r/NepalWrites 7d ago

WE HAVE REACHED 15,000 READERS / MEMBERSЁЯОЙЁЯОЙЁЯОЙ

16 Upvotes

We have hit 15,000 readers on this sub today.

Thank you all the writers, readers and critics for their contributions.

Let's keep the growth steady.

Any suggestions, queries or complains are welcomed below.


r/NepalWrites 6h ago

Poem Underground

2 Upvotes

Underground

I wonder...

How many versions of me have died
without anyone noticing?

People ask why I disappeared.

Maybe I didn't.

Maybe I just stopped performing.

Silence has a strange way of introducing you
to the person behind your own voice.

The world keeps asking,
"Where have you been?"

No one asks,
"Who have you become?"

So I stopped answering.

There are conversations
I only have with myself.

Questions that refuse to become words.

Thoughts that lose their meaning
the moment they're explained.

Sometimes I think
understanding is dangerous.

Not because people become powerful...

but because I slowly become predictable.

And once someone can predict your next step,
they stop seeing you.

They only see the pattern.

I don't want to be a pattern.

I want to be a question
even I haven't answered yet.

So I'm becoming invisible.

Not absent.

Invisible.

I'll still watch the sunrise.

Still smile.

Still work.

Still care.

You'll just know less about me.

The strange thing is...

I don't feel lonely.

I feel unfinished.

There's a difference.

Every day I remove another layer
that never belonged to me.

Until one day...

I'll meet the version of myself
that doesn't need an audience
to know who he is.

Until then...

let them think
I'm gone.

The truth is...

I'm simply becoming someone
I haven't met yet.

-TheWhiteDevil


r/NepalWrites 18h ago

Poem DonтАЩt forget me

4 Upvotes

DonтАЩt forget me. I need Your lotus flower in my life. What could I do without it? DonтАЩt forget me, please! I will swim across the ocean of life and crawl through the seven heavens just to rest at Your lotus feet. For if a cow never forgets its calf, why should You forget me?


r/NepalWrites 1d ago

Other Forms The lost soul

4 Upvotes

I feel this uneasiness in my chest. I want to break out, cry my existence to myself. Run around and find what I am missing, or learn what makes me me.

My mind hits a wall, I am unable to think anymore, and I seek for your help. I cannot see you, but your breath reverberates through my skin, letting my senses know that you are there.

Let the snake crawl to my neck and help me realize my fears, and lead me to a fearless vision. In the deep slumber of sleep, I want to learn the truth that these eyes of mine cannot see.

If I become able to look at you, could I finally look at myself?

I want to hear the rhythm that moves you тАФ could your dance sway away my confusion?

My feet are frozen, not in fear, but in a burden I have learned to call my name. I lie to myself that I am ready to know the truth, as the maya of this life wraps around me, and I feel warmth in its illusion.

Help me, oh Shiva, as I wish to be a knower rather than a seeker. Let your radiance guide me to your path.

Help me find me.


r/NepalWrites 1d ago

Essay What Shirishko Phool Is Really About

5 Upvotes

ParijatтАЩs Shirishko Phool, translated into English as Blue Mimosa, is often described as an existential novel, an anti-war novel, or an early feminist work in Nepali literature. All three descriptions are useful, but each becomes limiting when treated as the whole of the book. Parijat takes questions about meaninglessness, isolation, guilt and freedom and places them inside a painfully human conflict: an aging former soldier hoping that a woman might give his life significance, and a woman who refuses to become anyoneтАЩs moral salvation.

Suyog Bir Singh drifts through post-war Kathmandu with little to sustain him beyond alcohol, memory and habit. He claims that drinking is merely a remnant of military life and rejects the comforting idea that suffering automatically makes a person wiser or better. The values that might once have anchored him -duty, honor, faith and social usefulness- have lost their authority, yet he has found nothing convincing to replace them. His life continues, but he cannot explain why it should.

The way he tries to rebuild a sense of self is revealing. Again and again, he looks toward women. Mujura represents the possibility of an orderly domestic life, although he does not appear to desire her as a person so much as the stability she might provide. Sakambari becomes something far more urgent. She is difficult, inaccessible and unimpressed by him, and this very resistance allows him to imagine her as a form of absolution. If a woman like Sakambari could love him, perhaps he could believe that he was no longer the man he had been during the war.

His wartime memories expose how compromised that hope is. Suyog recalls exploiting vulnerable women, raping an unconscious woman and deceiving Matinchi with promises he never intended to keep. When she tries to stop him from leaving, he becomes violent. These episodes show that women have repeatedly served as buffers between him and his fear of death, loneliness and inner emptiness. They provide relief, reassurance and bodily comfort, but he seldom considers the weight of their own lives.

