Your Dream, Mine Hope and His Imagination a Psychological game of management

We dream too much good,  hope too much good and imagine too much good but we don’t retain the capability to believe in them. Equally at the same time  we don’t  accumulate courage to turn them reality because most of our dreams are fake with full of ego, hopes are filled with full of selfishness and our imagination fill with a heap of sin to commit- cruel human act. Then our good thinking is captured and hence our ability to adopt moral responsibility towards outer circle, society and the State  get disrobe and chain by ego and self centered view. This later slowly develops as our philosophy . The philosophy of self empowerment (personal gain through misconduct, offend, misuse and fraud). However most people able to  get rid of its radical part  and instead opted liberal part of its development  but  some people 100 out of 3 to 4  get  totally lost by the beauty and attractiveness of the philosophy  and surrender them psychologically. Which result in lack of guilt in wrong doing such as criminal activities and often they end of being criminal, offender and such.

During  its initial development we come to an awareness that the our path “psychological Perception” is heading us towards where we are fundamentally and logically wrong in terms of  what we are learning, what we are influencing ourself  and what we are accepting  but even then we don’t discourage them.  Why to discourage them. When we have developed them , shape them. So Instead we defend them, nourish them, make them more strong by giving more strength, guard them and wall them enough that  no opponent can make it to them no matter we are wrong or right about it.

Our dream, hope and imagination towards physical world is affected by our inner sentiment.  How we view  their appearance and developed our idea about that particular thing. Often  our dream, hope and imagination is the result of our  thought, view, or attitude towards  it.

With support of following reason In my study of Corruption. corruption is act affected by how we view, persuade and give Value towards norms set up by the physical world where we had settled.  So If we give greater attention where corruption are involved no matter of their scale too small or too huge. Every case exists because of the not ineffectiveness instead felling of ineffectiveness norms set up by the State and how we are seeing and valuing them. And secondly drive by three characteristics of corruption “Hope” of becoming rich, “Dream” of getting luxurious and “Imagination” of gaining social respect .  Otherwise who just have enough guts to misconduct  even though there is judiciary that is checking him/her. Due to poor norms, the state of corrupt people always thinks themselves as clever. Clever enough that they can manipulate every black note into white note through their cleverness. Even  all other criminal activities such as  molestation, trafficking, murdering  and heartbreaking criminal activities do exist because of same factor may their might be some slid changes in characteristics  due to the difference in the level of satisfaction he/she may want to obtain through the act .

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I find myself beyond the limitations of identity

I decided long ago I am a ……….. This is the identity I am most comfortable with. Born, raised and educated in a conflicted environment. I am a person extremely sensitive about Nepali communities when with Indian communities, Indian communities when with Nepali communities and Tibetan when with both communities. When outside these communities, I neither know how fully to associate with them, nor know how fully disassociate.

 When very young, perhaps fifth grader, the question of my identity put me in a sort of crisis. Indian history book, Bollywood movies and Indian soil where I spent one third of my life told me numerous times I was an Indian. But the nation where I was born, a nation where my house lies had told me a different story, she convinces me I was a Nepali. Contrary to both arguments  our traditional belief, Chupa my mother wears, languages I speak at home and above all Tibetans in my soul never let me become both. Instead keep on telling me, I was a Tibetan until ultimately I grew confused and embarrassed.

If I was Tibetan, what right did I have to be living here in Kathmandu, speaking Nepali, being friend with those other children and what right I have to ShymbhouNath and BouddhaNath. Eventually if I was Nepali, what right did I had that I have done my schooling in India, to my school uniform, to the Indian national anthem, to local Momo’S of Darjelling and to the holy Bodhgaya. Equally  If I was Indian, what right did my mother have that she wear Chupa, what right I have that I speak Tibetan at home, to Tibetan Losar , to His Holiness.

After too many friends, too many uncles and aunties , too many strangers and tourist had asked me who I was , I went to my father  and question him. Who I was? A Tibetan, a Nepali or an Indian. And my father, so quickly frown and whisper, did not frown and whisper. He was emphatic and definite. But without an answer.  All he said was not Indian for sure, as he has nothing to relate with India but partly I was.  I had so many things to relate.

