हेरौं तिमीलाई आखाँ थाक्दैन,

पर्खौं तिमीलाई मन मान्दैन ।

That day, I chose the bus over a ride-sharing app, not because I had to, but because I wanted to feel what it was like to move with the world instead of watching it pass.
The bus was crowded, and Kathmandu was loud in all its familiar ways. Kalimati, Teku, Baneshwor……names passing through the windows like unfinished sentences.
Everyone seemed to be going somewhere. A student carrying tomorrow on their shoulders, an office worker already tired of today, strangers counting minutes, eyes fixed on destinations they could not afford to miss.
And there I was, the only person who had nowhere particular to be.
Funny, isn't it? How a bus can be full of people yet leave you alone with the loudest thoughts.
I watched them hold their places in the crowd, squeezing through narrow spaces, rushing to get ahead, as if life were a train that would leave them behind if they dared to breathe.
Perhaps that is what growing up means,learning to run before you understand where the road is taking you.
We call it ambition. We call it responsibility. Sometimes, we call it survival.
And somewhere between the noise and the traffic, I began to understand the power of money.
Not the money that buys everything, but the money that buys you a choice.
The choice to avoid the crowd, to trade an hour of discomfort for a little peace, to decide when to leave, where to go, and whether you want to follow the rush at all.
Perhaps the richest person is not the one who owns the most, but the one who can afford to stop running without being afraid.
That day, I had chosen the bus. Others had chosen their destinations. And for a little while, I was grateful to be the one who didn't need to arrive anywhere.
Because maybe life isn't always about getting off at the right stop.
Maybe, sometimes, it is about looking out of the window and realizing that everyone is in a hurry to reach a place where they hope they will finally have time to live.

उनलाई अझै धेरै माया दिन्थे।

मन पर्ने झुम्का उपहार दिन्थे।

उनलाई अल्ली बढी ध्यान दिएर हेर्थे,

मिल्ने भए अँगालोमा लिएर बेर्थे।

तिमी झोक्राएको देख्दा, किन चुप बस्थे र,

फूल दिन्थे, तारिफ को माला गास्थे म।

I stepped outside of the building, a cold breeze hit my skin like I had been slapped on my cheeks. I looked up with papers in my hand, dark gloomy clouds over my head, “ah, shitty day, I didn’t even bring an umbrella with me” I said. No matter the surrounding, my brain was occupied, “occupied” a word with lesser heavier weight. 

My eyes wandered right across me, and I saw a bench under a tree, before I knew my legs had already taken me there. 

Sitting across the building I just came out of, with the cold breeze hitting the surface of my skin felt more like nature’s way of telling me something that my mind wasn’t able to decrypt. 

“What would have been easier” I thought. No matter what I say, he is not going to do chemo. No matter what I say… 

Sometimes I wish, if I could just cry my heart out infront of him, maybe that would make his heart a little softer for me, maybe that would make him want to live more years for me, for me. 

Staring at the building, a tiny drop of salt water started to drop on the papers that were resting on my lap. Paper with his CAT scans, papers that said his cancer had metastasized. 

In all 24 years of my life, I have never felt this helpless, not even when I was bullied back in school but looking at that piece of paper that said worse things about his health, can I ever make peace with him for not wanting to do any further treatment ?

That I had seen him slowly fading away cell by cell every single day? That I had known him when he was healthy, talking to me just fine as always to now seeing blood-stained pillows, to blood everywhere? Had I been in his place, what would he have done ? 

Sometimes I feel like that’s the God’s most torturing way to remind me that I have to pray to him, pray for his health and acknowledge his existence in exchange for hope that a miracle can fix everything that been ruined in last 4 weeks of our lives. 

Sometimes I think isn’t it a death sentence too? For him, for me ? Watching him slowly losing his senses, hardly able to walk, eat or sleep, watching him move his feet towards his grave, isn’t it a death sentence to me as well? 

Doesn’t he love me ? He didn’t even care to do what doctors recommended with my eyes full, waiting for his approval to give a rest to my wrenching heart, just for once if he could say Yes to the treatment, even if that doesn’t end well, that could buy me his few more years, few more memories that I can hug every time I close my eyes when I remember him.