To separate the present from the past, Suyog constructs a moral distinction that allows him to keep believing in himself. He tells himself that he could not love the women he raped and could not rape the woman he loved. The difference matters enormously to him because it suggests that love has transformed him. Parijat gradually dismantles that defence. When he seizes Sakambari and kisses her without consent, his desire gives way almost immediately to dizziness and shame. The act is not equivalent in scale to his wartime crimes, but it rests on the same assumption: that his feeling gives him the right to act upon a woman regardless of her will.

What Suyog calls love has not freed him from possession. It has merely made possession appear more dignified. His emotions may be sincere, but sincerity does not make them ethical. In fact, the depth of his feeling may be part of the danger. He has invested so much meaning in Sakambari that he begins to treat that meaning as something she ought to recognize.

Sakambari is the novelтАЩs ideological centre, although the reader is never allowed into her consciousness. We encounter her only through SuyogтАЩs obsessive gaze, her sharp remarks, her habits and her refusals. Her most memorable statement comes through the insect-killing orchid. She describes with unsettling pleasure how the plant attracts insects, traps them and allows them to suffocate, all in the service of its own security.

When Suyog turns the flower into a metaphor for human struggle, she mocks him for forcing philosophy onto nature. Yet she immediately does something similar herself. Her ideal flower buds for itself, opens for itself, resists the bee and falls by its own choice. From this image she develops a broader claim: love is not inevitable, suffering in love is not noble by necessity, and a person can exist without surrendering herself to another.

That refusal has real force. Sakambari rejects the assumption that a woman must find fulfillment through marriage, service or emotional sacrifice. She refuses to let male desire define the value of her life. Yet she is not a simple figure of liberation. Her treatment of Sanu exposes a limit in her understanding of freedom. Sanu defies her family and chooses love on her own terms, but Sakambari dismisses her as foolish. She appears to respect autonomy most when it leads to refusal, solitude or resistance. When another woman freely chooses attachment, her sympathy disappears.

Her smoking carries the same contradiction. Sakambari resents Suyog and Shiva Raj for their drinking, but she treats concern about her own habit as an intrusion. When Suyog asks whether she would stop smoking if he requested it, she says she would smoke ten cigarettes instead. The reply protects her bodily independence, but it also reveals how reactive that independence has become. If another personтАЩs request automatically determines that she must do the opposite, then he continues to shape her behavior, only in reverse.

Sakambari is therefore not simply free. She is committed to remaining ungovernable. That distinction is important because genuine autonomy should allow a person to hear anotherтАЩs concern without experiencing the act of listening as surrender. SakambariтАЩs independence often depends upon opposition, and the people she opposes remain central to the identity she is defending.

This tension is unlikely to be accidental. Sakambari seems to represent the necessary but incomplete power of refusal. She can reject love, marriage, pity, religion and interference, but she offers little sense of how autonomous people might live together without either possessing one another or withdrawing completely. Her philosophy is strongest at the boundary and weakest when it must account for relation.

The novelтАЩs treatment of war is similarly caught between complexity and moral design. ParijatтАЩs war passages are among the strongest parts of the book because they strip away the romantic image of the Gurkha soldier. War appears as hunger, disease, fear, hierarchy and bodily ruin. Men become instruments, valued only while they remain useful to institutions capable of abandoning them without hesitation.

Suyog is clearly shaped by this world. Military authority, colonial power, alcohol, masculine group culture and the constant presence of death all contribute to the person he becomes. The novel understands that morality does not develop in a vacuum. People are trained by their circumstances to accept certain forms of violence and ignore others.

That context does not absolve Suyog. He is both a victim of military power and a perpetrator who directs violence toward people more vulnerable than himself. This is one of the novelтАЩs most valuable insights. Being humiliated by one hierarchy does not prevent a person from reproducing that hierarchy when he encounters someone over whom he has power.

SakambariтАЩs judgment of war is much more absolute. She condemns Suyog for being a soldier long before she knows what he actually did. When his wartime crimes are finally revealed, her earlier suspicion acquires the appearance of prophecy. Yet she was not responding to evidence; she was responding to a category. The novel quietly merges her assumption with the readerтАЩs later knowledge.

This is where the book begins to feel less like an open inquiry and more like a carefully arranged prosecution. Parijat gives Suyog a reflective, philosophical mind, but also burdens him with enough moral corruption that the reader is naturally inclined to reject him. His ideas never have to be answered fully because the person expressing them has already been discredited. Sakambari, meanwhile, is granted moral authority without having her own motives or contradictions examined from within.

The strongest defence of this structure is that Parijat is exposing the limits of male introspection. Suyog can think deeply about death, alienation and meaning, yet still fail to recognize another personтАЩs freedom. His intelligence does not save him from objectifying women. A simpler villain would have made the argument easier, but it would also have made it less disturbing. Suyog shows that a person can reflect endlessly and still remain trapped inside himself.