I whispered to myself am I identityless, no never I am not  identityless, nobody is and even I am not. Is it because of my father who says his father was migrated from Tibet before occupation but he had no evidence to relate to when? Why?  It may be because his foolishness. Or it might be because of the influence of Indian soil that jeopardize my identity. But above all I believed It is because of a strong desire to understand who we're, who we are now  and how our search for identity result in affects in our perception and action. In those searching evenings I called myself………. I loved the word because being it , I find myself beyond the limitation of identities.  

I search for a character

Every hour, I look at the mirror, trying to locate the ‘me’ behind the heavy makeup. I check my eyelashes, my lipstick, the expensive designer dress that perfectly reflects ‘beauty,’ and yet something is missing. Something that people say I have lost. And I lust for what is lost, although I do not understand the mechanisms through which society points it out.

My mobile rings. The person on the other side says he’ll pick me up in five minutes. I hang up after the approval. The gadget, very costly, was gifted to me by a top businessman from the town. I gaze at my sari, again in the mirror. It’s a present from one of those famous anchors on television. One by one, I calculate the price (and the donors) of everything I wear—from the hairpins, to the nail polish. Alas… Nothing is mine. As tears roll down my cheeks, I accept that my body is not mine.

The sharp sound of the horn brings me back to the present and my observation of myself in the mirror. I wipe the two small drops, puff a little powder, and look at the mirror one last time. I know that as long as my beauty and youth survive, I survive. I put on my sandals, and before I can remember whose present these were, the car horn sounds again. I lock the door and head towards the red car. The man, who is among the city’s most renowned personalities, opens the door and smiles an artificial smile. I hate such smiles, but reluctantly smile back.

I sit beside him. He stares at me for a few seconds. His eyes then slip downwards, scanning my whole body with them as if with an X-ray machine. As if he was a doctor about to write a prescription for my illness, my poverty, based on the results of the X-ray. I look straight in his eyes. He looks away, and starts driving. Our journey starts at 11, and as he drives, I recall the journey of my life. Had I been in the village, my mother would’ve been planning her grandchildren’s names right now. Had my father been alive, I would, perhaps, have never needed to leave the village.

Prosperity is a boon. Only the poor can understand the pain that comes with their poverty. My mother and I had already seen the worst times of our lives. There could be no worse than this, my mother thought. So, when Resh proposed that he would marry me, she was more than happy. She agreed, and I had to agree. I took Resh as a gentle person, someone I referred to as ‘dai.’ I had never surmised that he had indeed harbored romantic feelings for me.

Our marriage took place at the local temple, and Resh and I vowed to be each other’s lovers, guardians and protectors. I had, at that time, believed that my days of misery were gone. I had thought that happy days awaited me then. Little did I know that this was to be the beginning of a horror episode in my life; an episode that still continues today.

We moved to the Capital in hopes of a better future. Resh started looking for a job and I began looking after the ‘house’—a single room that in itself was the bedroom, the kitchen, and also the living room. At first, even this life seemed perfect. As in real life, we’d thought that we’d overcome our poverty as long as our love for each other shone brightly. Real life, however, is far more cruel and ugly. Although I continued being faithful to the vows we’d taken together, Resh was overcome by a sense of faliture; the ‘thunder’ that poverty is, had finally struck him down. I tried consoling him, told him that our days of difficulty would soon be over; but all this to no avail. I now know what being poor can do to people. They become greedy and hungry, like jackals ready to feed on prey that is still alive. For Resh, I became that prey.  

Tears overflow, and what remains? Just the carcasses of broken trust, shattered dreams and a bunch of questions that no one can answer.

  Even after all that he had done to me, I really believed that Resh would, some day, realized that his actions had been grave misdeeds. My faith in my own belief that he’d always be with me even compelled me to bear all that he did to me. In a way, I did not want to lose the security of my life—my husband. To earn him, I had to lose myself every day.

But one day, he left. I lay there on the veranda, tears all over my eyes, my dupatta on the ground, after a failed attempt at stopping him. I begged him not to go, “For the sake of our marriage,” I told him, but he had nothing but blame for me.

The neighborhood had turned into a stadium.

  All eyes and ears set on us. I,

Holding on to his legs, he, dragging me, and getting out of the door. I shouted at him that I was his wife. My husband, in front of all those strangers yelled, “Wife!! You claim to be my wife? You bitch! Fool around with all the other men, and you still behave as if you are the victim! You’re a characterless woman. I would rather embrace a widow as my wife than someone who has lost her character! Understood!??”

