We had renounced it all and taken on the yogi’s simple garb, a single piece of cloth that closed around our body and remained on it oh so gently, like the chill of the wind on wet skin. And with the garb we had taken on a commitment to the yogi’s life: non-attachment, non-violence, and dedication to God …
Very very strange thing happen today. I am very happy today. I think i meet girl who i […]
These holy relics, which make me experience something so close to guilt yet a more powerful feeling that […]
Compared to the heavy-handed, anger-driven lyrics of these singles, DAMN. in its entirety, also features pieces by Lamar in which he reflects, mellow and quiet, on his black experience. As opposed to the “creation of a new site where the violence of internalized racism and fear sublimated into rage can be transformed to target institutionalized racism” in To Pimp A Butterfly, as Siebe Blujis writes in “From Compton to Congress,” DAMN. wants to create a new space for Lamar in which ‘rage’, both against internalized and institutionalized racism, is synthesized into something else, a reflection, a “me versus me” rather than a “me versus the world”.
Strange thing happen today. I am walking with big bag fill of vegetable in thamel i am actually […]
Reproducibility of experience // Outside the Vatican’s St. Peter’s Basilica, approximately 300 people are lined up in 24 degrees of spring heat. This is the line to enter the Renaissance-era Basilica, apparently also the biggest church in the world. The heat is excruciating. Having completed a tiring night of travel and changing-clothes-on-the-road, I am carrying a huge backpack. A train ticket in my pocket has become soggy from my sweat. After almost 2 hours of waiting under the sun, my friends and I are allowed into the Basilica. On our way in, a security guard scans us and our bags.
Lignes de vie (Life Lines), an exhibition of Sheila Hicks’ textile-based artworks currently on display at the Centre […]
Out of the corner of my eyes I saw the end of man’s dignity. It was something very […]
In my home in ason there is no light after ten o clock in night because they do […]
The old man / lurks in the background / …
Today i did namaste to two girls in basantapur because i think they look like tourist but they […]
Everything is in its right place. / The wound is a butterfly, / wrapped in its cocoon. The boy is a / blackbird, the boy sips morning tea / …
She knew. Three years after Juddha Shamsher’s rani found out that the child she had loved and nurtured as her own wasn’t hers, she put on her favorite dhoti and went to visit Shaligram.
The stout man asked her if she wanted to name their newborn son Baburam Bhattarai, and she replied no, no she possibly couldn’t, because she did not want her son to carry the legacy of a man who turned to ashes in a fire that he lit himself but could not control. When she saw that tears had formed in the man’s eyes, she looked into them to see a flame that was burning down his insides.
It was the German writer Goethe who coined the term Weltliteratur, but it is the Nepali poet Bhupi Sherchan who compelled me to consider, seriously, the idea of world literature…