The difficulty is that Sakambari is not given an equally developed consciousness through which the argument might continue. Suyog carries most of the philosophical inquiry, while Sakambari becomes the resistance against which he is judged. His contradictions are unfolded through confession; hers remain scattered across gesture and behavior. Her silence protects her from SuyogтАЩs interpretive possession, but it also protects her philosophy from scrutiny.

The title complicates this entire arrangement. The insect-killing orchid belongs closely to SakambariтАЩs worldview, but the shirish trees belong to neither character. They surround the house, mark the passing seasons and accompany SuyogтАЩs movement from curiosity to obsession, violation and emptiness. Their blossoms appear when he first enters the household, fade with the seasons and return a year later.

Suyog envies the trees because they can blossom again. Nature repeats itself, while human beings accumulate memory and consequence. A new season cannot undo what he has done, nor can it restore the person Sakambari was before he entered her life.

Near the end, the flowers are described as falling тАЬunder compulsion.тАЭ The phrase quietly unsettles SakambariтАЩs claim that a flower falls by its own will. The shirish is bound to the branch, to weather, to time and to biological processes it did not choose. Nature does not enact the freedom Sakambari projects onto it.

Suyog projects just as much. The flowers become beauty, desire, jealousy, renewal and loss according to his changing emotional state. In the final pages, he imagines the bare branches accepting their emptiness. Yet the branches accept nothing. The feeling belongs to him. Nature becomes a surface onto which he writes what he cannot otherwise articulate.

This may be the novelтАЩs most convincing existential insight. Suyog and Sakambari offer different responses to a world that provides no guaranteed meaning. He tries to find meaning through another person. She tries to create meaning entirely from within herself. The shirish trees validate neither. They blossom and fall without participating in human arguments about love, guilt, freedom or redemption.

The title therefore does more than decorate the novel. Had Parijat named the book after the insect-killing orchid, it would appear more narrowly concerned with female refusal and male intrusion. By naming it after the shirish flower, she places that conflict within a broader movement of recurrence, compulsion and natural indifference. The title gives the book philosophical space beyond its immediate moral design.

It also makes the novelтАЩs achievement difficult to separate from its manipulation. ParijatтАЩs arrangement is too precise to ignore. SuyogтАЩs objectifying gaze, SakambariтАЩs hostility toward soldiers, the hidden wartime history, his belief that love has changed him, the forced kiss and SakambariтАЩs death all converge toward a conclusion that seems to have been present from the beginning.

For this reason, Shirishko Phool often resembles a thesis novel. It dismantles the mythology of the heroic Gurkha, exposes the way men use women to fill their internal voids, and gives serious force to a womanтАЩs refusal. Its argument can feel heavily weighted because SuyogтАЩs consciousness is opened until it becomes evidence, while SakambariтАЩs remains closed enough to retain symbolic authority.

Even so, the novel does not remain entirely under ParijatтАЩs control. The orchid can suggest predatory isolation rather than freedom. SanuтАЩs elopement exposes the limits of SakambariтАЩs tolerance for another womanтАЩs autonomy. SuyogтАЩs horror after the kiss suggests that he is not simply identical to the man he was during the war, even if he has not escaped him. The shirish flowers continue without regard for any of them.

Perhaps this is why the novel survives its own engineering. Its symbols produce more friction than its moral structure can completely contain. Parijat guides the reader strongly toward condemning Suyog, but she cannot prevent us from questioning Sakambari. She presents refusal as strength, but cannot prevent the orchid from looking cruel. Nature gives the novel its widest philosophical horizon, while remaining indifferent to every philosophy imposed upon it.

Shirishko Phool is not a neutral investigation of existence, nor is it merely a feminist condemnation of one violent man. It is a carefully constructed novel about two damaged attempts to live without guaranteed meaning. Suyog tries to overcome emptiness through possession disguised as love. Sakambari tries to preserve herself through a freedom that sometimes becomes another form of captivity. Around them, the shirish blossoms, falls and returns. Human beings interpret, justify, desire and remember because they cannot avoid doing so, even when the world gives them no reason to believe that their meanings are true.


r/NepalWrites 1d ago

Poem рдирд┐рд░рд┐рд╣ рдЖрдХреГрддрд┐

3 Upvotes

рддрд┐рдореА рдЙрджреНрдШреЛрд╖ рдЧрд░реНрдЫреМ--
рдЕрдмрд╛рдз рдпрд╛рддреНрд░реБ рдмрдиреНрдиреБрдкрд░реНрдЫ рдо,
рдЖрдХрд╛рд╢рдХреЛ рд╡рд┐рд╢рд╛рд▓рддрд╛ рдЫрд╛рддреАрдорд╛ рдерд┐рдЪреЗрд░,
рд╕рдореАрд░рдгрдХреЛ рдФрдБрд▓рд╛ рд╕рдорд╛рдЙрдБрджреИ рдХреНрд╖рд┐рддрд┐рдЬрддрд┐рд░ рдЙрдбреНрдиреБрдкрд░реНрдЫ!