Just once ? 

But the reality is far different than the tug of war I’ve in this mind, there’s no way I can make him agree as he is always this stubborn, so much so that he is teaching me how to live without him. As unfair as it is to me, sometimes I wish if death gonna be gentle to him, watching him in pain all these weeks is almost like getting stabbed 135 times in my body. Sometimes I wish if he were gone by now, swiftly, painlessly, if he really had to go, ! Sometimes I wish, if I were him, if I were the one getting this fucking cancer in my lungs and not him. 

No matter how much I ridicule him, god, and myself, my reality isn’t gonna change, in next few weeks or months, I’m gonna have to live without him, I gonna have to live with myself or without myself, and I’m sentence to death for life. 

We have nothing, and somehow, that is the one thing we cannot admit.
So we fill our mouths with stories, our lives with noise, and our faces with the kind of certainty that makes nobody ask questions.
We walk into rooms as if the world belongs to us, carrying an emptiness that has nowhere to go.
Perhaps the saddest thing about being human is learning how to look full when there is nothing left inside.
We keep collecting things, people, memories, anything that might make the silence less obvious.
And when someone asks how we are, we give them the answer we have spent our whole lives rehearsing.
We are fine. We have everything.
And God, how exhausting it is to be nothing and still have to look like someone.

when I lose myself, i find myself immersing in that one thought, thought that wanted to be a reality so bad and but it didn't. I didn't care to explain and reality didn't care enough to have mercy on this body.

every now and then, i see the version i could've become...I have become one with isolation that now even crying seems like a selfish act of love. love that i lost in me thousand years ago. i am not exactly sad though. i am in transcendental phase or that's what my mind wants it to believe none the less, i am sailing a ship with headless caption, i hear the birds screaming to their lungs for right direction and i see my self as a corpse who hasn't realized that this body is dead.

I spent years trying to become someone the world could love
soft enough to be held,
beautiful enough to be chosen,
quiet enough to be kept,
broken enough to be understood.
What a fucking tragedy to spend a lifetime auditioning for a place in rooms I could have left.
But look at me now.
I am no longer begging mirrors to tell me I am beautiful.
I have seen myself in the aftermath
eyes swollen, heart ruined, whole worlds collapsing behind my ribs and still, I got up and made myself breakfast.
Tell me, what is more beautiful than that?
I am the girl who survived the things she never had the language for.
The woman who learned that being alone is not the same as being unwanted, that a quiet life is not a failed one, that losing someone does not mean losing the part of me that made me worth loving.
I don't want to be everyone's favorite. I want to be my own damn home.
A place I don't have to earn entry to. A body I don't punish for existing. A heart I don't abandon just because somebody else did.
And no I will not make myself smaller to fit inside somebody's limited imagination. I will not call my fire arrogance just because it makes cowards uncomfortable. I will not apologize for taking up space in a world that taught women to disappear beautifully.
Let them misunderstand me. Let them leave. Let them tell stories about the woman they could not keep.
I have my own story to finish.
And God, I want to live it recklessly ,buy myself flowers without a reason, wear the dress, take the picture, dance badly in my room, laugh until my stomach hurts, fall in love with the ordinary miracle of being alive.
I want to look at my reflection and see more than a face waiting to be approved.
I want to see a history. A thousand little survivals. A woman who kept becoming even when nobody was watching.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped asking, “Why wasn't I enough for them?”
And started asking something far more dangerous:
“Who the hell told me I wasn't enough without them?”
Now, I am not waiting to be rescued. I am not standing at the door of a life that belongs to me, hoping somebody will invite me inside.
I am the invitation. I am the arrival. I am the woman I came back for.
And if I have to spend the rest of my life learning how to love myself, then let the years come.
I have spent enough of them trying to be worthy of someone else's love.
This time, I am the someone.

Originally posted this in r/NepalSocial yesterday. I just found this sub and thought this reflection might fit better here.

Still re-writing, apparently.

Sometimes I miss the version of life where nothing important depended on me.

Not because I hate adulthood. I actually love the life we have built, and I would not trade my wife, my kids, or the responsibilities that come with them for anything.

