Lets make them ABSTRACT

There are millions of them living around us and billions as a lump all over the world. Yes, I am talking about the famous breed- Human Beings; the Homo sapiens. Every day new faces cross our path and we bump on few important ones or we can also say some become important.

Completing the year 2017 and coming almost in the end of the Nepali calendar, thought why not to remember all those new faces who came and later became important to me. Let’s make it more interesting by categorizing them into various tastes or fragrances…

Well readers let’s start with the plain ones who taste nothing smell like none but are important like water. 2017 gave me really close friends, some existed from a long time and later became important where as some dropped out of nowhere and are now really important. Generalizing it, we all have such people for and forever with us.

Second ones were aromatic, the crushes, in average one each quarter. It’s with the fourth one these days . These are the yummy people. They don’t harm you, they don’t boost you, and they are there so you feel good within yourself and blush. They were my Americano for the taste and aroma and also for taking my sleep away.

Now the wasabi type, they smell tempting- only if you like wasabi (I do), but are not as yummy as you expect them to be. If you have no idea about how they taste, don’t hope high until you try.

Finally the stinking ones, they are all over and with everyone. We try to avoid such people but the majority of the society is such, the hypocrites. They will follow you every year, everywhere.

Some left, with no reasons and some created reasons to leave. And there I am with this beautiful circle of people with different fragrance and tastes.

Hope you have a lovely circle…

Keep reading…


If only this reached you

If only I could shout and let go my pain,

If only my I could cry and wash my wounds,

If only I could pull you, back from time.

If only I could drag myself, back in your wrap.

If only I could tell you- “it belonged to me”, that smile which she is wearing  now,

it was once snatched from me…




Can your pocket fill my love?

I had always seen this friend of mine being such flattery Casanova. Then oops he fell for one, really bad. Now this guy had plans for THEM. He started paving ways to reach the richness and keep his princess happily when they lived ever after. Cliché but true is the fact that Rome wasn’t a single day’s result. Sadly, the princess was a real 21st century’s outcome who thought every effort was like 2-mins Maggy making. Her castle never showed her the melodramatic 80’s family drama of socio-economic hurdles. Poor stereotype she tried her best but couldn’t swallow the limits that the guy had lived with. Yes, obviously she saw his effort for few days. Walked with him for few hours and then those shimmering lights coming from the other side of the road attracted her. Those shimmers were magnetic and she was made of iron and yes my friend was made of none. He was just a rolling stone, trying to be stable and gather some moss. She left, crunching him into dust.

And where was I till then? Wanna know?

I was not allowed to enter as I was thought to be a threat. I was that observer who knew the end from the very first chapter.

Dear readers do love a person but if you want your lover to be of the same class, dare not to hold the hand of a person who is just in the root level. Your detachment can take them so high that your further attachments will later seem worthless. And you know living with regrets is worst than dying so don’t die. Platonic love is definitely old school now, so I hope your new chapter can afford you.


When someone comes to you, shoots the bullet of blame about things that you might have never done and you are struck with it so hard that the hole reflects what you lack of, that is the moment you realize explanation could have solved things but acceptance could bury it forever; which is good in the long run.

Few years ago my employer suggested me to understand the art of acceptance as it makes your life less complex. I denied it in the first place with a push of rebel. Today, I believe it is true. Sometimes it’s good to accept things that might have come from the wrong direction or maybe with the wrong subject. Initially, it might seem tragic. Obviously, when you have to carry the burden that you never piled-seems unfair but there comes a time when that pile shows you the reason for it to land upon you. And believe me it ends up being good.

A quick instance can be those unnecessary tantrums that we hear from family in our initial teen days. Those lines burn a rage of proving who you are and accelerate your chase for achievements. The game of blames never stop but the day you decide to accept things it will definitely stop harming you emotionally and psychologically. This is because we all are different. No one thinks alike. I love purple doesn’t mean I should dislike people who do not prefer my color. Someone wants to go left doesn’t mean right is the only right direction. The moment I understood it, things became easier.

We all are narcissist, whether we accept it or not. My first love is me and you too love yourself first. Imagine a second body coming to you and throwing up all the junks that s/he has stored for you. Ouch, it bites but only till we accept it for our betterment.

I learnt it a hard way. Swallowed blames for things I never did. Embraced every name I was given with, accepted every finger that poked my reality. My innocent affection and concern backfired and burnt me. But you know, Karma is actually a bitch. What went around did come back and time answered each question raised on my character, my identity, my affection, my dignity and my existence.

