his name and age.

Given his age and nature that impressed me in a few minutes of ethereal communication, I believe he has many interesting stories. I believe he owns the Bablu Tea Stall.

On the other hand, I don’t want to assume whether his name is Bablu. Maybe it’s the business that his father started. Maybe Bablu is his grandson….

I won’t forget him. He has something. It’d be a futile effort trying to find an answer to “what exactly?”, however.

Maybe I would catch up with him if I go to Birgunj again…

He posed for me, again.

He posed for me, again.

third shadow

one of the three shadows
that i can see of myself
floating over the flowing river
the one that is bigger
is
dimmer and farther
out of reach of my camera

i turn around to see
if there is any other shadow
that
street lamps sired
as a bout of anxiety
overpowered me
and
a wild thought of ending it all
raped me

i pant
i sigh
i feel the heat on head and ears
i feel butterflies in the stomach
and
then
i ask myself
rubbing my dry eyes
how i fucqueen ended up at this state?

the pungent dhobikhola
bleeding sewage non-stop
stops for a while
and
laughs at my fate vengefully

for
i represented the human lot
that gang-raped it

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

screwed up

my
CHI
broke down
and
translated
into
Chaos-Hiatus-Irritation

can
funeral pyre
perk up
the corpse
and
retrieve
the life energy
after
i
perish?

(maybe
it’s
stupid question
to ask
for what it’s worth)

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry

haikus: what’s so right, what’s so wrong with me

restless, sleepless, numb
i seek purpose of living
what’s so right with me?

i’ve no appetite
delicacies turn me off
what’s so wrong with me?

i sweat though it’s cold
head is hotter than heater
what’s so right with me?

i fly blindfolded
i feel i’m rocket to moon
what’s so wrong with me?

if not overdose
it’s free, anxiety for fun
who cares right or wrong?

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

waiting

the moon peeped at me
through thick curtains
hung to block the brutal january cold
and
with continuous winks and a meaningful smile,
invited me for a date under the sky
at midnight

see,
the moon is still there
upside-down
throwing a hanging hug
probably waiting for my response
ignorant of my reluctance

i won’t go
i will let the moon glow
and further grow

i will bide my time instead
i will wait for eternity
for the venus
— now combust and retrograde–
to return to me
and unravel the mystery
why my love is unrequited
always

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

confession diary of a caterpillar

Metamorphosis: From Wood to God

Metamorphosis: From Wood to God

the stories
on air, earth, water, fire and sky
that i told you
or
the poems
that got composed on their own
and
you quite so perceived
through your trained volition
were all but secondary

here i confess
at midnight
when
half of the world
which is dumb
is further numbed,
they were excuses
put up redundantly
to redeem my scruples
to inseminate my ego

as a matter of fact
i was running away from myself, not you
i was adding up layers of excuses to obscure the truth
and
that’s what i do
when i fall in love

all i want is to rise
(and love myself more)
even so
that none will surmise

cursed by echo
and chased by nemesis
i am an avatar of narcissus
devoid of charm

yes, i’m unpredictable
maybe
bit touched in the head too
but
i don’t want to die
(as a caterpillar)
without my metamorphosis

will i ever grow wings?
what will i be:
an ugly moth
or a beautiful butterfly?

Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.