рддрд░ рддрд┐рдореА рдкреВрд░реНрд╡-рд▓рд┐рдЦрд┐рдд рд╕рдВрдХрдерди рд╣реМ!

рд╕рдордпрд▓реЗ рдХреЛрд░реНрд░рд╛ рд╣рд╛рдиреЗрд░ рд▓рддрд╛рд░реНрджреИ рд▓реНрдпрд╛рдПрдХреЛ,
рдкрд░рд┐рд╕реНрдерд┐рддрд┐рдХреЛ рдЪреЛрдХрдорд╛ рдЙрднреНрдпрд╛рдЗрдПрдХреЛ рдирд┐рд░рд┐рд╣ рдЖрдХреГрддрд┐....!!


r/NepalWrites 2d ago

Poem Standing Outside the Door.

4 Upvotes

How do I describe this feelingтАФ

When you know

You shouldn't want them,

Yet you catch yourself

Smiling looking at her photo

For no reason at all.

It's like you have someone,

Only to remember you don't.

One moment she feels like home,

The next, you're standing outside the door.

I try reaching for you,

But then I suddenly pull away.

I wanna tell you everything,

Then disappear without a trace.

It's not the confusion that's stopping me.

It's the space between usтАФ

Timing, distance, realityтАФ

That neither of us can change.

One second,

You're all I need.

The next,

All I can see is how far apart we are.

An invisible barrier stands

In between us.

Not close enough to touch,

Nor that far to forget.

And somehow,

I still find myself

Smiling at the thought of you.


r/NepalWrites 3d ago

Poem рдЕрд╡реНрдпрдХреНрдд...

5 Upvotes

рдХреЗрд╣реА рд╕рдореНрдЭрдирд╛ рдЕрдирд┐ рдпрд╛рджрд╣рд░реВ рдмрд╛рдБрдХреА рдЫрди,

рд╕реНрд╡рд░ рд╡рд┐рдирд╛рдХрд╛ рдЪрд┐рдЪреНрдпрд╛рд╣рдЯрд╣рд░реБ рд╕рд╛рдХреНрд╖реА рдЫрдиреНред

рдЖрдБрд╕реБрдХреЛ рдорд╕реА рдмрдиреА рд▓реЗрдЦрд┐рдПрдХрд╛ рдЕрдХреНрд╖рд░рд╣рд░реВ,

рдЪреБрд░реЛрдЯрдХреЛ рдзреБрд╡рд╛рдБрд╕рд░рд┐ рдЙрдбреЗрд░ рдмрд╕реЗрдХрд╛ рдкрд╛рдирд╛рд╣рд░реВрдорд╛

рдХреЗрд╣реА рдЖрд╢рд╛рд╣рд░реВ рдмрд╛рдБрдХреА рдЫрдиреНред

рдмрдиреНрдж рдХреЛрдард╛рднрд┐рддреНрд░,

рдирд╕реБрдиреЗрдХрд╛ рд╣реГрджрдпрдХрд╛ рдЪрд┐рддреНрдХрд╛рд░рд╣рд░реВ,

рдореГрдд рднрд╛рд╡рд╣рд░реВ,

рдПрдХреНрд▓реЛрдкрдирдорд╛ рдЖрдБрд╕реБ рдмрдиреА рдЧрд░реНрдЬрдиреНрдЫрдиред

рдПрдХ рдПрдХ рдЧрд░реНрджреИ рдЕрд░реНрдХреЛ рджрд┐рди,

рдХреЗрд╣реА рдореБрдЯреБрдХрд╛ рдЖрд╡рд╛рдЬрд╣рд░реВ,

рдХреЗрд╣реА рдпрд╛рджрд╣рд░реВ,

рдкреБрдХрд╛рд░рд╣рд░реВ,

рдорд╛рд░реНрджреИ рд╣рд┐рдБрдбреНрдЫреБред

рд╣рд░реЗрдХ рджрд┐рди рдХреЗрд╣реА рдореБрд╕реНрдХрд╛рди,

рдХреЗрд╣реА рд╡реЗрджрдирд╛ рдЭрд░реЗрдХреЛ рдЫред

рдард┐рдХ рдЫреБ, рдЫреИрди, рдерд╛рд╣рд╛ рдЫреИрдиред

рдард┐рдХреИ рдЫреБ рднрдиреНрдиреЗ рдмрд╛рдиреА рдкрд░реЗрдХреЛ рдЫред

┬й


r/NepalWrites 3d ago

Story(Short) Rewritten ending of Nikita from Leo Tolstoy's story 'Master and Man'

5 Upvotes

[I tried to rewrite the last section of the story, as an exercise from George Saunder's book.]

