Humble (the morning poem)

10- Oct- 2009, 8:34am


As the first yellow ray
of sunshine
glimmers on a strand
of a golden straw of a thatched house,
a new born baby yawns
to new born day,
as the first wisp of smoke
from a mud house
makes its way to join the clouds,
as a mother and wife
rattles pots and pans
to feed her family.
As a proud man wakes up
to nurse his blisters in hands
and washes himself up in
a sputtering tap,
I write this poem for you.



chirag Bangdel

....but human....

Okay, I admit I am blogging after a long time. Perhaps I didn’t have anything to record or report to my friends. Well I realize that I have quite a few friends who added themselves to the list of “followers”. Perhaps that’s the blogging term – “followers”. I am not too fond of it. Makes blogging sound like a cult or religion.
I have hardly done anything substantial after my last solo exhibition. Just a few sketches and small paintings. I have finally started working on a book, a project that I have been planning for a long time. But like I say….I just started. It’s an ambitious project and once on I will be very busy. I have a lot of things happening in my head….but until they come to materialize, they don’t mean a thing do they?
When you get things going….is that growth? Is that progress? What do I plan for now? Another concept? Another series of concepts? Another perspective to creativity and art? Another reason for art? Another reason to art or of art? Where do I go from there? Why should art have a reason? Why should art have a concept? Why should art have so many things to worry about? God just creates the rainbow, He never worries about the reason for it!
Yes, so I need to plan again, for my form of expression. Have an exhibition. Maybe write the books that I have been planning. But then what next? Is that what life is all about? Aiming for goals and objectives….working hard to reach them and acquire them. And once you are there….nothing happens. You have done it and that’s it.
And yet I struggle each day to find me a concept. To find me a muse. To find something that no one has never found before. I struggle, I worry. And then I create only to use it all and then to seek all over again.
Life always has two perspectives. One, you make plans and goals and work hard to achieve them and in the process be content. Or two, be content and happy with what you have.
There….that’s my blog for today!

Ramblings after a Bandh day, Life is still good !

I think it was late 2004, when the insurgency was at it’s peak. I was driving towards Kupondole. I was trying to cross the Bagmati Bridge, and as you know that place is always suffocated in a traffic jam. I saw that army personnel were posted at the two ends of the bridge. Right in front of me was a school bus with children. As the bus passed the army men, one of the children who was close to the window lifted his hand to salute an army man. This soldier had a little look of bewilderment, he then smiled and saluted back to the child. This whole incident took place in a few seconds but the memory of it will last with me forever. I will never know what made the child salute the soldier. Curiosity? Or was it the fun in the process? The child must have been around eight to ten years of age. I know this little action of this child made the hours of standing for the soldier a little meaningful. I don’t know how many people saw this entire little escapade. But as you know it’s not just enough to see things you need to “see” things.
I had recently gone to a flower nursery to buy me some flowers. I always try to buy as much flowers during spring for in this season God gets so extravagant. I think we would be stupid if we failed to enjoy His spendthrift mood. I saw these pots of tiny little pansies. You know….not those big ones but those tiny ones that look like tiny butterflies. I decided to get me some pots of those. And among these pots was one pot with these tiny pansies in pure black! I had never seen flowers so intense black! I brought this pot with me home, along with the others and it still blooms at my door step. I show these tiny black pansies to people and most just go an unexcited, flat, soggy “oh!”. They are not excited about a flower which is actually black in colour! I realize beauty and joy is everywhere, but we need the eye and more than that, the heart, to see and feel it.

I just saw some black pansies…..imagine all those flowers in the Tropical forests!!!!!! And all the birds there! There is going to be a beautiful sunrise tomorrow. Trees can be grown from tiny seeds. My dog wags her tail when she sees me. Isn’t life full of joy? Life is so full of magic ! God gives us in abundance, all we need to do is share.


Chirag Bangdel
2 – May – 2010
10:23 pm

Family Affair

Family Affair
(29- April- 2010. 2:30pm)


My brother,
I will meet you
in the battle field tomorrow.
My old wound
still bleeds,
but I have to fight,
I may have loved you
(I still may love you)
but hating is easy
so I will fight.
I have reasons to fight
more than reasons to love,
so I will fight.
So come to the grounds tomorrow,
bring your weapons
and let our blood flow.
The mud will be drenched red.
And maybe if a sayapatri later blooms there,
it will be red too.
We have always been brave,
we have always gone to wars.
Our blood has wet many lands,
let's now wet ours.
My brother,
we need to fight.
We can share,
but we wont.
I want it all.
So do you.

We are born to fight.
Isn’t that why we have the khukuri?




chirag bangdel

Khari ko Ghero

Khari ko Ghero
I just watched the play , “Khari ko Ghero” at Guru kul. The small discreet place was jam packed with people. Guru kul is a place where dreams come alive. It’s a place where ambitions and enthusiams are sky high. It’s a place where everything is possible. Today a river flew on the stage…..houses were burnt, we laughed and cried with the actors.
Khari ko Ghero is a play translated into Nepali. I don’t remember all the details of the original script but if I remember right we were told it was translated into more than forty languages, and the show today proved that it was a perfect translation to cater to the Nepali audience.
I was a little skeptic when I was invited by my friend. I mean there have been times when I have been utterly bored at plays. I mean I need to admit that plays sometimes lose their main purpose of it being an “entertainment” in an attempt to put in a lot of intellectual content. Its not important that all intellectual elements be entertaining. I never loved those big maths formulae.
Getting back to the play Khari ko Ghero, this article is my gratitude to all the people involved in it. It was so beautifully done. Like I said they made literally everything happen on stage. There were songs and dances. And beautifully crafted scenes…..and they did it all with limited resources. A big plastic strip made a river and paper shreds made snow flakes. The equipments and props were all hand made and crude but the performance of the actors could deserve an Oscar.
But what I envy the most in all the artistes is the zeal at what they do. They perform every evening and today they were excited like they were performing for the first time. I came back home excited about the arts. I saw in the artists the tremendous faith they had in what they were doing. I hope I have as much faith in the arts as they do. I am also a little ashmed of myself that four hours ago I was a little hesitant about going to the play. I thank my friend for taking me along.
I salute all artistes who perform on stage, whether the hall is packed with people or with a scanty audience. These artistes who make dreams come true for us. These artistes who act because they want to act and nothing else. These artistes who transform themselves to beggars and kings and yet actors whether they make a living out of it or not.

Khari ko Ghero is a must watch!

Papa

Papa
(one of my oldest poems, written for my late father.)



Papa,
your slippers
were always too big for me.
They still don’t fit me
though now I wear your shirts
and your responsibilities.


I remember
my tiny hands
groping for yours
in the confusion
of a street crossing.
My hands have grown
and your have faded to the skies above.


The difficult Maths problems
you helped me with every night
are so easy now.
But life is heavier
than my school bag to school
and more noisome
than the dangling water tumbler.


I try to shave
and dab the aftershave
every morning
like you did.
But I’ll never be you.

Your slippers are too big.





chirag bangdel
(photograph, my father and me)

Self Portrait

Self Portrait


Drunk with my dreams
I stand high
and touch the sky.
The breeze brings me
a ripe red leaf
and I treasure it for you.

So it’s me above
and the world below.
Every thing is poetry.


See?
I am writing a poem!



chirag bangdel
(earlier published in my collection “Fermenting Flowers”)