Handful Of My Scribbles: hobbies

hobbies

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Where we come from is a mystery, except for the biological explanations that we have. The blood line, the human race, the evolution – all inconsiderate. Again, Biological explanations? Now, do you know where it comes from? It came from us humans. But wasn't that the question at the first place?

We come from a mystery within a mystery, an assumption within an assumption. We are not distinct in our shapes; internally we all are the spirals of our DNA, we are spherical, cubical and columnar. There are branches to us like there are to compounds. And considering the partial completeness of our interatomic spaces, do we even qualify to call ourselves solitary?

However, we involve in an untiring search for something that differentiates us from everyone else. That excels us from everyone else. Yes, excel would be the right word. Everything here is a competition. It has just been equipped that way.

Developing an era where we even measure how swift an electron moves or how fast the light travels; how can we humans possibly let go the comparison and judgements for something as visible as ourselves?

Amid all these searches and findings, curiosity and verdicts, I too struggle to bloom and blossom. I, at times struggle to live because those are the times when I live the life that others want me to. Otherwise, having a life isn't that difficult a task. And we humans have always been fond of the easy ways.

Though I don't know where I came from, knowledge of where I will end is satiating.

The place is the same where I will be able to communicate with the trees, the clouds, the water, the butterflies and the pandas.

I hope the panda agrees to teach me kung-fu then.

I know that we someday are going to dissolve into the same thing. One of my favourite writers calls it - the soul of the world. I call it arbitrariness. Because, everything looks so different yet all is one.

You are in me and I am in you. We are in her and she is in him. There has to be a mason somewhere with a capability to build various things out of the same raw material. An illustrator who knows to express one thing differently.

And perhaps, someday, when I disrupt into the randomness, I shall be able to find the one.

Till then, I fall in love with everything and everyone around me because that will take me closer to what I have been seeking for.

Till then, be known as the one who falls in love with every little thing!

आज यो बन्जर माटोमा टुसा पलायो

क्षितिजले पनि इन्द्रेणी बीच सँसार सजायो

यो मरुभुमीमा बादल बनी झरीरहनु

मनको रित्तो पानामा रातो मसी कोरीरहनु

तिमी जरा बन म हाँगा बनुला

बेजोड़ मौसममा नी सँगै फुलौला

तिमी सोच बन म शब्द बनुला

सँगै मिली निराकारको आकार कोरौला

आधा वाक्य तिमी भन, आधा म लेखुला।

आवाश कर्मा

About a year back, my dad bought me a book titled ‘Mission Earth, Black Genesis’ by L.Ron Hubbard. I have a taste for sci-fi novels and it was thoughtful of him to pick a book for me but soon I found out that this book belonged to a series ‘Mission Earth Dekalogy’. Yeppp...DEKALOGY! 10 books! What I had in my hand was Vol 2. (Just!)

The following week I tried reading it. Few weeks after that, I was out in the market searching for it’s prequel ‘The Invader’s Plan’. I didn’t succeed in any so that book stayed in my bookshelf unread and discarded. UNTIL recently when I dusted it off and went through it’s pages, I realized how I could make this book mine. I found a way I could detour it from inter-space invasions to interpersonal alliance, through BLACK OUT POETRY!

If you are interested to know what Black-out Poetry is, then PLEASE visit my previous post: Shedding some light on BLACK-OUT POETRY

And here is In a Bundle: My First Attempt at Black Out Poetry.

As aforementioned, your feedback is highly appreciated.

'You're a wonder. Yes, you.'

Remember that.

(This was reposted by an Instagram page dedicated to black out poetry @makeblackoutpoetry as poem of the day. You can also find me on Instagram as @sthaastha)

Love was the first of everything.

The second was that dark secret

I couldn't understand why he drove me crazy.

He didn't seem to be in any rush

yet I was going too fast.

He could ruin me!

My finger was alive with electricity

I yelled, the doors are not locked.

We were tearing through space like madmen,

only a stupid mistake.

And all for nothing!

That's when I found everything beautiful

the people, the music, the dancing,

the fire that filled the skies.

Even our secret, in dreamlike color.

It was too late, too soon

and bad was dedicated to make it worse.

Maybe it was because I was still confused

or because all the wild sparks flying around got me rattled,

but to add pain to injury, he didn;t turn around.

He was half-lying in an easy chair.

He was idly playing a game called "Battle."

The effort had been too much.

She picked up her feet, gathered up

and then put it all back in the cycle of withdrawal.

She was entering a restless, fitful sleep.

Thanks for going through.

I am excited about my second bundle of black out prose and poems.

Do let me know if these words speak to you.

And if this interests you, grab a black pen or marker and a newspaper and start Blacking Out! :)

Maybe or If you are like me, you see different ensembles of words already used once.

And at times, you fascinate yourself when you find poetry in prose.

Expressions, utterances, phrases, promises, tidings. Let’s talk how and when I find soul in words.

This is the sole motto of this post - enabling our eyes to see what’s not visible.

Author Austin Kleon, who is also a cartoonist, who is also a designer and who also seems like a really cool guy came up with this brilliant way to eemmm... ‘recycle words’. It was an instant hit since those recycled words got depth and purpose. I suppose Austin could black out a newspaper article of stock market news and find profitable words (Bad one!). He also has a book titled ‘Newspaper Blackout’ to his name.

