Almost Perfect

I looked out from the window. Everything felt new. Maybe it was my eyes playing tricks on me but I felt new and rejuvenated and that was for real. I went outside for a cold and fresh breath of air. I looked far and across the field. World could not have been better. I tried to capture this moment, perfect and serene. The flowers bloomed in the field. The sun was new and orange. The sky was tinged with red. The air was crisp and fresh.

But Wait…….

I saw a big dead branch hanging from the oak tree nearby and it didn’t fit into my perfection. Well, if it’s not perfect then what? Make it an almost perfect day and go on with your life. The inner voice inside me scolded. Yet I wanted it so much to be perfect. Maybe I will not get this chance again. What is there to lose if I just make it perfect in my own way?

I set off to search an axe inside the hut. Had I lost it? Maybe, I was not sure when and where I used it last time. Half an hour and countless scratches later, I finally succeeded in finding a rusty, old piece of junk that resembled an axe. Still determined to make it my day, I marched towards the tree with the invincible axe on my hand feeling like God.

It didn’t take long for me to get disappointed. The dead branch was higher than I had anticipated it to be. I wasn’t afraid of heights but not too fond of them either. But a resolution is a resolution and I intended to stick with mine. The climb up the tree added rashes to go along with the previous share of scratches and it would have been fine if it stopped there. Not long afterwards, I learnt that the tree was a continent of red-ants who were agitated but determined to throw this foreign particle out of their beloved tree. Chopping at the base of the dead branch with a rusted axe and warding off the ants at the same time is not a pleasant job. I would have traded it with two months of jail sentence.

Wait, wait…..No!

[THUMP]

Ohhhhhh!! My Back!!

You might have guessed by now. I failed at the Herculean task of chopping a dead branch with a dead axe and ward off my predators at the same time. I fell from the tree. I would have now traded that punishment for two years of jail sentence but no one came with the proposal and I didn’t.

I looked up the tree to the dead branch. And then I looked down to my torn clothes. Again I looked up to the scorching Sun. And again I looked down to my scratches and rashes. As if that wasn’t enough, a heat-wave slapped me across my face.

My almost perfect day had turned into a mess of my own making.

A Boy or a Girl?

Mrs. Johns was expecting a baby. Was it a boy of a girl? That she didn’t know and didn’t want to. She would often be heard saying, “It is not for me to find out beforehand whether it’s a boy of a girl. I’ll know when God wants me to know.” She held onto this belief so firmly that she didn’t even let her physician to carry out an Ultrasound test on her fetus.

Throughout her pregnancy, she bought toys for her baby. How could she when she didn’t even know whether it was a boy or a girl? You might be wondering and not without a reason. Well, she was clever. She would buy toys like Barbie Dolls and Teddy Bears one day while on another; she would buy Ninja Gears and Monster Truck models. She even had two separated rooms decorated for the baby. Obviously, one was painted pink and the other, sky blue. She took enough care of herself and thanked God in every opportunity for his wonderful gift. Such a pious lady was she.

That was seemed like every other one that it followed. She was reading religious poems from the book of her favorite writer Aubrey Williams. Already into the final month of her pregnancy, she was expected to deliver the baby soon. Mr. John’s was planning to transfer her to the hospital the following day. Suddenly without any prior warnings, contractions began and she frantically dialed for her husband and the ambulance.

Before long, she was already on her way to the hospital. For the rest of an hour, she was in a dazed stage. She couldn’t comprehend the clamor around her and finally gave in to the effects of anesthetics.

She already knew something was wrong as soon as she opened her eyes. Not a single melancholic faces around her wanted to be the harbinger of bad news. Exasperated she turned to her doctor.

After clearing his throat two or three times, he started with a solemn voice, “We tried our best to save the baby but could do nothing to fully restore the minimal blood level in the body. Fetal anemia would have come up in ultrasound but as you denied one yourself, there was no way we could have predicted this. I regret to say that we couldn’t save your baby.”

Just as she lay shocked in the hospital bed absorbing the bitter truth, a nurse piqued up, “Don’t you want to know whether it was a boy or a girl?”

She averted her face and answered, “No!” The answer was still the same but whether the logic behind it changed or not, that is something we will never know.

The Smoker

The air was still damp from last nights’ rain. Wet soles of Steve’s shoes were leaving its mark on the concrete slab of the pavement. Steve crushed the burnt-out butt of cigarette under his feet; the hissing noise of the smoldering cylinder was drowned by the howling of the wind. There went the last remaining cigarette for the day and if his resolution held any grounds, the final one of his entire life as well.

The decision to quit smoking had been quite heavy on him. Though he had been continually reducing his smoking spree for a couple of months now, it sure made him flinch this day parting ways with the only friend that never left his side throughout his rough and bumpy life.

He would not have quit if not for the warning by his physician, which coupled with the long runs of coughs over the past six months didn’t leave any doubts over what would happen if he didn’t take care of himself in time.

Already his hands were reaching for the non-existent cigarette in his overcoats’ inside pocket. His lips were cupped in a way that suggested having been habitual to the same-old-cylinder between them. The last cigarette already felt like an eon ago.

The chilly air was drawing out sharp and short breaths from him. The exhaled breaths precipitating in the air looked so much like smoke. He remembered the smoke-rings that he used to make with practiced perfection. He fondly recalled how he could blow the smoke out in spirals to the awe of his smoking peers. For him, it wasn’t just the inhalation that mattered; exhalation gave him equal pleasure. He smiled as he was reminded of how the smoke would come billowing out of his nose. It used to give him the sense of invincibility. Now his lungs filled with cold air, how he longed for the caressing touch of smoke on its walls.

Life would be harder now. There will no longer be a pack of ‘Camel’ in his pockets or that archaic lighter. He won’t be able to exhale his worries with the spent smoke-filled breaths. A white piece of cylinder, so small yet so strong a companion. How it gives itself away to the human desire, reduced to an inch long survival; that too to be crushed under the mighty heels. Suddenly, Steve felt guilt for trampling that last cigarette butt under his feet. It sure deserved more respect than that.

So deep was he in his thoughts that he didn’t even realize that he walked right past the gas-station where he always bought cigarettes. The owner knew him so well that every time Steve entered, he would automatically place a cigarette packet atop the counter. Well, not today.

And as he distanced himself from the shop, the awestruck owner was squinting hard from inside the shop. A cigarette packet lay on the top of the counter and a smoldering butt was smothering on the pavement at a distance.

Beautiful

Is beauty ephemeral?
Like the skin that dries up
And wrinkles that form over your face
Every time you look into mirror
You won't find what was there
A long long time ago
And you'll think that others might think
That you are not beautiful
The depth is not skin-deep, my friend
And however old you might get
Till your caring heart remains young
Till your gracious conscience stays young
Don't be afraid! my friend
If no one else I will find you beautiful
For not what u have but for who you are

हावाको बेगसंगै

हिजो मात्रै सपना देखेको
तर खै कता हो कता हराएछ
अनि खोज्दा खोज्दै झमक्कै साँझ पर्‍यो
भोली फेरी खोज्नेछु कतै न कतै
कुनै न कुनै कुनामा
भेटिएला कि भन्ने झिनो आशामा
प्रयास सम्भवत असफल
एक चित्त बुझाउने बाटो
खहरेको भेल उर्लिएको बेला
झोलुङे पुल के नै पो धान्न सक्छ र?
तर अझै एक चोट बाकी छ
यो मक्केको काठ माथि
खहरे सुस्ताउने आशामा
झोलुङे पुल हल्लिरहेछ
हावाको बेगसंगै