The Graduates

Dalli Maya sat on the handrails of a steel parapet which provided enclosure to the café. The café was on a cul-de-sac with alleys wrung in all directions. She wore a red ribbon around her braids as rings of her hair shone colorfully in the languid September sun.

Goloman assuming a meek countenance produced smoke ringlets which slowly drifted and grew as it moved towards an emaciated cat and suddenly garlanding the fascinated creature made it purr gently and in wonder.

Dalli passing the blunt to Goloman coughed, laughed and unveiled her plans happily and readily. It had been a week since they had graduated from the university and they felt like king and queen of the world. They had passed the dreariness of university with a sense of self-righteousness and languor. Now with a step into the unknown and another into the past, they found the company of each other more exciting and it gave them tranquility and confidence.

They were in the summer of their lives and they were young, carefree, loving and not cynical enough. They spoke with each other with their eyes, smiling, pondering and embracing the moment of time which would never return even though it was filled in love, friendship and innocence. Suddenly, they had admitted each other into their confidence and shared their hidden thoughts, desires and outlaid brilliant plans for future.

In the eternal day they became nutty professor with penchant for feet. An evil environmentalist lawyer. A real estate mogul in love with hooker. A gigolo. A pimp. A millionaire coder who promoted peace among worlds. An assassin politician who pursued rapists. A filmmaker with hot troupes. In the sublime moment of happiness, they were engulfed in incoherent and rash conversations leading to raillery, jokes and denunciations of all sorts, clanking their steel voices in clashes of inane excitement, furor and nonchalance; and when an unrestraint feverishness led them astray their joviality ended up in such a passionate sequence of kisses, which like a storm that gradually engendered a violent spiral of libidinal desires and carnal appetites for which they were readily thrown out of the café.

This full time fun suddenly changed in matter of months.

Dalli Maya’s happiness knew no limits when her father having been elected the new mayor of municipality obtained for his daughter the position of social mobilizer in office. She spent her days fooling around the municipal building chatting with all sorts of people with all sorts of bearings. In the meantime, she was enamored with Goloman having lost her hymen to his whimsical and youthful tenderness. Both were occupied in an ecstasy of lust, friendship and uncommitted courtship. Dalli Maya upon her wont of regularly reflecting on life found the affair most soothing to her nerves.

It was just as she had imagined life. A job that appealed for her lack of ambition and a man who didn’t want anything to do with her after sex. A life so sluggish that it could only be possible in Kathmandu. She felt reborn as the dull enthusiasm of university life was left behind. There will now be no homework or examinations. She didn’t have to bonk classes or perceive the piercing scrutiny of teachers. She would no more be upset in the labeling of bhaalu by her classmates. She could now breathe properly in the new dreariness of adult life.

It was stirring and undemanding. She would make a couple of runs to the ward meetings, pretending to note down concerns. She reported these concerns to the supervisor, a third class gazetted officer. He had a fleshy and sad nose. He would continue to nod comatosely till she ceased addressing him and then sighing like a smacked child he would reply in an undertone, ‘Okay. Dhanyabad’ leaving Dalli Maya to join her party of gossipers and idlers in municipal canteen where she would laze and fritter away office hours.

Goloman wrapped up his assignment and texted Dalli Maya to meet her at Hotel Chalise where he had booked a room for evening. He was interning at a nongovernmental, human rights organization. He was to write a brief in English on the case of Ganga Maya Adhikari, a woman in hunger strike for her teenage son killed during the Maoist Insurgency. He felt disgust and indignant for the case where the poor widow had to endure the death of her husband during the course of such hunger strike. He thought that the case was a sham. A political game of hide and seek. A never-ending search for justice that would never meet its end. A political bargain. A ruin of an innocent family. A public platform for civil society organizations to bring in dollars. And most appallingly, a symbol of transitional justice.

By the time he reached the scene of romantic delight, he inured the perjury, injustice and dark politics of the case. Crafting his way through an almost asphyxiation of a microbus ride, sandy streets, cappuccino colored potholes, ugly concrete houses made from ringgit labor and sparse Gulhomar trees, he completely forgot the day spent in smothering empathy and helpless agony.

He laid on the monochrome bedsheet and lit a fag. Uniformly drawing deep breaths, he scrolled through Instagram feed liking photos of his friends, cousins and strangers.