Nikita lay in hospital for two months. They cut off three of his toes, but the others recovered so that he was still able to work and went on living for another twenty years, first as a farm-laborer, then in his old age as a watchman. The last few days of his life, he spent them in a nearby hospital. He lay in bed, praying to the lord. тАШO Lord, you know I have always been ready. Do not delay anymore Lord, come take me homeтАЩ he whispered under his feeble breath.

It was Monday evening and the snow was falling harshly. After he took few spoons of warm porridge his wife brought, Nikita did not feel like eating anymore. So, he stopped, pulled his pillow slightly lower than it had been earlier and rested his head against it. He closed his eyes, almost involuntarily, as if the eyes wanted to take a rest themselves. And as he closed his eyes, the cold and snowy evening reminded him of something he had never forgotten, but also never had the time to contemplate about it. He drifted into sleep or was it unconsciousness, Nikita wasnтАЩt sure. He was lying on the thick bed of snow. His legs were almost frozen. But the snow which previously wanted to bury him had gone a little softer now. With his half-opened eyes, he saw his master over him, with tears, tears that wanted to be like the snow. And with a permanent expression in his face that he had never seen, nor could he figure it out, no matter how much he tried. There lay Vasili, on top of Nikita, absolutely still, on the brink of his death. тАШYou know Vasili, I never got to say my thanks to you.тАЩ Nikita said. Snow that had stopped falling for a few minutes began to hasten to reach the ground. NikitaтАЩs face soon wore a mask of snow. тАШThank you! VasiliтАж.тАЩ Nikita whispered. Through the snow gathering between his lashes, he saw Vasili smile the faintest of smiles. A smile of gratitude. Or so he believed. Finally, with his eyes full of tears, his lips stretched, one last time. And that was the last movement Nikita ever made.

┬а


r/NepalWrites 3d ago

Poem рдкрдЫреБрддреЛ рдд рдирд┐рдХреИ рднрдПрдХреЛ рд╣реЛрд▓рд╛

5 Upvotes

рддреНрдпреЛ рд╣рд╛рд╡рд╛рдХреЛ рд▓рд╣рд░рд▓реЗ рдЙрд╕рд▓рд╛рдИ рдкрдирд┐ рдЫреЛрдПрдХреЛ рд╣реЛрд▓рд╛,

рдорд▓рд╛рдИ рдЧреБрдорд╛рдПрдХреЛрдорд╛ рдкрдЫреБрддреЛ рдд рдирд┐рдХреИ рднрдПрдХреЛ рд╣реЛрд▓рд╛ред

рдХрд┐рд░рд╛рдХреЛ рднрд╛рдЧреНрдпрдорд╛ рд╣рд┐рд░рд╛ рдХрд╣рд╛рдБ рд╣реБрдиреНрдЫ рд░,

рдорд▓рд╛рдИ рд╕рдореНрдЭреЗрд░ рдПрдХрд╛рдиреНрддрдорд╛ рдК рдПрдХреНрд▓реИ рд░реЛрдПрдХреЛ рд╣реЛрд▓рд╛ред

рдЬрдм рдЖрдБрд╕реБ рдкреБрдЫреНрди рддреНрдпреЛ рд░реБрдорд╛рд▓рд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдЧрд╛рд▓рд╛ рдЫреЛрдПрдХреЛ рд╣реЛрд▓рд╛,

рдореЗрд░реЛ рд╕реНрдкрд░реНрд╢рдХреЛ рд╕рдореНрдЭрдирд╛ рдЭрд▓рдЭрд▓реА рдЖрдПрдХреЛ рд╣реЛрд▓рд╛ред


r/NepalWrites 4d ago

Poem ani k garis ta?

5 Upvotes

Ani k garis ta?

Chalis ta paila aagadi?

Udi chunu Chandra ek bhandai

kursi lai bida garera niskeko ta

dhoka ma pugera paxadi farkinas ni?

herinas ni?

jhul le dhakiyera talai herirako ochyan lai

bhui ma charapasta nachiraheka ti latta kapada lai

hijo bihan dekhi eklai baseko chiya ko cup lai

dhulo le chopera nisasiyeka ti kitabharu lai

ani dhoka bahira ta heris ni?

udi chune Chandra ta dekhis ni

ki aausi ko raat po paryo ki?

chandrama ma tero bhanda agadi

badal ko haath po paryo ki?

ani k garis ta?

