Awkult

श्रावण १०, २०७७ / July 25, 2020

Several moons ago, in the valley of Kathmandu, used to live a sage named Awkward. The sage was forgotten until now for they were ungracefully inarticulate in their speech and in writing. Curiously, only select other people outside the norm of society could understand the sage. No scholar of the time had been able to explain the mysterious behaviours of the group, which later came to be known as awkward behaviour, after the sage.

As the Covid-19 lockdown forced many people into the kitchen, a century old manuscript belonging to the group was discovered. It was found behind the seldom used jar of asafoetida. “It came to me in my dream”, says the discoverer. “I dreamt of a cat sleeping inside the jar of asafoetida. I woke up next morning to check the jar and there it was.” The animal, with its inexplicable behaviours, is believed to be the favourite of sage Awkward.

Kathmandu has since seen a rise in believers of the sage. Anthropologists are of the opinion that the belief is reinforced by absence of social interaction during lockdown. The discoverer, now officially an awkward person, retains the right of the manuscript and thus, unsolicited emails and followings. Although unverified, it has been reported that the resurgent group of followers call themselves ‘Awkult, the Awkward Mystics’. The self-claimed mystics organize intermittent meetings to interpret pirated copies of the manuscript they call ‘The Manifesto of Awkult’.

The Incident of an Unclaimed Child

बैशाख १४, २०७७ /April 26, 2020

There were raps on the screen-door followed by the wail of a child. The sound bounced off my room’s door for several seconds before it finally reached me. I opened the door with force, banging it on the wall in the process and sprinted towards the screen-door. Somebody’s unclaimed child was peeking in on the other side of the netted wires. When the child’s eyes met mine, he was uncertain if he had come to the right face. The shock had silenced him. I looked around for the undoing of his attempt at forceful entry. He had slid a socked toe under the door and rendered his right foot immobile. His legs were wiggly, butt bouncy and his tiny fingernails were white from clinging onto the horizontal wood of the door. He held the entire pockets of panchpokhari on his chin, volcanic khaptad on his cheeks and the grey-clouded phewa was about to pour out from his eyes. There’s no doubt about it, our photo would have made it to the cover of a cultural magazine – him looking up at a stranger, holding out all his hopes with tearful eyes, me looking down at him meaning to end his anguish; both separated by a screen-door.

All I needed was the strength of two forefingers and a knee. My knee kept the door maximally ajar. I stuck out my left forefinger for him to hold onto and all my sense of balance was centered on my right forefinger that pushed his tiny toe from under the door as gently as possible. Ahh! We were finally about to be united. Kneeling down, I held his hand, pulled him to the opening to safety, pushed open the door and closed it behind me. His stubby arms hugged my neck in relief. Almost immediately, he retracted himself so far that my arm holding his back was outstretched. He stared at me long and hard, scrunchy faced, accusing me of coaxing undeserved affection. Confirming that my face was the wrong face, he wiggled out of my palm and retraced his steps down the stairs. Without turning back even once, the ungrateful child ventured out to the door of the right face where he would be claimed.

शब्दको रिहाई

(June 7, 2020 / जेष्ठ २५, २०७७)

घटना घटेपछि प्रतिक्रिया जनाउनु अघिको क्षणको शब्द

प्रतिक्रिया जनाउने समय कुर्दा-कुर्दै गर्भमा गाभिएका शब्द

कसैका चोरी औंला, कसैका अनुत्तर,

कसैका सुस्केरा, कसैका तर्केका नजर,

कसैका मन्द टाउको हल्लाई, कसैका आक्रोश,

कसैका दुर्व्यवहार अनि कसैका हिंसाले पहरा दिएका शब्द 

शायद,

रुद्रघण्टीमा गई अलझन्छन्,

तप्कन लागेको कलमको मसीमा जिद्दिगरी अडिन्छन्,

चुहिन लागेको कुचीको रङ्गमा जम्छन्,

संगीतकारको ‘सा’ कुर्दै अनुच्चारित बस्छन्,

सपनामा अभिव्यक्ति खोज्छन्,

मस्तिष्कमा निस्फिक्री खेल्छन् 

वा सुध्रिन नपाएका फरार कैदीसरी बेलाबखत सर्वत्र घोच्न उत्रिन्छन् 

शायद,

ती सारा शब्द साँच्चै रिहा,

मन फाटेपछी मात्र हुन्छन्।

a day at a time

Thinking of you feels like waking up in those March mornings. It overwhelms me with the guilt, anger, disgust, joy, sadness and affection all at once. Which is why I haven’t been able to write a word on you for 2 months now. I am hoping that a day at a time will work somehow.

Today, a friend told me that she aspires to become like me someday – able to offer help without the urge to save. I should have told her that I have wasted the urge and zest for life in trying to save you.