A loner. Close the door when you leave.

The Youngest Child

Sitting on a rotating chair, chatting in a WhatsApp group on a high end smartphone, I was comparing my life with friends who’ve been there with me throughout my student life.

We compared our job profiles, work load, expectations and most importantly – our salaries. While some of us earned a bomb compared to the other; all of us had some or the other grudge, a complaint of how unsatisfactory our lives were. More so, it even turned into an unintended competition to prove who had the most pathetic life amongst us.

While one friend complained about his lack of savings living in a different city alone, another claimed that turning into an entrepreneur takes away your family life, lest we talk about social life.

Me, the eternal pessimist (as most of my friends would call me) was not to be left behind. I too started bantering about my lowly income and the uncertainty that loomed over my future. I blamed all the mis-happenings that had further added to my woes. These were the hurdles that kept me behind others, which I truly believed.

Between all this insane competition and incessant complaining, I realized something. A sudden flashback to the time I was a kid dressed in half pants and carrying a school bag with water bottle. Oh! How proud were my parents to see me doing well academically!

My dad, a short man with average built but a heart of a lion. How he used to provide for my little childish demands. Making sure all of them fulfilled, even though some were a mere luxury at a time when necessities were met with difficulty.

My mother. A semi literate woman from a village far away from India. Leaving everything that rooted her with her whole childhood to make a life at a totally foreign country. Frail body and wavering health, yet a woman who can easily be the ideal mother anywhere in the world.

A sister. Who worked way too hard and way too much to meet the basic expectations from her. A parent’s first child, always to be an ideal for her younger sibling. And sometimes, more than that! How she used to struggle through long walks and uncomfortable bus rides to only come back home to a bunch of irritating kids to play the role of a tuition teacher. Just for some extra bucks that could help with the rising expenses of a lower middle class household.

It was then that I realized how foolish I was. With every argument I put forward to convince my friends of my professional misery, I was insulting every tired breath and every caring sigh that my family had expended to give me a life that I am living currently. A life where I hold a smartphone in my hand, a respectable job, decent income and the ability to put my points forward effortlessly in enviable English.

Am I asking too much? Too soon? Probably yes. Not everyone is blessed with a comfortable life. A strong family background. Not everyone has it easy. But somehow here I am. Standing toe to toe with guys who’ve had it easier. Not to mention that everyone has their own share of battles to fight, but my fight, my family’s fight has definitely been more than extraordinary.

So all this comparing and competing is useless. Even morally wrong. Comparison breeds jealousy. Appreciation breeds inspiration.

Hence I’ve decided. I’ll not compare. I’ll not complain. There’s only one way to go now. And that’s where I’ll head toward. Towards a life full of passionate work, heartfelt moments and thankful memories. A life where the ever so comfortable life of the youngest child brings a fairy-tale like happiness in his family’s future.


Tea Tales

Dressed in formals beneath dim light,

I sit there with my fallen pride.

A master’s degree that seemed robust,

Sits in my closet and gathers dust.

Eyes once occupied by starry dreams,

Are now restless with bosses’ screams.

Who wanted a job of nine to five,

Now slogs all day at his job to survive.

What happened to those brilliant presentations,

That filled my heart with proud elation?

And the projects, case studies and assignments,

Were they only a formality of course contents?

I left campus, with hopes so high,

The reality makes me let out a dismal sigh.

Yet I refuse to let go off my pride,

Because my hopes have not yet died.

I still believe in a future that’s bright,

Where I’ll witness the rise of my fallen pride!


Nestled in two trembling hands, a face full of tears,

What an entrance to the stage of life, oblivious of life’s fears,

A wave of smiles, a tide of sighs, a life devoid of trouble,

Encapsulated at the early age, in the protective bubble.


Wrapped in clean towels, dressed in sterile clothes,

Life begins within the bubble, safe from all the loathes,

The sweaters, the mufflers, and the scarves,

Do they defend from the problems that life carves?