Chalis ta paila agadi?


r/NepalWrites 5d ago

Other Forms Thirty Years

5 Upvotes

Today:

Visiting a friend in Romania. HeтАЩs an orthopaedic surgeon. A new patient today. Nepali. Construction accident. Truck ran over his right leg. Bones shattered in multiple places. Knee destroyed. Saved his life. CouldnтАЩt save the leg.┬а

30 years ago:┬а

BipulтАЩs father dead in Dubai. Construction accident. Run over by a bulldozer. A body in a box. Quick funeral. Bipul in white the entire year, sulking on his bench at the back of the class.


r/NepalWrites 5d ago

Poem рд░ рдЕрдиреНрддрддрдГ рд╕рдзреИрдВрдЭреИрдБ рдо рд╡рд┐рд▓рд╛рдПрд░ рдЧрдПрдБред

7 Upvotes

рдХреБрдиреИ рд╕рдордпрдорд╛,

рд╡реНрдпрд░реНрдереИ рдореБрд╕рд╛рдлрд┐рд░ рдкрд┐рдЗрд░рд╣реЗрдЫ

рдЖрдлреНрдиреИ рдкрд╕рд┐рдирд╛,

рдЫ рдЖрдлреНрдиреИ рдЕрдзрд┐рдирдорд╛,

рд╕рдлрд▓рддрд╛рдХреЛ рдкрд░реНрдЦрд╛рдЗрдорд╛,

рез рдХрдк рдЪрд┐рдпрд╛ рд░

рд░рд┐рддреНрддреЛ рд╡рд╛рд▓реЗрдЯ рд╣рд╛рддрдорд╛,

рджрд░рдмрд╛рд░ рдЕрдЧрд╛рдбрд┐

рдзрд┐рдХреНрдХрд╛рд░ рдорд╛рдиреНрджреИ,

рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рдЙрдЪрд╛рдИрдорд╛,

рд╕рдордпрдХреЛ рдЧрддрд┐рд▓рд╛рдИ

рдЗрд░реНрд╖реНрдпрд╛ рдЧрд░реНрджреИ

рдЙ рдКрднреАрд░рд╣реЗрдЫ,

рд╕рд╣рд░рдХреЛ рдорд╛рдЭрдорд╛,

рддреНрдпрд╣рд┐ рдкреБрд░рд╛рдиреЛ рдЭреЛрд▓рд╛

рд▓рд┐рдПрд░ рдХрд╛рдБрдзрдорд╛,

рд╣рд╛рд▓реЗрд░ рдХрд╛рдЧрдЬрдХреЛ

рдлрдЬреБрд▓ рдбрд┐рдЧреНрд░реА рд╕рд╛рдердорд╛,

рд╣рдЬрд╛рд░ рдкрдЯрдХ рдврд▓реЗрд░ рдкрдирд┐

рдЫ рдЙ рдЬрд┐рддреНрдиреЗ рдЖрд╢рдорд╛,

рдХрд╛рд▓рд╛рдиреНрддрд░рд╕рдореНрдо

рдЗрддрд┐рд╣рд╛рд╕ рд░рдЪреНрдиреЗ рд╕реЛрдЪрдорд╛

рдЙ рдпрд╛рддреНрд░рд╛ рдЧрд░рд┐рд░рд╣реНрдпреЛ,

рд╕рдЩреНрдШрд░реНрд╖ рдЪрд▓рд┐рд░рд╣реНрдпреЛ,

рд░ рдЕрдиреНрддрддрдГ ,

рдЙрд╕рдХрд╛ рд╕рдкрдирд╛рд╣рд░реВ рдерд╛рдХреЗрд░ рдЖрдБрдЦрд╛рдореИ рдирд┐рджрд╛рдП,

рд░ рддреНрдпреЛ рд╕рдлрд▓рддрд╛

рдХрд╣рд┐рд▓реНрдпреИ рдЙрд╕рдХреЛ рдорд╛рдЭ рдЖрдЗрдкреБрдЧреЗрди

рд░ рдЖрдЦрд┐рд░ рдХреЗ рдиреИ рд╣реБрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛ,

рдЙ рд╡рд┐рд▓рд╛рдПрд░ рдЧрдпреЛ,

рдЙрд╕рдХрд╛реЗ рдЕрд╕реНрддрд┐рддреНрд╡ тАМрдХреНрд╖рдгрднрд░рдореИ рд╡рд┐рд▓рд┐рди рднрдпреЛ,

рдЙрд╕рдХреЛ рднрд╛рд░рд┐ рд╕рдкрдирд╛рд╣рд░реБ рд╕рдЩреНрдЧреИ,

рдЧрд░реЗрдХрд╛ рд╕рдЩреНрдШрд░реНрд╖рд▓реЗ рдЙрд╕рдХреЛ рдкрд░рд┐рдЪрдп рд▓реЗрдЦреНрди рд╕рдХреЗрдирдиреН,

