Midlife Crisis

I’m in my early 40s now. A middle-aged man. And, I’m beginning to feel the symptoms of what we call the ‘midlife crisis’.

My feeling of sometimes being alone adds to the crisis. My wife — supposed to be my other half — is distant and cold. In some of my lowest moments, she’s nowhere near to share my feelings.

My only child. She’s the love of my life. However, somewhere I feel I’m missing, to some extent, from her upbringing. I try to pay regular visits to her and make her feel that her dad is an important part of her growing up. She’s too young to notice my role in her upbringing. But, I’ve a growing feeling — it may be my apprehension only — whether I will miss being an important agent in her socialisation in her formative years of growing and learning.

Apprehensions aside, the pressure to earn money, actually more money, is making its presence felt more and more. The more money you have, the more love you get — this has become a maxim in today’s world. I’m not biding my time to get ‘rich’, nor am I making any ‘extraordinary’ efforts to feather my nest.

It’s been nearly two years since grandma passed. I miss her greatly.

Planning to pay a visit to my parents on the eve of new year 2081 celebration. I feel like a child in their bosom whenever I get their calls and asked about my howabout. Are you as fortunate as me?

Happy New Year 2081.

Jobless

It’s been nearly a month since I lost my job. Looking for new but it’s not really easy to get a decent one. I’m feeling downcast and tired.

Been thinking about writing of the passing of my grandma; it’s been a long overdue. May write someday. I’ve to pay my eulogy to the great woman that I have learned so many things from.

Being bereft

Grandma is no more now. She passed away at around 2 this afternoon with family members by her side.

One of my biggest fears came true. I’d been trying to shrug it off only to get face to face with it eventually.

I’ve mentioned in my earlier post that I’d a premonition whether I could see my grandmother again during my last visit to her.

That premonition which I didn’t want to believe would materialize in this way; I’m struggling to come to terms with everything that’s happened since.

And, words fail me to describe how much bereft I feel after her passing away. I may not have known how precious you were when you were alive. When you’re gone, I feel utterly bereft, overcome with guilt; the lingering guilt of not able to cherish and celebrate your life when you’re alive.

Goodbye grandma. May your soul rest in eternal peace.

The moment I struggled to hold back my tears

My grandmother. A nonagenarian. A saintly figure. A treasure trove of knowledge on local culture and traditions. Well-versed in composing ‘Shlokas’ instantaneously. I’m proud of my grandmother. I’m happier that she’s with us living a life that’s so remarkable and inspiring.

Earlier this week, I visited her. She lives with my parents. It’s been around six years. After my grandfather’s passing away in 2019, she’s gathered enough courage and determination to continue a widowed life. My parents — especially my mother– are a great assistant to her in overcoming the grief of being bereft of her husband in old age. She has a small stature — she droops now on account of her old age — but her unflinching courage and determination may dwarf that of a giant’s. It’s her resilience that’s been a cause of her relatively healthy and happy life to date.

She’s like a big tree under which we seek shelter (from ignorance) and happiness.

Grandmother offering ‘Tika’ to my father at Dashain 2021

Well, I had to leave her after a few days at my parents’. With a heavy heart, I bade goodbye promising to return again to see her. I struggled to hold back my tears. Tears welled up in her eyes too. I know we’ll meet again. But, leaving her behind this time felt so hard and painful. Why?

I promise to return to her soon.

Thrilled!

How you feel when someone great or better say a legend gives you a little of their attention? Can you imagine how much I was thrilled to get this response from one of the greats?

Fed’s response to my comment on Twitter on 13/07/2021.

Heartbroken

Heartbroken to see Roger Federer lose Wimbledon 2021 Quarterfinals in straight sets with bagel.

How I grew up reading news and headlines (I didn’t have access to TV to watch him play in those days) about his extraordinary feats in tennis. How his name became so deeply entrenched in my child and teenage memory. How I came to love his cool, calm and composed demeanor both during wins and losses (when I had access to TV to watch him play now).

It’s around midnight and tonight is so painful. Maybe it’s time for him to hang up his rackets to avoid further embarrassment at the hands of the young and also to protect his glorious legacy.

Standing out against Lockdown

The latest extension of lockdown until May 7 is more of a political game than a concern to public health. In the veil of lockdown, power grabbing, corruption and political machinations are going on unchecked. The recent abduction case of Surendra Yadav speaks volume of  this. There’s a wide and broad highway to profiteering and fear-mongering being built. KP Oli has successfully averted an insurmountable challenge to his ‘throne’ with this continual extension of lockdown.

It’s time we stood out against this sickening lockdown.