But every once in a while, I miss the lightness.

There was a time when a bad day meant an exam, an argument with a friend, or wondering what we were doing that weekend. The problems felt enormous then, of course. They just had very different stakes.

Now there is family, work, money, health, aging parents, and the quiet responsibility of making sure the people you love are okay.

Some days it feels like carrying a small committee of responsibilities around in your head.

I think that is partly why Frost’s image of the two diverging roads comes back to me more often as I get older. Not because I regret the road I took. I don’t.

But once you travel far enough down one road, I think it is natural to occasionally look back and wonder what it might have felt like to walk the other one a little longer.

And the strange part is, if someone actually offered me the chance to go back, I already know my answer.

I wouldn’t.

I would not give up the people I love, the life we built, or even most of the responsibilities that sometimes exhaust me.

I just miss the lightness.

It's very nice how certain people make you reflect on things you haven't paid much attention before. There is a person who makes me curious about how I see the world, and in that course, I don't know why but I find myself paying attention to the smallest things about her. He knows what choices to make, knows oneself so well and knows where he stands.

Some people are so admirable even without any extra gesture k, the more I notice, the more I admire.

And I am aware.

I mean, I was just thinking about life, especially my adult life. And yeah, every time I do, I get a bit sad. It feels like I've just been wasting my youth each and every day. I mean, my late 20s are already here, and I still feel like I'm not free.

I mean, yes, I get it. When you live with your family, especially in a Nepali family, you're tied up with so many things. You have to think about everyone and everything, and your individuality kind of gets lost in the process. You don't really get to behave like the individual person that you are. I mean, just take someone your age in a Western country and compare their life to yours. We're all kind of confined by this unnecessary leash. But not everyone's life is like that. There are many people who, even here, are living the sort of life they want.

I just don't feel like I'm my age, you know? I look at myself and then look at people my age around me, and I don't know, I feel kind of insecure. I don't know if that's the right word, but I feel like they're so much older than me, so much more mature, and that they've experienced so many more things than I have. They're much more independent than me.

I don't know why I have such a hard time even just being myself. Yes, I live with my family and all that, so obviously I can't expect to have the super chill kind of life that many people have. And I'm kind of jealous of that, but you know what I mean.

I've been frustrated by this for so long, and it's still going on. I don't know what the end to this is or how things are going to change.

I was actually quite interested in writing about this and pouring my heart out, but now I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. My brain feels foggy, and I don't even know what else to write. But yeah, that's what's been happening.

I was hanging out with my cousin yesterday, and even then, I felt so insecure and, I don't know, sad about myself. It hit me that I've missed out on so many things in life, that I'm still not able to "be myself," and that I'm missing out on everything.

Ughhh, I could go on and on and on about this, but yeah, you know what I mean.

So yeah, thanks for reading. And if you're also someone who can relate to this and wants to talk or something, feel free to reach out.

You don't need a room full of people who know your favourite song or the stories you tell when you're stressed.

You need one who notices when you laugh and when it sounds different, who lets you be quiet without making you feel distant.

One who knows the parts of you that never make it to the conversation, who stays when there's nothing to gain, and never makes you feel like being yourself is asking for too much.

Because most people will share a table with you, a few will share a memory, and fewer still will understand the person sitting right in front of them.

You can know a hundred people and still have nobody to call when life gets too heavy to explain.

So if you find that one person, the one you don't have to pretend around, the one who makes ordinary days feel a little less ordinary, hold on to them.

Not everyone you meet is meant to know you.

Some people will only know your name, some will know your stories, but if you're lucky, you will get the one who will know you.

There are so many thing i want to do. There are so many things i want to buy. There are so many places i want to visit. I am falling in love with my life once again. I thought i wont be able to move ahead or have will to do anything. I am so happy i could die. Maybe we do find people in the right timing or they do find us. Either way i am grateful. What more could i possibly ask for. Thank you to everyone who has been kinder me to. I surely was struggling few months ago. Even the little how are you was something i needed. Life surely does get better. I am grateful.