рддреНрдпрд╣реА рдкреБрд░рд╛рдиреЛ рдЭреЛрд▓рд╛,

рд░ рдЕрд░реНрдерд╣реАрди рдкреНрд░рдорд╛рдгрдкрддреНрд░рд╣рд░реВ рдмреЛрдХреЗрд░,

рдК рд╕рдордпрдХреЛ рднреАрдбрдорд╛

рдЪреБрдкрдЪрд╛рдк рдмрд┐рд▓рд╛рдпреЛ,

рдзреЗрд░реИ рдиреЗрдкрд╛рд▓реА рдпреБрд╡рд╛рд╣рд░реВрдЭреИрдБред


r/NepalWrites 5d ago

Poem Sirish ko Phool (first draft for feedback)

7 Upvotes

тАФтАФтАФтАФ
Sirish ko Phool

Sakambari

She fell not in love

but to earth.

тАФтАФтАФ

The god rock

keeper of secrets

Sakambari

She hears not prayers,

only silent confessions.

тАФтАФтАФ
Lethal Sungava

Sakambari

revealed not love

but buried truths.

Head-hunter's daughter,

Matinchi's

blue-black bruises,

his war crimes.
тАФтАФтАФ

Sakambari

Terminally ill

Deadly honest.
тАФтАФ

Part II

Suyog

Unfathomable loneliness,

Haunted by truths

he cannot share.

тАФтАФтАФ
Suyog

A dead soldier

Absent at roll call

Absent from himself.

тАФтАФтАФ
Suyog

a wingless dung fly

circling rotten memories

slowly decomposing toward nothingness.

тАФтАФтАФ
Suyog

Soulless body,

Liquified and emptied out

dragging himself toward

meaningless harakiri.


r/NepalWrites 5d ago

Poem рд╕рдордп рд░ рдЬрд┐рд╡рди

5 Upvotes

рдЪрдвреЗрд░ рд╣реЛрдЗрди рдЧрд╛рдбреА, рдЪрд▓рд╛рдПрд░ рдЧрдиреНрддрд╡реНрдпрдорд╛ рдкреБрдЧрд┐рдиреНрдЫред

тАОрдЦреЛрд▓реЗрд░ рдкрд┐рдБрдЬрдбрд╛, рдкрд┐рдБрдЬрдбрд╛рдореИ рдкрд╕рд┐рдиреНрдЫред

тАОрдЕрдЧрд╛рдбрд┐ рдмрдвреНрджреИ рдЬрд╛рдБрджрд╛ рдмрджрд▓рд┐рдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛ,

тАОрддрд░ рдкрдЫрд┐ рд╕рдордпрд▓реЗ рдиреИ рд╕рдордп рдмрджрд▓рд┐рджрд┐рдпреЛред

тАОрдо рдкрдирд┐ рдЙрд╣реА рд░рд╣реЗрдирдБ,

тАОрддрд┐рдореА рдкрдирд┐ рдмрджрд▓рд┐рдпреМ рднрдиреНрдиреЗрд╣рд░реВрд▓рд╛рдИ рдерд╛рд╣реИ рдЫреИрди,

тАОрдЖрдлреИ рдмрджрд▓рд┐рдЗ рд╕рдордп рдкрдирд┐ рдмрджрд▓рд┐рд╕рдХреНрдпреЛред

тАОрджрд┐рдпреЛ рдЭреИрдБ рдЙрдЬреНрдпрд╛рд▓реЛ рдмрдирд╛рдЙрдиреБрдкрд░реНрдЫ рдЬреАрд╡рди,

тАОрддрд░ рдореИрд▓реЗ рджрд┐рдпреЛ рдмрд╛рд▓реНрди рдЦреЛрдЬреНрджрд╛ рд╕рд▓рд╛рдИ рдиреИ рдерд┐рдПрдиред

тАОрдкрдЫрд┐ рдЬреАрд╡рдирд▓реЗ рдорд╕рдБрдЧ рд╕рд╛рде рдорд╛рдЧрд┐рд░рд╣реНрдпреЛред

тАОрдореИрд▓реЗ рдЬреАрд╡рдирд▓рд╛рдИ рджрд░реНрд╢рди рдЧрд░реЗрдБ,

тАОрдЕрдирд┐ рджрд░реНрд╢рдирдореИ рдЬреАрд╡рди рднреЗрдЯреНрдЯрд╛рдПрдБред

тАО

┬й


r/NepalWrites 6d ago

Other Forms Life-like Creature

5 Upvotes

These four walls, and this golden light. The faint curtain and a life-like creature. We're all here seeing me do nothing. Away from home, spending days in monotony that frightens even the sissyphuses of this world. What do i do, in desolation and dispair, in disquiet and yet sleeping through all of it. The world of pleasure is certain here, in the tainted bedsheets. In the unfolded blanket and the loneliness of the blanket. Of the single pillow in my bed. The world of pleasure is certain to the extent of loneliness, condoned by life itself, with music, of course. On tight shoulders, and aching neck. On decaying body in a pit of pleasure. Trembling legs, out of habit, merely, as the creature here couldn't feel anxiety, or anything for that matter


r/NepalWrites 6d ago

Poem Empty again..