Hiking. Hashtags. Beards. Beer. Selfies. Self-Proclaimed Celebrities. Ubiquitous love emojis.

The room reeked of rainwater, unemptied ashtray and semi-gloss enamel. The attached bathroom wafted in smell of urine and lavender scented Odonil.

After a subtle and coded knock, the door hinges produced a protracted squeaky sound. Dalli Maya appeared all smiles. It was the last day of the month and she had received her first salary. Twenty-four thousand seven hundred and fifty rupees. Her happiness knew no bounds and the first thing she did was buy an expensive, ultra-thin, dotted condom pack for Goloman. She giggled at the mischief which seemed to turn him on. They made instant love, skipping tender caresses followed by kisses and foreplay which usually lasted at least half an hour. This sudden violence lasted almost a full minute.

‘I have to be home by seven’ Goloman mentioned nonchalantly. Then almost irate at the thought of guests at home, he added brusquely, ‘There’s a Shradha supper.

‘It’s almost winter and its dark so early. My mother phones me based on the darkness in the sky’ she lamented, looking through the aluminum mosquito nets of the windows.

Goloman looked pensively at Dalli Maya. Her bony spine disappeared somewhere along a soft bulge of her derriere. Four dark brown moles besotted her cervices. There were some more on her arms. A couple of dark ringlets extended to her nape. It appeared brittle and looked as if it could break easily off from her body with only a few sensual kisses. He felt a small nausea building in his chest. Her body was his edifice and he worshipped it. For an atheist a naked human body offers some degree of faith in the omnipotent.

‘Why can’t our ancestors leave us alone?’ Goloman murmured gaping at her body. She turned around gently. Her dark nipples seemed to greet him somberly. He had a broad smile building on her unsurprised countenance. Her teeth evinced cigarette stains on the fore. She shrugged spiritedly and with a lopsided grin, questioning his obsession with culture and dogmas. An inkling of such cultural transgression and he just cannot leave it alone, she thought. It had been dragging for a while now, unabated and now unrestrained and now it seemed to her that it would never stop.

‘Why can’t you just show up, smile, make small talks and be calm about it?’ Dalli Maya asked, suppressing her exasperation.

‘How can I? My relatives are such great people. They talk nonsense. They are full of concessions and wits which is just a droll and nothing more. I would say mildly amusing but I won’t give much credit either. That’s all they seem to care about, commentators and judges of our society. They talk like they can develop our country in a day’ Goloman replied.

He could hear them chortling with their jeers and repartees.

‘Boo, boo, baaa’ she made funny faces trying to distract him from unwise thoughts.

Dalli Maya didn’t know when she had fallen for Goloman. It wasn’t either love at first sight nor did they gradually allure each other. They never fell in love. They grew into one. Perhaps out of necessity, like siblings or couples who espouse through arrange marriage. Dalli Maya didn’t see a future with him but she perceived that he was certainly monogamous.

Goloman lay prostrate with his hirsute limbs. She thought it appeared thick and delicious. She wanted to make love one more time before she left for home. The strawberry flavored rubber united with sweetness of sex sweat unified their thoughts, anguish and cheers as the dark blue hues of the evening caroused with laughter of bugs, mosquitoes and frogs.

A Tragic Comedy of Human Divinity


He checked on his phone couple of times to see if she had replied; timid and dejected at every blink of the slick little screen.  It was exasperating that she refused to understand his predicament and it slowly weighed on him; one thing to comprehend and another thing to refute it. Times like this reminded him of his mother who despite of her noble upbringing and education was too much of a conformist for his taste. ‘Women’ thought he, ‘never too lively, never too low. They always let men take the fall’. His scarlet cheeks glossed.  He read and re-read their conversation on the phone till it dawned to him that she wasn’t cold, she was merely playing it heartless.

A couple of days passed and he was grew miserable from the fact that it wasn’t up to him to conclude their mutual displeasure. It was simply a matter of time and he was getting out of time to contain his melancholic resentment towards such a petty squabble which was due to the fact that he couldn’t attend her sister’s swoyamber. How could he participate in such a trifling event when he had a job to attend to which paid his bills and with much industry could he manage to put a wee bit more than mere rice and lentils on the table for his family of six. There was no escape from his listless diligence when his own pocket was tight.

‘How can you be so selfish? What does it matter if you flunked your office, once for me? You were the one who used to say that employment is just a twenty first century invention?’ she had romped incessantly.