Wont it be great

To have all those dreamt

All the wishes fulfilled

All them all those all they

All everything wished

But what if the wishes were faint

Not so strong not so strong

Not so wishes good for oneself

Wouldnt it be great

To wish good and have courage to do so

Wish good for the world and oneself

To wish love and good life

Wouldnt it be great just great

When numbers doesnt matter

What matters is the taste

When the number isnt really of value

When the quantity doesnt bother

But the quality stays the same

When number dont matter

But they still matters someway

But not so like

What quality touches instead

If tomorrow

If tomorrow never comes

But it has come everyday

If yesterday has gone past

But it still lingers today

And if today was the day

To live by to be by

But tomorrow is the day

And so was yesterday

It is as though the whole world passed a secret from mouth to ear mere seconds before I was born, and no one ever spoke of it again. Everyone knows it, or feels it, yet not a single soul is kind enough to tell me what the wind whispered to all the world twenty years ago.

I have sought some way to unearth this knowledge of myself, buried so deep, but it remains beyond my reach. For as long as I can remember, those upon whom I have bestowed my affections have turned me away. How could a child, that very emblem of innocence, stir such violent feeling? There is no reason to believe I was born incapable of blossoming. Yet the garden in which I was planted upon entering this world seems darker than a garden ought to be.

Can they smell it? Am I rotten within, and when they draw near, do they recall the sacred, forbidden words spoken before I came into this world?

And more than that: it is as though every act, every sentence, every movement of mine breeds further decay.

I was not born to dwell among the clean, the pure, the ordinary. Yet I could still bring rot upon the worst person you have ever known.

I leave a trail of putrefaction, but before it comes a prelude of chaos and ruin, felt while I am still miles away.

No one in all my life has ever known where to lay their hands upon me. They have never known what to do with me. A creature worthy of pity, and therefore tolerable, yet so loathsome that I cannot be cast aside. The merest touch could alter the entire course of your life; I could infect you.

I am left there, in some forgotten corner, until a force beyond anyone’s control removes me from the room.

The room will remain infected, but the parasite is gone.

What has changed? You seemed worried.

Nothing much I lack confidence now I get a little tired everytime I think I have to live a long life,

My body got heavier again

Not like I have gained weight, well it might be true at some case

But it’s a different feeling of weight

Rather than heavy, it’s more like A freely flowing seaweed is being pressured by a stone and now it lost all its control, submerging slowly not even resisting to try to get free

It’s a sharp cold pain flowing and making you numb with bitterness.

I do not wish for its end no more

I do not wish for better days

if I could wish, I would have wished to never be here, though this pain might be new for me, it is not new for this world

Several before me have been burdened with this feeling and several after me will too

As a human you cannot stop this, if you did , it would stop making you human anymore.

The pain resided and I am being accustom to the deep water

Now I don’t wish no more I simply dare to exist as I have no courage to end this anymore

I am not the protagonist of the story so I don’t even have the line for the end

I will go just like how everyone else goes, silent, cold and a grin in my face cuz I lost it all

wrote this back when I kinda was depressed now its kinda back cuz of this festive season, I tend to get lonely these special occasions, needed to post as a small cry for help

How's life? How is everything going on ? A simple question to start with but a deep deep answer hidden underneath " fine" & "alright".

Tbh I am not alright, ok?

And maybe that's ok too. Is anyone satisfied with life and their state anyways, if they are hats off to them and Cheers. If no yeah bros we are still stuck in Samsara's cycle as they say.

The way to get rid of all desires ; " Kaam Krodh Lov Moha" but we aren't on that level yet, at least I am not and I know it.

Until then this hollow world and self inflicted troubles, sorrow lives on, Inside.

​

If everything that you ever wished for came true,

Will you ever have a last wish?

If every goal you ever set is fulfilled,

Will your ego have any limits?

If everyone you ever loved became yours,

Will your heart ever be this strong?

If everything is destined for as fate,

Will my every effort go as vain?

Perhaps, the END

When life throws tantrums,

She begins to saunter,

Hoping to stumble upon verity.

She finds solace in nature,

Somber yet rhapsodic.

Ruminating, she gazes toward the water slipping through the leaves.

There, a beauty stands ineffable.

She begins to admire the ruffled petals and the growing bud,

Witnessing a reverie of daylight.

