Leaving holes.

He didn’t leave a hole when he left. It’s because he’d left a big hole even when he was there. Because even when he was there, he was not really there. Sometimes, he was lost without traces. All she could do was wait, for him to come back home. Sometimes, he packed his bags and ran away to some mountains. All she could do was learn about his adventures through the letters he’d send. Sometimes, he took jobs that took him all over the country. All she could do was plan to visit those places in vacations only to realize he was home before that.

The hole grew bigger with each day passing. It became bigger with her realizing that he has been walking in and out of her life, like she was some public parks in the city. It became bigger as she learnt more about how he was absent in her past. It became bigger as he failed to be there for her every time she needed him.

The hole had been filled though. Half of it was filled by her mother. A portion was filled by his brother, another by her grandfathers. Another one by her best friend and another portion by her boss. Then there were the portions filled by boys she sometimes call lovers, always getting replaces for she always believed that men always leave, nobody really stayed.

So now that he is gone, she doesn’t feel a hole in her heart. That hole was filled up and sealed with cement, long time back. Maybe it’s time to dig it up again.

Fear of death.

It’s not death I fear,
I would welcome it with an open arms,
Like an old friend I haven’t seen for forever,
Like you would welcome love.
What I am afraid is dying through suffocation
When you are in a room full of smoke,
And you realize that you only have these fumes
That burns your chest with every inhale, to breathe.
When you are choking on ether,
And you can’t really feel it because
There is nothing to choke on.
When you are in a close space
And the hot air you breathe out
is the air you need to breathe in.
When you are drowning in the sea
And you realize there is nothing you can do about it.

 

बा

घरमा बसिराख्दाको कुरा हो,
उहाँलाई पर्खिराख्दाको कुरा हो,
घरको फोन एक्कासि बजेपछि,
मन फुर्किन्छ।
फोनमा अपरिचित स्वर सुन्दा,
“यो उहाँको घर हो?” भनि उताबाट प्रश्न अाउँदा,
मनमा चिसो पस्छ।

“हो” भनेँ मैले,
“को?” भन्यो फोनले,
“छोरी। तर बुवा त काठमाण्डोैँमा हुनुहुन्न”


“हेलो?”
“नानी तिम्रो बुवालाई अस्पतालमा राखिएको छ,
उहाँ बेहोस हुनुहुन्छ, तुरुन्तै आऊ”
भनेको सुन्दा मन झल्ल्याँस हुन्छ।

बाटो भरि मनमा अनेक कुरा खेल्न थाल्दछ,
“कहाँ गएका होलान् बाउ,
के भए होला उनलाई,
लडे कि,
घाऊ भाछ कि,”
कति सोच आउन थाल्दछ।
अस्पतालमा पुग्दा
वार्डमा नभई
मुर्दाघरमा लग्दा
छाँगाबाट खसे झैँ हुन्छ,

“धरहरामा पुरिनु भाको थियो,
बचाउन सकिएन।”
भनेर पुलिसले भन्दा,
खुट्टाले भुईँ छोड्दो हुन,
चितवन गएका बाउको,
घर फर्किने तीन दिन अघि
प्रहरीले यसरी लास थम्याउँदा,
दिमागले काम गर्न छोड्दो हुन।
“उनको झोला यो” भनेर हरियो ब्याग हातमा थम्याउँदा,
ब्याग भित्र नोटकापीमा “अाज छोरीको जन्मदिनमा उसलाई चकित पार्छु,
निउ रोडमा गएर उपहार किन्छु”
भन्ने वाक्य पढ्दा मात्र मन भक्कानिदो हुन।

 

 

The grandmother

To the grandmother I have never known,
I had heard about you though,
And most probably seen your pictures
But I know that you weren’t aware about my existence,
I wish you did though,
Maybe we would make a better team
And beat everyone at the game.
And now, there is an empty bed where you used to stay
In an empty room.
I have always imagined you
In a blue sari,
And white patuka
And cream bhoto with small flowery patterns
And your white hair flying with the wind.
Your wrinkled skin.
Sitting in the bed, beside your son.
Or at the falcha outside the house
And telling stories of your golden days.
But now, I will never know
Whether you were exactly the way I imagined
Or the opposite.
And I will never hear your stories from your voice
And I will never know if you would like me at all.
To the grandmother I will never know,
I love you
And I will miss you
And I hope you are in a better place right now.