I knew nothing about all this whatsoever, until I sat down and googled it’s origin and I am honestly surprised to find this concept just as young as about five years.

Black out poetry for me, is confining yet liberal. However you might want to redact it, whatever you create out of it, is all yours irrespective of the original assembly of words.

HOW TO BE A BLACK-OUT POET?

STEP ONE

Get a newspaper, a leaflet, a brochure, a book, anything in print.

STEP TWO

Basically, I would like to say, "Follow your heart." But yeah...

Find striking/appealing words you want to use in your poem.

STEP THREE

Surround your words with an idea and how you can construct them in their places (trickle down, bottom-up, left to right.)

STEP FOUR

Black out the unwanted words and images.

And there you have it, YOUR BLACK OUT POEM from a prose, open for interpretations.

For my first bundle of Black-out poems, PLEASE have a look at MY BLACK OUT POEMS. They are my first try so your feedback is highly appreciated. :)

Our routine was fixed right from dawn to dark. We were so over and done with snow when we had to find our way up to Poonhill even before day-break. Above the thick dollops of snow, searching for the walking trail which once existed, we traced our way to our final destination of the trip to eyewitness the much-heard-about Sunrise. People from around the world assemble here for this spectacular view. But, Google misguided me as much as others did. I’ll explain.

Do not, I repeat, do not ask the guides or villagers how far a certain place is. If you do, multiply it by at least 2, their one hour equals our two. After three times the fifteen minutes, we reach the top and yet after playing peek-a-boo for anther 25 minutes, the spectacular range comes in view from the hilltop. Perfectly lined up, Annapurna, Dhaulagiri, Macchapuchre and Nilgiri accompanied by a veil of the fogs were not as clear as I expected them on the basis of Google's Image search but it could not have been any better. The intensifying sunlight added an attractive golden gleam on the absolute silver linings. One hand with a cup full of hot tea that could freeze any moment in that given condition, I called home. Though telephone network teases your cell-phone antenna quite a lot all the way, the signal at Ghorepani-Poonhill is durable. Thanks to the Nepal Telecom tower which we kind of mistook for Poonhill tower. Gprs and Wi-Fi works there too. Facebook Check-ins? Anyone?

Best for breakfast is the Tibetan bread, Once we had it, we bid farewell to the friendly owners and set off for our return. Though we could have taken the same route back, we chose a different one instead. Either way it would take 2 days, why not explore? The all-snow covered trail was named by us - the never ending kingdom of our very own personal Narnia.

Excited with all that snowfall, we let an important fact slip out of our heads. It rains partly before snowing and snow melts on our body because of our body temperature. Thus we purchased some warm mittens and wrapped big sheets of green plastics like raincoat preventing ourselves from getting wet. Looking like massive balloons in the snow covered woods we made our way to Ghandruk.

The path challenged us but we carried on with a big fat smile plus greetings to and from every individual we came across. There was concern followed by laughter when anyone of us skidded. It was easy to lose a whole day enjoying the picturesque path that was similar to the posters of Switzerland we had seen that reminded us of the purity of paradise and it was easier to lose one because the way was quite tough to get through.

We let ourselves have a breather at Tadapani as we couldn't make it to Ghandruk that day before sundown.

'It’s cold' is the first remark you will make if you wake up at this altitude in the month of February. Imagine the struggle to brush your teeth and wash your face. Day 2 started like that, soon engulfing us in the wet woods, ferns and big rocks boulevard. The sound of waterfalls, chirping birds and dripping water droplets from the branches above is only trounced by a distinctive sound of bells tied to the neck of the asses used primarily for transportation. Safe Drinking water spots are available at every next settlement but take this suggestion of mine if you ever hike, carry a small bottle of Water purifying tablets or solution and taste the natural spring water.

You can guess how excited we were for snow when I let you know that we bothered almost every person we came across asking about what lies ahead of us and what they left behind them. Some agreed to our enthusiasm, some presaged but each person replied with warmth. Drenched enough in the rain the earlier day, none of us wished for a rain yet it showed up, like everything that we don’t want happens.

Almost immediately, our annoyance melted as the rain droplets started freezing and transformed itself to tiny white ice crystals. SNOW! We danced, jumped, slipped, played, photographed and carved snowmen out of mud mixed snow. We were witnessing snow, first time in our existence of 22 years (in average). Warming up our internal system with a cup of black tea cost us Rs.20 each cup. Still in budget.

The greens were slowly covered with white as we climbed up. Cold Clean Cottony White. Whites overlying the blue roofs, white where once used to be red rhododendrons, white above the yellow grass blooms, white wherever our eyes dwelt. No differentiation between any elements of nature; all white.

Our trekking poles supported us while we passed small bunches of tea houses still comprehending the first feel of snow; and then we reached Ghorepani, approximately six hours later we started.

Bargaining mode on. We reserved a warm cozy place and looking out of the window at that heavy snowfall, thanked our decision of staying at Banthanthi instead of Ulleri the previous day. Despite the weather outside, we passed that evening warm, not just because of the burning woods in the central heating system, but because of the affection and matchless generosity of the Tamang couple who looked after the Guest House where we were the only guests that night. Paying a little more for a stomach-full won't seem a big deal considering how difficult it is to carry food up there where nothing grows.