From roadside food to playing in the summer heat,

They’re a sin, no matter how much we feel upbeat,

No brawl with others, no hearing of cuss words,

Learning about the explicit things, via the bees and birds.


As we move on day by day, within this protective bubble,

It wears, it thins, it rubs, it spins, and finally ends up as rubble.

And as soon as this bubble bursts, we’re exposed to the fears,

The lies, the hate, the sorrow, the fate, all hidden since all years.


The bubble is gone, the troubles knock the door, we stare at it in disbelief.

Clueless how to face those fears, and how to bring relief,

Wouldn’t it be better if the bubble didn’t exist, we faced the world head on?

We could have faced come what may, whatever was thrown upon.


Pop went the bubble, the reality struck hard,

And we were left aghast,

We fall quite hard, then pull ourselves up, we flick away the dust,

We move ahead sans the bubble, with all our mighty thrust.

The Homeland I Never Had

Death. Debris. Destruction. These three horrific words have been describing the Himalayan Kingdom since the last 4 days. It’s all over the news, social media and wherever you hear the name ‘Nepal’. That’s not how I remember my country, however short and limited memories I have of it. Despite being from Nepal, most of my life has been set up in India, far away from my homeland. But at this hour of tremendous grief, the faintest of the root that binds me with Nepal somehow manages to tug at every chord of my heart. So much so, I’m in a state of a mild shock coupled with depression. Thinking about the devastation sends a chill down my spine.

A trip to Kathmandu and Pokhra had always been on my bucket list of places to visit. The historic Pashupatinath Temple always caught my fancy. I fell in love with the snow-capped Himalayan Range at the first glance that I had while traveling on the snaky winding roads of the hills. Watching them up close had always been my dream. And the historical monuments that have attracted millions of tourists to this small South Asian country are on the list too. I bet anyone would fall in love with Nepal instantly, not only for its rich heritage but also for the warmth of its people and culture.

But the Nepal that’s staring at my face from TV, computers and mobile phones currently is not the one that I have imagined. It is a country’s capital that’s in shambles. People running with tears in their eyes and horror on their face, disheveled hair and mangled bodies, hopeless cries and tired breaths. My Nepal has always been the land of natural beauty and historical heritage. But all that remains now are heaps of bricks and mortar that has entrapped thousands beneath them. The fury of Mother Nature didn’t spare even the tourists who were there to appreciate its beauty. When will all of this end? When will normalcy be restored? Will it be ever?

I know the country of my origin needs me. I know my people need help. But I can’t go to them. Not now. Not soon. But I’ll be there someday. Among the people who’ve suffered and lost. Among the people who’ll always accept me as their own, even if for the mere fact that I’ve origins of Nepal. While my current predicament doesn’t allow me to leave everything behind to lend a helping hand to my fellow nationals, I’ll be there someday. I’ll be among them, as one of them. And when I’m there, I’ll help them rebuild what Nepal truly stands for – a beautiful country in the lap of the mighty Himalayas. Till then, stay strong my fellow brothers and sisters. It’s bad, really bad. But you’re not alone. We will overcome this disaster together. We will bring back the Nepal the world knows. We will witness its beauty yet again. We will show the world what Nepal truly is!

This isn’t about moist napkins,

Nor is it about crumpled tissues.

This surely isn’t about empty whiskey bottles,

Neither is it about big ice cream tubs.

No, there was no animated fight,

Neither was there the feeling of revenge.

Yet a lot was there to end it all,

Some issues too big, others too small.

But this is not a remembrance of all that,

No, this is not a sob story.

Instead this is a thanks for everything good,

From care to love; from dates to food,

For the precious gifts, for your comforting hugs,

The melting smiles, and the warm palm rubs.

Your trust in me, the belief in us,

For your insecurities, and also your guts,

This is a gratitude for the time well spent,

For everything you gave me, for what it meant.

Time tore us apart, it isn’t in our hands,

But our story will be told, by footsteps on wet sand. 

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