Finally, I have changed.  Molted and jolted for sure but way better after learning the art of acceptance.

Ps- My readers may not like it so please try to accept.


Those dreams…

That was a regular winter morning. Chilly air caressed her cheeks and left Goosebumps. Five more minutes she thought before she left the bed. Her mother kept on yelling but it was the cozy blanket that didn’t let her go. Unwillingly, she woke up. Still struggling to open her eyes, she got ready in her school uniform. Well ironed gray skirt, clean white shirt and patterned lime yellow tie made her look so smart. Delicious breakfast awaited on the table. After eating, mommy kissed her fore head and walked her till the school bus which was waiting for her outside the brown gate .

It wasn’t an ordinary day. After around 20 minutes, she reached school where everyone was waiting for her. It was the annual awards day, a big day for everyone.  Pammy was about to be awarded for her excellent performance both in academics and sports. Everybody liked her. Pammy, a nine year old was among the best students in St. Lawrence Girls School. She was always surrounded either by friends or by books. Teachers adored her too.

Everyone loved being with her. That afternoon while she was playing, she hit a stone and fell on the ground.


Asleep in her worn out clothes that allowed the winter air to torture her skin. Pammy again fell off the bed and broke awake her recurring dream: the dream of being literate. Her mistress waited outside with her daughters for Pammy to come and polish the pile of shoes.

She was the daughter of a maid and school had always been just her dream; she was limited to it. Literacy was a far sight. She used to hear what schools looked like from her mistress’ daughters. She loved carrying her daughters’ heavy bags to feel the weight of BOOKS. She touched and felt the school shirts and pleated skirts after ironing them. Whenever free, she stood in front of the mirror and imagined how she would look in a school uniform. The ragged and old clothes of her mistress’s daughter couldn’t cover Pammy’s will to walk ahead.

Her mistress wasn’t cruel but she denied her school for Pammy. Maybe she saw the potential in her which could reach out to different corners colouring the canvas of hopes and blowing lives in the dead petals. Maybe she knew that her daughters would fade if a maid’s daughter grabbed degrees in her hands. Or maybe she was afraid that Pammy would understand what freedom meant and would take a flight towards her summit.

Pammy on the other hand collected all the old books that were kept for burning, hid it under her bed as no one entered that dark room. She left no stones unturned to understand the pictures and prayed with the dream fairy to send her someone who could introduce her with letters. Infact, that little girl was still well mannered and disciplined than those who went to learn civility in sober uniforms.

That poor child understood the phenomena of kitchen and knew the screenplay of laundries yet she couldn’t untangle mysteries behind the old, cranky door that closed her world. Every night she lived a literate life. Weekly, she was promoted to different classes. A month later she graduated from school. Though not literate, life definitely made her educated.

You know what she hated the most? She hated opening her eyes every morning and realizing what she is rather than what she could have been. Hence, those were the dreams that kept her asleep for long hours.


Those associated colors

She was born with multiple colors in her life. Pampered by her parents, loved by her siblings she grew bold, beautiful and wise. As time and nature agreed on sending her to the utmost youth, those colors added aroma in her charm. She flew with her unseen wings, reached higher and higher… The colorful side of her bloomed; she was now a woman who had spectrum in her pocket.

Now, she was ready to have a companion, was ready to merge her life with someone and was ready to add some more colors in her life. He came with some brighter ones. Though she had her own color bank, he made them vivid and shiny with his presence. Together they were perfect.

Unfortunately time had no mercy, it snatched him from her. He left for heaven and obviously he took away his shine from her colorful world. Guess what? She had her own collection left which would compensate and later support her. Then entered society, to rob the remaining ones from her.

They took away every pint left with her, even those which she carried since her birth. Now she wore white and lived plain. She forgot about her beautiful colors and lived colorless…

Was it fair? Didn’t she deserve the colors she carried since birth? Why did they take it away from her?

She wasn’t used to this, but they made it her habit. She missed her companion and cursed her birth as it knitted her happiness with someone who came later and left before. Staring at the white wall of her room, as white and colorless as her days, she kept her words to the fate maker- bless all with daughters and tell them not to extract her spectrum away for someone who is associated just for a moment.

A widow too deserves to live with colors.

(May not be the case everywhere but is still prevalent.)

Aarya Adhikari.