Goodbye Grandpa: An Obituary

Photo of Grandpa from last year

My grandfather breathed his last at the age of 91 on 5^th June, 2019 (Jestha 22, 2076 BS) at around 12:30 am surrounded by his family at his residence in Deurali, Gorkha. The nonagenarian may have been a relic from the past that had little or no relevance in today’s time for many, but he was of overwhelming significance to a few of us. I would constantly look at him and would try to find my position and search for my own relevance in the multitudes. He stood very tall with his great age and never-waning sprightliness. Most of all, he inspired me with his great age and his unrelenting activity.

I would proudly talk about my grandparents whenever I had an opportunity to do so. I’m in my late 30s and at this stage of life, having grandparents is something you really covet or are proud of. When he passed away, I remembered the moments many years back when I was just a schoolboy.

Most of his years he lived as a farmer and had maintained a nice orange orchard. Livestock like buffalo and bullocks were kept for dairy and farming purposes. We had to cross a river many times in different places while visiting his hamlet in the mountain of Buckrong. In the monsoon it was all but impossible for us kids to ford the swelled-up river. Even our mother couldn’t dare to take chances. It was Grandpa who would despite his short stature brace himself for the challenge: He would carry us on his shoulder or back one by one and ford the roaring river. I still feel the quiver in his legs while he carried us across the flooded river. His legs withstood the mighty currents of the flood like a dyke stands against the lacerating tides. When he reached the other side, it would be far belower than from where he’d started.

The other unforgettable thing about my Grandpa is his relentless activity. He was unusually a sprightly man till a few days before his last breath. From the time he came to live with us, I came to know even more about him. It’s been around seven years since he left his hamlet in the mountain then his town on the road to Gorkha bazaar for living with us. Ever since his arrival, I was at the same time both shocked and impressed by his activity. He came to be a great assistant to my mother in her housework drudgery.  From working in backyard garden to paddy fields to tending to livestock to sanitizing the surrounding, he shocked people with his untiring activity.

People might say he has passed away at a ripe old age causing no trouble and hardship to family members. He was bed-ridden for only a few days in hospital. He died peacefully surrounded by his family. In a sense, his death might be coveted by those waiting for their last breath.

I, however, feel differently. Somewhere I feel the roof is gone and we’re exposed to the temptations of indolence and self-gratification. We’re mired in the decadence of urban life and are slowly leaving behind the values that kept my grandfather going till his last moment.

The inspiration might have been gone from its tangible form. However, his perpetual presence in our hearts and minds will at least keep guiding us on our way to future. Losing him is certainly a great shock. Nonetheless, I’m somewhat consoled by the fact that we still have our saintly grandmother with us.

May his departed soul rest in eternal peace.

What is beautiful?

This is beautiful. The cluster of two small buildings (recently built after devastating quake of 2072 BS). You can see women basking in the morning sun. An overhead pigeon nest stands facing the buildings. A small tiered altar with holy basil planted on it in the left corner. And, a patch of greens in the foreground.

There is one thing missing in the description above. The stone wall that surrounds and supports the front yard of the cluster. The wall though not very magnificent didn’t take long to earn my admiration upon the first sight. Viewed a few meters away and a lower position from the wall in the morning autumn sun, the beauty of it then suddenly became prominent and admirable.

(Taken on 17th Oct. 2018)

Why FIFA World Cup Title is Beyond the Reach of the Runt

Croatia didn’t lose the Final. It was not France even. It was FIFA which defeated Croatia because FIFA simply doesn’t want any other country except rich, big and powerful take hold of the 18-carat gold trophy.

France never deserved the win. The free kick and penalty awarded to France were not what they were supposed to be. Last year’s corruption scandal at FIFA, resignation of Blatter and the eventual election of Infantino as the honcho speaks volume about the dynamics of collusion and conspiracy going on around such big and important events as World Cup.

Croatians victimized. It’s as clear as the broad daylight. Sadly, this Croatian defeat doesn’t bode well for other similar aspiring nations. This carefully orchestrated ‘Croatian Defeat 2018’ spells the end of hope of winning the title ever for any other underdog or runt out there.

Football is the poor’s game. Ordinary, common people’s game. All those running, jumping, sweating, falling over, tripping,  and injuries: the rich don’t like it. But why it is always the powerful and rich to take home the WC trophy?

Lately we’ve been seeing multiracial European teams. Blacks have dominated European football now but Europe has never been a black continent, has it? It’s easy for the rich to buy up the poor for their own comfort and petty benefits. This grotesque act of buying and selling of the poor is hidden beneath the veil of ‘encouraged immigration’.

Someone has said somewhere, ”If you think Blacks are physically more robust and fast, then you’re opening a door to a very racist and lopsided idea that Whites are innately more intelligent and reasonable.”

Very rightly said.