It’s always difficult for a man to not be affected with the wrath of his woman. It is full of cruelty because it comes not from heart but from her angry yet nonchalant mind; coy, unaffected and full of logic that men have difficult time to comprehend how and from where such paroxysms originate. The loftiness of man against women’s intelligence is thus shattered. One thing that evolution has undone is men’s ability to recognize that women are as intelligent as them and in arguments of such sorts men lack courage to concede their cerebral powerlessness against so-called inferior creatures, leading to irrational and most visibly whimsical, savage behaviors and offensive languages against women which can never be justified.

Now, of course, our ‘he’ in this tale isn’t such a character but again he has grown into a miserable man. A miserable man will think and do as he pleases by the mere virtue being ‘him’ in the first place. So, deciding that the best course of action for him would be to frighten her and gain her sympathy, he thought, as he simply typed with his tremulous fingers on the little screen, ‘It will be the death of me if I can’t have you back’. You know, one of those eye rolling statements that lovers try on each other just to get their precious attention back. Of course, they don’t really mean it but it does depict how much they are marooned spiritually without one’s lovers company.

At this she got furious and curtly replied, ‘Then just do it for my sake’. She merely smirked. Well, it has his attention and indifference juxtaposed together to make him go mad with rage. ‘If she wants it then so it be’ he thought. Still, he doesn’t mean it, but in certes, a seed of haplessness is already planted on his head.



Sunsets pass by unconditionally and still they don’t converse. The fat, ostentatious swoyamber passes, she nonchalantly shares a nicely photographed album in the social medias as well. It adds butter to fire and he tries to get in touch with her but alas! All she needed was a romantic apology which would for him, be very condescending to do and for a few more days he doesn’t swallow up his pride. It’s a cold war, a farce which history of romance has already depicted us in more than one tale. Modern romance is futile and lovers are gudgeons of plastic fate. Nor benedictions nor depressive medications cure such ethereal maladies of life. It’s a farce and a mere game that women play just to fool around with men who, they know shall brandish some stupidity on themselves. These are such games of statements which both men and women use to assert their dominance on each other much-to melancholic avails.

So, our main character now abjures the material pleasures of life and begins to find portentous lust for self-harm. Sadness is always addictive. It brings out the spiritual self on one’s perceived soul, maimed in self-depreciation and subjugated to depressive thoughts. On the other hand, our ‘she’ is bewildered that her lover is experiencing such lovely sensations because of her. ‘How much he misses me’ she ruminated, and felt she should charity her love to him in a couple of days. Yielding such power makes people blind and women desire such power to higher her esteem and find beauty in life. Thus finding a grand meaning to life they stay happy. On the contrary, men don’t need esteem to feel powerful, they merely need desires and attaining such desires of their hearts, that passion, the devotion, ones acquiesce to it makes them feel powerful. And in such powers they think they yield, gives meaning to them. Life is thus beautiful to both. But not for our character, who rather has started to find his happiness in sadness, glory in destruction and life in dimness. It’s always a profound yet stupid sight to find men completely lost in oblivion.

It had been two weeks of such a burlesque melodrama.



Finding herself the center of his universe, she demanded more of it. For two weeks, she found absolute pleasure in torturing him with remarks, uncouth and childish. On his part, he replied brashly and viciously, attacking her for having no heart whereas she asserted that it was because her heart was with him and he had managed to put on the bin. This enraged him and at the same time, made him feel that she treasured him still. This duality of sensation tore his soul apart. Such was the nature of their conversation and she, to gain an upper hand refused to meet him at all. She knew she would fall on his knees at his dejected sight and only a tête-à-tête would suffice to restore their romance. But it was too early to warm his heart. She wanted more of his devotion through his debauched remarks, yells, cries and violent agitations. If he assumed a devil then she completed the diabolical situation be being the devil’s woman; cold and piercing.

‘What about my family, don’t I have to work to provide for them’ he contemplated.

‘It’s none of my business’ she pretended.

‘Why are you being so cruel to me? Haven’t I been a reasonable man to you, you whore!’ he bellowed on the telephone.

‘I am sure you were doing one, while I was away’ she responded curtly.

‘I wasn’t granted a leave. What do you want me to say? Look, I will come to the wedding, haven’t I promised?’ he grew dejected.

