Journal? Yeah, whatever that is.


5th February, 2015

After the prolonged hours of wintry darkness, the dawn just broke in the hamlet of Kalimpong, Sipping a steamy cup of tea, unfolding a newspaper and going through every headlines of it is a prior and a prominent chore of a journalist.

Wondering when will winter move on and leave me aloof, I pierced the enveloping misty fog with my scooter and reached the drowsy hamlet. I’m often mocked, for the place I live is a pollution free outskirt, to be driven or ridden for twenty minutes from Kalimpong town. Sarcasm goes like, ‘where do you stay?’
My honest reply, ‘14th mile’ and annoyance creeps from within with the prolonged conversation, ‘Oh! That’s reallllllyyyyy far, how do you manage to come town everyday’ and I, on my mind “Well does that really matter? Look at yourself, you are ugly as a toad, did I say anything?” but vocally, ‘there are amazing inventions, it’s called cars and scooters, do you get it?’

Okay, Dambar Chowk now or Maharani Chowk centuries ago, is the heart of Kalimpong, and what I saw today will undeniably make the readers question the social workers around, definitely who the hell cares?

A drifter is swollen and puffed-up in Dambar Chowk since last two-three days and normally a vagabond has no family, it’s the NGO’s  whom they look forward to, for the basics like food, clothing and shelter.

I have introduced you with the drifter, so.

Let’s make this interesting, answer yourself or have a tête-à-tête with your conscience, the inner voice which you call.

Question number 1, ‘If you see a man, a vagabond type, trudging to die in a path next to Taj Bakery or anywhere you are, what would you do?’

Question number 2, ‘Had you been running an NGO with your interest to help the disadvantaged, would you leave him under the roof of the sky just after adding a cover or a quilt?’

Question number 3, ‘would your so called ‘humanitarian ground’ stoop somewhere very low into the part of self-centeredness?’


Question number 4, ‘Why would you run an NGO?’

6th February 2015

After the prominent schedule of ‘Wake-up, eat, work, work again, eat, sleep, and REPEAT,’ days keep passing. It don’t seem to get warmer, how long do we have to snug inside a furry coat? Thinking of the Vagabond, is he dead yet?

Interestingly, a journalist is a soul who has sold her/his {gender conscious, bloody saying ‘ladies first’ if so, it should be this (her/his) way} humanity to a saint. But let me clarify the misconception, of course, we feel sorry for losses but we don’t have time to depict physically, as in TEARS. We jot things down like, number of people murdered, number of partially murdered etc., in a slip pad and ask questions to the ones who possibly wanted some time of isolation and get back to Microsoft Word with a fresh emotion. Yes, we have to let go of the empathy within us. What we feel is perhaps, temporary, so be careful when a journalist say ‘I Love You.’ 😉

Let us save some humor for the future.

I reached Dambar Chowk-the reporter’s hub in the afternoon, I thought the vagabond was dead, I looked at the place where his bedclothes were fixed but he was not to be seen, I got an empathetic tremor from the interior part of my soul, ‘where is he’ was noticeable with my random eye movement, I somehow saw him next to a fruit shop located before Taj Bakery.

He was hungry; a reporter bought him a cup of tea and a bun from Taj where I kept observing. He instantly wolfed everything.

He still was swollen, he required medication. I had to leave to attend an interaction organized by Focus Kalimpong with the Indian Nepali Cinematographer Binod Pradhan. The interaction was conducted by the best orator or the Mike coordinator of Kalimpong, Suraj Mani Pradhan. (Pradhan’s are taking the lead, it seems) but my mind was focused somewhere else, the Swollen Vagabond, I was expecting some NGO to admit him to the sub-divisional hospital.

By the time I got back to D.C, I was late and a plight of a reporter is their DEADLINE. We don’t even prolong a conversation with our crush when we are late to meet Microsoft Word. Run behind schedule, your news is dropped. ‘Hope for the best and get prepared for the worst’ should be a tag line of a journalist.

I had to ride home.

7th February 2015,

I could happily listen to a definition of ‘personal life of a reporter’ what would it possibly be like? Romance? Oh! Today is, Rose day? Did anyone gift me a cactus? Rose has thorns anyway. 14th February is approaching, yaaaayyyy!
Nonsense! Rose, chocolate, kiss, propose, teddy and valentine day’s are so much appropriate if it’s renamed like our regular Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Rose, chocolate, kiss, propose, teddy and valentine makes us less happy, it’s only Sunday that eases and comforts us. Why don’t scholars engrave ‘stay home with a bottle of wine in your bed day’ in the calendar? This should repeat every month. Isn’t it?

Whatever day it may be, eventually it’s, ‘what are you filing today?’ that we have to hear.

The swollen Vagabond?

I’m not procrastinating, I’m not lazy to write but he was out of my vision today. Out of sight but not out of mind.

Looking for ACMO, I along with a reporter acquainted in a Nepali daily reached a leprosy hospital. People, if you are sick and frustrated out of your life, better realize it now and thank god that you are not a leper. Because the leper’s I saw were happy gambling in pokers. If they know how to find happiness why can’t you find your own nirvana?

The vagabond again smacks my attention but honestly he was not seen today.

I hope he’s alive.

8th February 2015

Did the subject turn you into an obnoxious monster yet? Wait, is it Sunday? Damn! It’s a total procrastinating day.

Good day!
See you on Monday. 😉