मेरो जिब्रो एउटा उपनिवेश जहाँ मलाई पूर्वजहरुसँग जोड्ने मेरो मुटुको भाषालाई विस्थापित गरेर आधिपत्य जमायो बाँच्नको लागि चाहिने भाषाले हाम्रा कथाहरु दबाउँदै हाम्रा स्मृतिका पानाहरु मेटाउँदै आगन्तुक शब्दका आवाजले जरा गाडे मेरो बाल मस्तिस्कमा अनि, लज्जित बनायो आदेश अनुसार बटारिन नमान्ने जिब्रोले गलत, अप्रासंगिक शब्द फुत्किने डरले मुटुमा रातदिन राज गर्‍यो…

Every year, monsoon winds arrive, soaking the dusty, parched valley floor faraway, hills tumble down to meet the river outside, the galli becomes a rivulet inside, the family of three start their annual rain dance of carefully choreographed steps with pots and pans and old paint cans placing them here, there, everywhere moving them, again and again to catch the heavenfall in…

Rush back from school in the afternoon. Throw bookbag to a corner. Eat a snack. Sit cross legged on the floor across from Mother. Fold old magazines into rectangles, big and small. Brush over homemade rice glue on the sides. Fold. Voila! Paper bags to hold sugar, beans, eggs, more. …

Looking down from the perch in Swayambhu where tourists jostle with the locals for the view, you see a multi-headed hydra sprinting towards layers of emerald hills guarding Kathmandu valley and the jagged diamond peaks beyond, gobbling up gold green fields along the way, guzzling aquamarine ponds and lakes, spitting out silver slivers of asphalt that crisscross rivers’…

“Modernize!” They told us when we were young Don’t wallow in old wives’ tales, antiquated norms Don’t use what you have in gardens, in your own homes “Buy. Buy. Buy.” They said and we all went along After we lost our elders’ knowledge, our grandparents’ way They are teaching us the…