Ethereal

You flow in my veins, Rustle in the air that I breathe, But not the only reason to wake up. You are a part of how I carry myself, The way I treat people, But not my only root. You are the color that paints me, The light that lights my crevices, But not the only greens of my tree. You are my deepest yearning, Your eyes, my gaze would ease into, But not my only destination.

What would be your definition of a party? Ease your mind into the idea of having fun for you. Contemplate for a brief moment about it. Imagine things that would make your heart flutter. Things that would make your mind as alive as the playful wind of autumn. Okay, that’s enough. Come back to reality now. For some people, the notion of having fun may be loud music and rather electrifying dance in a gathering of friends and family while a fraction of others might prefer drinking and deloading. Some of us are also thrilled with the concept of camping under the starry sky. But then, among the myriad of choices, there is an another class of people who like the mundane, with a very ordinary idea of having fun. Well, I have slipped into being one of them, happily sadly. For us, picking up a novel and lying there in bed -- twisting and turning, flipping through the pages and uncovering the plot seems fanciful. Slipping into an imagination where we could draw our rivers and bring ...

Krishna, meaning “dark” or “dark blue” in Sanskrit, can also be interpreted as “all-attractive” or “charming”. He had a dark complexion and a transcendental physical appearance, hence the name. This is the less vivid and not so colourful depiction of Krishna, kind of like a bookish definition. So, who is Krishna or what is Krishna, if you may ask? But before that, let’s paint a picture of Krishna in the blank canvas of our mind. Krishna, a son to a cowherd family in Gokul was raised by Nanda and Yashoda. He is known for his divine miracles, playfulness and compassionate nature. He had an uncle Kansa, who feared due to a prophecy that Krishna would be the cause for his death. So, Kansa had a fair share of demons whom he put in line to kill Krishna. But, he and his demons failed every single time and bowed down to the supreme nature of Krishna. Bhagvad Gita, an undoubtedly pristine book was also Krishna’s giving to the humankind for establishing dharma(righteousness not religi...

8th of October, 2024 It was winter. Kathmandu was cold and lonely, a city that stirred sadness in my soul. A city whose quiet corners never saw sunlight, only the cold grips of winter. The only warmth they knew came from the wisps of smoke, tossed away by passing strangers. The colours of city bled like shades of unholy grays with a skin of cruelty. Winter was stepping towards its apex with a slow-burn. The dry and suffocating air spelled unease and intrigue. It searched for traces of melancholy hidden within me. The chills of the wintery breeze conquered me vulnerable. Then, meddled with my already grieving fragments of heart. My eyes that had long forgotten the cries of my heart let the swelling sorrows free. They traced warm paths trailing to my bed. I couldn't escape it. I sat there helpless, waiting for it to end. It did end, but after forging a new narrative in my mind,"सपना र शुन्यताको शहर, काठमाडौं!" Quote of the day: Is autumn cruel for letting...

I still remember that day vividly. It was about 10 in the morning when I had read your message. My heartbeat was pulsating with every word forward. I could not hold my breath still. After reading the message, I went numb and my mind froze. Every hopes of future turned into a pitch black oblivion. "Us" was shredded apart to just "you" and "I". I scurried out from my room towards the balcony. It was raining heavily with restless air swaying the rain. But, my mind was still in shock processing what had become. What it meant for the picture perfect future I had always desired. A gush of wind suddenly sprinkled waterdrops to my face bringing me back to the present. The rain water was expressing what my eyes couldn't. It was like nature trying to put me to ease. My hand reach for a cigarette in my pocket. I was determined to abstain from nicotine. But, at that moment it didn't matter. The weight of hopelessness was heavier than my...

Psychology always fascinated me. I take a great deal of pleasure in navigating the mindscape of people associated with the dark triad- narcissism, Machiavellianism and psychopathy. Informing myself with such knowledge is a relentless and pleasurable pursuit for me. It stirs my psyche with an unexplainable amount of thrill and insanity. Deconstructing the behavioural pattern and bridging the gap between thoughts and actions makes me feel omniscient for a fleeting moment. Maybe it’s the dopamine shooting beyond its limit. But, who cares? So, let’s take a brief walk into the world of dark triad now, shall we? Narcissist (Narcissism) , a term often used as an insult to infuriate someone simply means for a person with an excessive preoccupation with oneself and one’s own needs. Like the infamous Tom Riddle(Voldemort) from our beloved childhood nostalgia, Harry Potter. A narcissist, in plain observation from a distance, seems to have very fanciful obsessions with his...

I don’t usually verbalize or jot down my thoughts about such questions. They always remain suspended in the quiet corners of my mind. In the empty spaces between my degenerate thoughts. But, today, I happened to recollect some hazy details of my very dystopian dream. It made me wonder and contemplate about the questions everyone asked but eventually forgot. One of the forgotten one, simple and plain in sight yet sinks deep into the abyss of our soul. “Why are we here?” Are we here to serve a higher purpose? Is it all God’s play for the endless fascination of divinity? Or maybe these questions are what we asked ourselves to stop questioning? Giving the authority to a higher figure definitely eases our existential dread. But, it also makes us a believer, bound to believe whatever is shed upon us. And, we stray from being a seeker, whose life was immersed in the air of truth. But, what if our limited senses are the ones constricting our ability to converse to things beyond our lim...

