Dear home
My heart is fit for home , my perennial nest, the pearls which fits my mother’s breast . The safe place where I have cried my childhood trauma …
There is a constant flow of warmth within my home, where emotions sculpt semicircular curves on my face, often coaxing tears to roll down my cheeks. The ethereal warmth of my mother’s hand, the sage guidance bestowed by my father in every facet of my life, and the delightful skirmishes with my brother collectively…
On a dreamy Monday in faded blue jeans, I tried to recall moments of laughter, falls, stands, walks, flips, and dances. The…
The dust from the ring road and the street games of Kathmandu is what I grew up in. Though I do not remember it, the…
Perhaps home is where the heart is. Perhaps that is exactly why it’s the first place you learn to run from.
As far as I remember, it started in my early childhood. At least that’s the earliest memory that I can recall. I reminisce about times when my aama used to sunbath with her pals telling…
In the quiet moments of solitude when the buzz of this unknown city surrounds me, I find myself yearning for the familiar embrace of your walls. It's in these moments that i realize the true essence of what you represent-more than just a mere physcial space you are the…
“And in the streets you run a-freeLike it’s only you and meGeez, you’re something to see.