My World

How often is it that we make a plan to meet someone but they do not show up on time? Half an hour later; an hour later of the depicted time is considered to be normal; especially for casual gatherings. The justification? The traffic: yes; one of the major reasons for us being late, got stuck in work: another, but here is one of the major justifications: Nepali time. What is the Nepali time? Do we have a separate time frame for Nepal or does the time adjust itself according to Nepali standards? Why is it justified for others to come later than the anticipated time or for us to actually expect that they are going to show up late anyway? Why is it okay to understand that when someone says they will show up on time, we are almost certain that they are going to show up later, which makes us move along their rhythm of presence? How often have we worked on the clock of the Nepali time? Is it safe to say the “Nepali time” is one of the reasons most Nepalese love to procrastina

He loosened the tie on his neck as he rang the doorbell. His shoulders ached from the long day it had been. Shifting the strap of the bag on his shoulder, he sighed. “Why is it taking so long?” he mumbled in the empty corridor. His stomach roared with agreement. The door finally seemed to open after what seemed like years. “Sorry, I was in the kitchen” his wife said, taking his bag off his shoulder. “Long day?” she asked as she rushed back into the kitchen tossing his bag on the sofa. “I guess”, he slumped down on the sofa beside the bag. “I’m making mixed fried rice, I hope you’re hungry!” she called out from the kitchen. His stomach responded instead of him. She laughed that merry laugh he had fallen for when they first met. “I heard that. I’ll take that as a yes.” He reached for the remote. “Why don’t you go change first? Get fresh. I’ll set dinner”. He could hear her stirring away. Before he could answer her question, a shrill voice fille

Have you ever wondered, how often we appreciate the people around us for the effort they make; for the things they do; for the care they give? Do we say a few words to let them know that we appreciate them; let alone show or do little gestures of appreciation? Would it not be better if our bosses appreciated our work a little more; besides just slapping in the money in your account every month? Would it not be better if our teachers appreciated our efforts in class a little more, besides the fact that they gave you good marks? Would it not feel better if our children realized all that we do for them and why we are being doubtful and protective instead of arguing with us? Would it not feel better if our wives or husbands appreciated the effort and time we commit towards them instead of just taking us for granted? Would it not be better if our friends understand the time and effort we give to keep the relation strong instead of just thinking the other person should contact

“Do you believe in luck?” she asked. He laughed. His laughter filled the cold atmosphere in the hilltop restaurant they were in. She looked over at him, frowning. “I’m serious.” “Oh”, he didn’t know what else to say. “Do you believe in luck?” she tried again. “I believe in you” he smiled. And that was it. She was the one who made him wish on every shooting star they would see together, every eyelash she would catch, every four leaf clover they would find, and every 11:11 on the clock that they happened to catch. And he did it. He didn’t really believe in all these. He didn’t really believe that blowing on a fallen eyelash or wishing on a shooting star, or catching 11:11 on the watch would somehow magically make his life better.   That seemed impossible. But he still did it: for her. And he still does it, after all these years, even after she has been gone, even after losing her in an accident, he does it: for her. He didn’t believe in them back then,

The time on her mobile phone, that was the first thing she glanced at as soon as she got off the microvan, at her stop. 9:15 pm. The screen read. Thankfully, the microvan had not been that crowded, but not as deserted of passengers either. It’s funny, she thought, how the place that was so lively and full of people during the daytime could turn into the creepiest, most eerie place at night. She tightened the grip around her bag as if it could become her shield and hesitantly took a step forward toward the dark street deprived of streetlights. She wished she could have made it a little earlier out of her friend’s party but everyone was having so much fun, she barely wanted to leave. A few lighted houses here and there barely gave the street some light. She took out her mobile phone again. This time, she turned on the torchlight on her phone. Some noise could be heard nearby. Her eyes quickly darted left and right in the barely lit street. She saw a cart s