How many people have you met so far in your life? I highly doubt that anyone has kept track of it. If you have then congrats, you are insane. Us normal people wouldn't know, so let's call it many . You meet many people in your life. In a way or other, they become a part of you shaping you into the very self you are today. You may have memories of them in various light. Some you remember vividly and some with vague details. You might not remember the things you said, things they conversed back, the meals you enjoyed together, the gossips you shared, but what you can never forget is the way they made you feel. Even the weight of time couldn't erase it. But then, there are those few who made you feel alive. They breathed life into your heart. They radiated a light which pierced your soul in the very heart of gentleness. Here are some excerpts about such people who knowingly or unknowingly tended to my inner being and taught me ways to live. Live in a sen...

I just want your heart filled with warmth, when your vicinity is my deep fragrance, Let your careless gestures show comfort, for your presence heals my silent wounds. I just want your eyes to soften, when your gaze rests upon me, Let your eyes pierce the silence, for your lips might never speak. My eyes shall follow too, with muffled whispers, Unspoken in words, but, described in quiet glances, with a gentle promise: "For you, a thousand times over."

I had this little hope for the longest time. A small glimmer of faith. That little thing in me, it often whispered to me in a hushed tone. Whispers of reconciliation when I spiraled down too deep. Whispers of better days when moments felt bleak and eerie. Those whispers gave me warmth. Like the embrace of sun rays in cold grips of winter. They pulled scattered fragments of me back together in one piece, making me believe that it would turn pretty again. The whispers, they were not all rainbows and unicorns either. A double edged sword in the finest comparison, for it also made me cling onto things. Things I should have discarded. Things I should've left on my way long ago. But, how could have I left nuisances that made my heart satiated? Leaving them astray meant that I would have been free. Free, yet with the cost of burden that I flinched away from love without even trying. It was a dilemma I could never decipher. Always thought that we would someday revisit the dreams...

She was compassion, true to kindness and mercy, I was just passion, a small drizzle to her ocean, She was fire, of the cruel winters and the darkest nights, I was just ashes, dust of the fire that followed to her ends, She was sky, a blue infinity to my finite capacities, I was just a cloud, clouded by inconsistencies in her vastness, She was harmony, a gentle and caressing melody to ears, I was just a voice, dancing in the rhythm of her melody, She was more, further than the senses could draw, I was just less, trivial to the grace she instilled.

“Rebecca” is a 1938 classic gothic novel with a tone of psychological thriller. The book encompasses elements of love, suspense, thrill and insanity with underlying bleak atmosphere. It keeps you satiated with variety of complex character developments and suspense of what comes next. Rebecca explores the intricate depths of dark human tendencies and eerie desires. It makes you crave more and just not enough and the left side of the pages thickens by the time you take notice of the moment. The book follows an unnamed girl with blooming youth who makes an acquaintance with the owner of Cornwall estate of Manderley, Maxim de Winter. Mr de Winter is a wealthy and charismatic man in his 40s and Manderley is a regal English manor house bequeathed to Mr de Winter as an ancestral property. The plot of the story develops when the young girl and the widowed Mr de Winter decide to engage in matrimony. When the young girl is pronounced as the wife of Maxim as Mrs de Winter, she faces the re...

I know you want to have it all but not enough at a time, I know you want yourself but also your every fiery desire, I know you want to touch the sparks  but under your circumstances, I know you want to want me but fail me in the consequences of your matters, I know you behold your mind and heart clashing but always let mind prevail, I know you want to show love but only under your premise, I know you want to taste the extremes but limit yourself to just wanting, And, In the end, I knew everything, yet still, Things happened and roads diverged

  I don’t cry. I just let the swelling fire meet the calm ocean. Rest of it follows.This message is to the one whom I used to identify as myself. Me,was a timid and shy teen who was too afraid to let the words in himself articulate through his voice. And, to make things worse I did not have what it takes to converse swiftly with my opposite gender. Well, I definitely did not possess the art of conversing with strangers or people I met for the first time either. So, all in all this is me as you may know me and I too do. What you may not know is the way I feel things. I feel things very deeply. Deep as the height of Mariana trench. Like the depth where even light feigns ignorance. And, I consider it to be a curse I am bewitched with most of the time when my heart is gashed with burning wounds. I had complains about how people wake up with different feelings everyday and choose a new path in their life. But, I have come to embrace the fact that the change is the only non-changin...

Walking the length of the way to enjoy my own company in a dark winter evening is always fun as it ought to be. The December snow always keeps its promise of being oddly satisfying. I open the creaky main door and step outside. Shiver ricochet inside of me. I pull my coat tighter and lightly tread forward. The bare silence of the vicinity is now the crunching sound of my boots as I move forward on the snow. Traipsing through the snow, a gentle chilly breeze slowly and sadistically pierces the skin on my face. I reposition my scarf to cover my face still liking the sting of it and keeping my stride. After a while, I reach the salvaged wooden bench and offer myself a snowy seat to enjoy the misty sunset even though the sun is covered amidst the icy clouds. I watch the unholy mixture of whites and greys around me. My breath turns to fog every time I breathe. In front of me was a skyline-silver lake. My eyes run through the ripples on the surface of the lake to its very end, my min...

Heavy grey clouds suffocated the sky, concealing the daylight as unforgiving rain filled the world below. Bright flashes of lightning topped with startling thunderbolts. The nature was resonating with my deep self. The only difference was that the nature was expressive but I was too conscious to let it out.  The riveting emotions were intensifying with each passing heartbeat. I was feeling blue and the color I could see was a dusky black as if it were a bleak mid-winter prying into my soul. The internal friction would never end.  Nevertheless, I summed up my courage and left for Grace's place in my car. The rain was dripping heavily. People were walking on the street under their umbrella. People who were visionary and cheerful, people who just had started experiencing life, people who met a dead end in their life and going through an existential crisis, people who still had hope of making through everything and more. Multitude of people sharing the same street yet di...