She sighed, ‘What if they don’t grant you a leave again?’

‘I’ll flunk the damn office, honey. Okay. I promise…..’ he grew soft, drawing himself up.

‘Then why didn’t you flunk it this time! How am I to trust you again! If my family means so little to you, why should I have faith in you?’ she interposed and slammed down the receiver, stood as erectly as haughtily as possible, assumed a little scarlet countenance and gave a faint smile to herself in satisfaction of doing so.

(He threw his phone at the wall, it went shattering all over the cemented floor of his bedroom.)

So it went, most of their conversations. She would maroon him in the heat of the argument and he would do something nasty. Sometimes she made him believe that they had broken up. And sometimes she would plant an imaginary new man in her life. Yet, sometimes, she harangued about her unparalleled love for him. It affected him so much that she couldn’t even fathom. After all, he had supposed that she was the one. She was already introduced to his family as well. He was working hard to earn more and realizing that his later to-be wifey shouldn’t be bothered about money of all things, he had been putting in extra effort. He was just a clerk in a law firm, more qualified academically compared to his employment description. Since the bubble burst, it had been getting busy and he was making the most out of it, until now.

He couldn’t work at all; concentration was out of the window and he grew timid day by day. His colleagues in the office realized that he was growing desolate and his personal hygiene was being neglected. Since they were his colleagues, not friends, they cared not to strike any such conversation with him which might reveal his predicament. After all, there is always going to be competition and competition is always won by the one has a strong mentality and not by a neurotic. They kept their mum on this one and he was in illusion that his decorum was unaffected in the office. He had been given such a shock that he didn’t know how badly he was dressed up for work or how stout he had grown or how sullen his eyes were. The tuft became bushy, his plump cheeks now evinced his cheek bones and he had a broken voice among other deviances in his appearance. He always assumed a grim countenance and viewed life more grimly. One man’s sorrow can be another’s joy.


To be continued….















I said, Goodbye to Romance

My love! Do you remember the time when you whispered to me, “I would love to give you a blowjob in this moshpit”. I was ecstatic over the idea. But it wasn’t the idea of an erotic setting that set flames to my heart but the chaos and disorder that you would see through to make me happy.

But in sooth, it’s been a while that I don’t feel nourished. It hasn’t been quite the surge of emotions that should have suspended me into oblivion and as I should have liked to dangle to and forth, but it hasn’t been quite so. I like despair and I loathe happiness. It’s all meaningless and if it’s meaningless then I might well be meaningless in my own existence, I have begun to ponder. But with the ugly reality clinging on to my mind, for some time now, I can’t be lost in oblivion. Yes, love has been beautiful to me, such brilliant billow of lifelessness can one be engulfed into. I wonder if I could ever feel despair again. But, I am in despair now. It`s ironic but it`s not complicated. This kind of despair is the despair of love. Continue reading I said, Goodbye to Romance

Side Effects

‘We broke up, yesterday’ said he, without the presence of any grimace, almost nonchalantly.

She was stupefied. It came to her out of the blue, maybe not. She did think about it on her preconscious level. But how was she supposed to know what she thought. She can barely think before she speaks. ‘Was it her father? I told you, he looks like medieval aristocrat who cannot accept the fact that he is a homosexual’, she put in brashly.

‘Oh, come on’, it’s not about that’, he answered hesitantly.

‘Then, was it about her glamorous leggings with those silly ankle pockets. When she stooped that low, what a magnificent sight for everyone to appreciate’, sniggering as she folded her linens in an old, sturdy, trolley case.

‘I don’t know. Let it be’, exasperated with his sister’s ludicrous prattling.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know. I need to know before I fly away from you’, she insisted.

‘I don’t know. You see, it’s like why we are in love. There’s no reason. I can’t tell why. There needs to be no reason for goodbyes just like, there needs to be no rationale for romance’, he answered bluntly.

‘I knew you are addicted to vanity. Especially pertaining to that of human relationships. You are complacent the either way. I get it. But, I don’t want you to end up all alone. You may be my rival as you put it one gloomy day but you are my brother’, she grew melancholic as she was addressing him. ‘I don’t know what to say to you sometimes. How can love and separation be all the same to you, how can you be so cruel?’, she grieved.

‘It is, my dear sister. Don’t worry about our goodbye. I shall visit you in December’, he masqueraded his affection as he spoke softly and hugged her.