All struggles vanishes like mist,

And there she finds peace.

They are searching for love in softness,

While I am setting a fire from within.

They try to appear good on the outside,

While I'm showing them their true nature,

The hidden nature behind the mask.

The moment they see their true colors,

They become uncomfortable seeing the,

Cruelty, lies, and betrayal within them.

They try to act normal,

Become silent.

I read them through their silence.

They become even more uncomfortable.

When there's no point left,

Even their nervousness speaks for itself.

Such a simple word… isn’t it?
But when it happens with a person,
it’s never… that simple.

You don’t even realize when someone slowly becomes a habit.
They walk in quietly
make a place in your heart
and one day, they walk out
as if it was nothing.
Tell me why does it always hurt more than it should?

I know I get attached too easily.
And every time, I promise myself not to…
But somehow…
the story repeats itself.

A few days ago,
I met a girl on a social platform.
We talked,
we laughed,
we shared little pieces of our lives.
And without noticing something inside me changed.

I won’t call her my first friend
but what I felt was real.
Something close.

Then time passed.
She told me about another friend,
someone she was already close to.
She told me how
when he decided to delete all his social media accounts,
she blocked him.
Not because she hated him
but because she couldn’t bear to watch him walk away.

And that’s when I teased her.
I smiled and said
“What if I do the same?
What if I disappear too?”

She didn’t even hesitate.

She looked at me and said
“We’re not even that close.
I don’t mind that much about you.
You’re fun to talk to, yes…
but that’s all.”

That one line
hit harder than anything.
In a single moment
every smile,
every conversation,
every fragile little hope I had built inside

it all felt
tarnished.

It is funny how little it takes
to make a place feel different.
A familiar face, a passing thought,
the chance of seeing someone
you have no real reason to look on.

I have never known what to make of you.
Sometimes I think there is something there,
then you look straight through me
and I feel little stupid for thinking of you..

Perhaps you are simply like that.
Perhaps I have mistaken indifference for mystery.
There is no way of knowing,
and I suppose that is what gets to me.

I could ask, but I won't.
Pride has its uses, after all,
and I would rather live with a question
than an answer I cannot undo.

Still, I wish things were simpler.
I wish I could see you
without wondering if you see me too.
I wish a passing moment
could remain just that,
a passing moment,
instead of something I remember later
and examine for no good reason.

The truth is, nothing has happened.
You have given me no reason to hope,
nor any particular reason to stop.
You are simply there,
and I am left to make sense of it.

Perhaps this will pass.
Most things do, eventually.
But I suspect I will remember
how strange it was to feel so much curiosity
about someone who may never have been curious
about me at all.

What a waste, perhaps.
or perhaps not. I haven't decided yet.

Caste prejudice is far less prevalent in cities nowadays, although nothing has changed in rural regions. As a result of occupational changes, increased education, their own efforts to emulate the upper castes and consolidation of political power, urban Dalits in the Terai have moved up in status. The National Report says, "Over the last 15-20 years, six groups, namely kath baniya, Rajbhar, Dhanuk, Sudi, Kalwar and Teli have socially upgraded their status from the water unacceptable to the water acceptable community within the Tarai origin Hindu caste groups."Sundhi also known as Sodhi or Sundi or Sudi or Sudhi or Shoundika, is an Indian caste whose traditional occupation has been brewing of alcoholic drinks.[1][2][3] The Sundhis are included in the extremly backward category in the states of Bihar, Jharkhand and Odisha,[4][5][6] though according to Suratha Kumar Malik, Sundhis of Koraput district of Odisha belong to the Dalit community, who are hooch traders and do small businesses.[7] They are considered as Scheduled Caste in West Bengal, where they are also known as Shunri (except Saha). balen shah also belongs to sudi caste. even some members of sudi castes started using kushwahas surname mahato to hide thier caste now days and claim upper status vaihsya as themselves but actually they are lower middle caste in madeshi socitey just above dalits. I posted this for correct information regarding sudi caste no hate towards any community

source:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caste_system_in_Nepal

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sundhi

https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/patna/sudi-community-demands-ebc-status-greater-political-representation/articleshow/121709602.cms