I froze. I could not think, let alone react. He walked out; on our marriage and on my pride. The skeptical eyes staring at me, were no less painful than the eyes all the strangers making artificial love for me. I felt a tremor in my head and fell unconscious. When I came back to my senses, I was still there, in the same position and condition. Not a single person had come to help me. I have, ever since that day, known that the society is devoid of emotions, par humanity. And being a part of it, I had to be emotionless too, if I was to fulfil my needs, and survive in this inhuman world.

The car stops. I can see the watchman open the gates. We enter the bedroom, and both of us become the hunters. He ruthlessly hunts my body, and I stab my character, which—by the way— has been lost many times. Every time I open the door to a bedroom,. May be one day, I too, like my clients, will satisfy the lust for my lost character.   

Realisation

Garr … Gerrr ….I felt old rusted Fan which was facing me, was producing more sound than it actually rotating in a circular motion. Though I kept it to flow cold air to drop the temperature down inside the room as compare to outside, it hardly cools me just sitting two foot step front from it; Today for the first time in my entire life I thought my grandfather’s only presented present left with me need be either dumped or to be fixed.

Beside that fan I was sitting in front of a "screen of a black boarded monitor from which white flash light was coming from the webcam hanging on its one upper side" opening my PC .

“With both feelings of excitement and anxiety at a same time to know what will she reply”, I log in and log out my Facebook account after each fifteen minutes of interval after sending her apologize and rejoin proposal message but she didn’t reply.

I eagerly wanted to know how will she react, will she forgive me and accept me again; I thought about it from every aspect,

At the same time I was getting answers from a part of heart within me it was saying she will forgive you though you may had create her life upside down many times but still she loves you and more than that she is a girl with a big heart. But another  part doesn’t agree.

Finally after one day she sent me a lengthy message but it resembles and written in more kinds of poem and a letter style.

Hi dear,

       I wanted to hear this from you many months before

         When I had given you everything that I could give,

              But when, you never accepted.

When I was emotionally, psychologically, physically broke, I expected you to consult,

              But when, you never consulted.

When I cried like an infant in front of your face and ear, I wanted you to see and hear

             But when, you never saw and heard.

When at the time you argued me, I hoped you to understand the situation

             But when, you never understood.

When you abandon me in this lonely world, I simply wanted to sleep

              But when, I couldn’t sleep those mystery nights.

When I cried and cried remembering your words, I hoped you to make me laugh

            But when, you never allowed me to laugh.

When I got stuck with anger and depression, I hoped you would come to heal

             But when, you never come to heal.

When I struggle with arrogance, fear, insecurity and other negative forces, I expected you to show me a way

              But when, you never come to show me a way to out of it.

           I expected you to be behind me that every breath that I inhaled.

But you was never there,  so why should I  struggle like “an educated unemployed youth who travel office to office, town to town in search of job and after getting job he discover  this that job is worthless; so he leaves the job and start his adventure again until he realized that he himself is worthless" same is with me I searched too much in you and found you an affection-less empty heart person who has no real feelings for me as you said, know I discovered at last that either you are worthless or either me.

I want to let you know Now that everything is over and soon our relationship will too become a story that would never be known

During last two years everything is changed from me to entire world “look around middle east had changed, Gaddhfi had been dethrone, Assad is on process, protest against capitalism occupy wall street had evolved and spread with momentum from west London to far east Tokyo, Obama had failed what he had promised few years before when he was on presidential election, now world reached 7 billion mark, more than 96 Tibetans immolated ” within them my heart is like “ an air which never retained a fixed place” my heart too can’t avoid those outer changes which change my inner beliefs.

I have nothing more to say, just be happy and let me be.

I am sorry sweetheart

XYZ

I read it again and again, I couldn’t believe myself that she had rejected my rejoined proposal. I got emotionally broke as she refers; the pain grew and blocked all my mental abilities to move to make a decision what to do.

Days and days later, I started to scold and hate myself, lost interest in every activity from eating to studying, Negative thoughts were developed and anger and depression become activities.

I questioned myself that why the realization process comes after action. At that very day I realized my mistake; that can’t be rearranged at any time.

Now today 12 months passed still I hardly heal myself. “ The shape of her eye, her long eyelashes, her inch circular birthmark above her eye,  slid upturned nose and her full lips” presence in my mind and draws her picture in my heart without even a slid mistake.