He never visited her in December but as circumstances would have it, he reluctantly appeared at her doorstep due eight months with his new romantic endeavour. This one had comfy bosoms and had  perms, not sure if it was because of lack of a good bath or a bad stylish. Anyways she looked glossy, almost like a hooker, which his younger brother always seemed to prefer. She seemed a bit obnoxious at first glance but she had a way with speech, almost serene to listen to, but yes, she turned out to be obnoxious after a lovely dinner conversation.

‘An animal rights activist?’, she let a cry. ‘You don’t even like animals. What are you, a vegan now?’, almost frowning.

‘No, I like to think of myself as choosing a healthy lifestyle’. He said, calmly.

‘Oh, I shouldn’t even be surprised’, she gave a sigh. ‘Yes, Yes, we are all equal. Men are not superior to any creature. We all share the same destiny, eh’, she commented, as she did the dishes. He helped her. ‘Absolutely’,  he asserted.

‘That’s why it is up to humans, to be activists of such noble causes’, she replied promptly. Unaware that she was articulating the existential meaning of life from the viewpoint of a suicidal comedian.

Mr. Floyd and A Year of Love

Mr. Floyd met her for the first time at Café Devkota.  They had an immediate affinity for each other. They didn’t converse with each other for another four months before she attempted her charm but he had merely produced a nod and a subtle faint smile as he walked away clumsily. Only their fleeting glances met and sometimes he stole a look here and she feigned her gaze there. It was typical of Floyd to take a liking to women during those days of solitude. It produced a gratifying effect on him even at their mere presence. He could notice everything about women from their light, brownish, beauty moles to the lustful tip of their fingers. Women meant beauty and beautiful women were always avoided by him. He liked the idea of being in a state of desire than the illusion of fulfilled desire. Hence, a bachelor. For him, beauty was better left uncharted. Any seduced beauty was aesthetically  marred and ethereally tarnished. It was psychologically purging for him to think like that. If it was up to him he would had without a second thought, have all the damsels locked on a museum only for the world to behold and admire, never to be corrupted nor be judged. She was such a beauty.

She had a square face, dark hair, bristle yet fashionable and a Greek nose, pointed, almost chiselled and symmetrical. She had a fair countenance, somewhat dim Floyd thought it was very poignant. From the outset she had given him a warm feeling, like the sons feel when they are touched by the love of their mothers. There was nothing motherly about her but every man, in his deepest of heart, desires such an affection from their women. Men are lonely species because they are unable to love the world like the women can do. He always felt that if there was to be a god then god would certainly be a woman. The love of god is exactly like that of a woman and so is their scorn. They love in order to merely love. But men, they are brute. They love to be loved more. Mr. Floyd could love like a woman.

Having resisted such a temptation for a long time, Mr. Floyd finally succumbed to the charm of damsel in distress. His hero Wilde had asserted, over a century ago that the necessary things in life are the most unnecessary ones. Such an unnecessary friendship began to unfold in a short period of time. And it takes a friendship to develop into a courtship in a lesser time between a man and a woman. He thought that the world was full of vanity and he started to be gratify in such vanities as he began to squander away his time and money at her and commenced to be stirred by trivial observations about her and needless ruminations. Dr. Faust appeared merely egotistical and Batman was ludicrous. The world was dichotomized between fathers and mothers, music was electronized and John Travolta moves were antiquated. Sadness meant tear drops on her radiant cheeks and happiness was a blush. Love meant being together, harsh was an accidentally discordant word and hate was forgotten.

So, after a couple of weeks of flawless romance, delightful promenades and seemingly interminable devotion they tied the knot. He always thought boredom was a sin. He had found the right person to commit this sin with for a lifetime.

Now, after a couple of months, their life became dull with and without each other and their conversations were full of what Floyd used to term, when he scorned at couples struck by cupid, masturbation without erection.

‘So, how was your day?’

‘Oh! It was okay. You?’

‘Me too! I almost died of boredom today’.

It was a farce. The whole thing. By the end of the year, the damsel’s love for him had dried out of boredom and Mr. Floyd committed suicide by pulling a trigger and the cold bullet went though his heart. He couldn’t believe that his love for the world could end at the end of a mere woman’s love. He was stupefied that he couldn’t love the world again like women do. He had turned into a brute.