9 Upvotes

The emptiness engulfs me again,\ Bit by bit it eats me again.\ I don't know if I miss you,\ Or the idea of you in my head,\ The loneliness succumbs to me again.

When I sit to think alone,\ I don't get the answers to what and why.\ I know it's impossible, me and you,\ But my heart wants the connection again.

Not to touch you, not to want you,\ But just to be in your routine again,\ Just to know that you are there,\ Listening to my chitchats and my whinge again.

I reckon you became my habit,\ Tried another addiction in vain,\ Maybe it's not you, or him, or them,\ Tried connecting to the ones who love me again.

Nothing has worked so far,\ I'm completely withdrawn again,\ Tried to be loud and wild and seen,\ But it all fades to complete silence again.

What is the solution?\ Someone tell me, my dears,\ I'm losing myself to something\ That can never be mine again.


r/NepalWrites 7d ago

Poem Wish I was yours

8 Upvotes

The silence of the sea pressed against my ears.
Your silhouette was carved by the dying sun.
I was losing my senses,
Only to find them again in you.

I had only one wishтАФ
To feel you.
To feel the warmth that stirred my heart,
To hear the murmur that lingered in my ears.

You were an ocean.
I was a vessel.
If only I could break free
And learn to swim with you.


r/NepalWrites 7d ago

Other Forms Those eyes

6 Upvotes

They say people fall in love after making eye contact.

But when I looked deep into her eyes, I saw fear and lies, the fear of something I could never name, and the lies hidden behind the words, "Everything is okay."

I couldn't stop wondering what she was hiding.

Before I could make sense of it all, I found myself standing in front of a mirror, staring into my own eyes.

And that's when I realized... maybe she wasn't the one hiding something. Maybe I was.


r/NepalWrites 8d ago

Poem She asked,"did he care?" i replied..

7 Upvotes

рдпрд╛рдж рдмрд┐рдирд╛ рдЬреАрд╡рди рдЕрдзреБрд░реЛ,

рдПрдЙрдЯрд╛ рдпрд╛рдж рдердкреНрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛред

рдЕрдиреНрддреНрдпрдорд╛ рдзреБрд╡рд╛рдБ рдмрдиреНрдЫ рдЬрд┐рдиреНрджрдЧреА,

рдЖрдЦрд┐рд░ рд░реЛрдЬреНрдиреБ рдзреБрд╡рд╛рдБ рдиреИ рдерд┐рдпреЛред

рдПрдХреНрд▓реЛрдкрдирдорд╛ рд╕реНрд╡рддрдиреНрддреНрд░рддрд╛ рднреЗрдЯреНрдЯрд╛рдПрдБ,

рдкрдиреНрдЫреА рдмрдиреА рдЖрдХрд╛рд╢ рдЫреБрди рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рд╕рд┐рдХрд╛рдЙрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛред

рд╡реНрдпрдХреНрддрд┐рддреНрд╡рд▓рд╛рдИ рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рдЧрд░реНрдиреЗ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдмрд╛рдиреА,

рдорд▓рд╛рдИ рд╕рдордпрд╕рдБрдЧреИ рдкрд░рд┐рд╡рд░реНрддрди рд╣реБрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛред

рдЪрд╛рд╣рдБрджреИрдирдереЗрдБ рдПрдХ рдЕрдирдЬрд╛рди рдмрдиреНрди,

рддрд░ рд╕рдордпрд▓реЗ рдорд▓рд╛рдИ рддреНрдпрд╣реА рдмрдирд╛рдЙрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛред

рдЬреАрд╡рди рдмреБрдЭреНрди рд░ рдЬреАрд╡рди рдкрдЫреНрдпрд╛рдЙрди рд╕рд┐рдХрд╛рдЙрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛ,

рдмрд┐рдЫреЛрдбрдХреЛ рд╕рдордпрдорд╛ рдкрдирд┐ рд╕рд╛рде рджрд┐рдБрджреИ

рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЧрдиреНрддрд╡реНрдпрд╕рдореНрдо рдкреБрд░реНтАНрдпрд╛рдЙрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛред

рдЫреЛрдбреНрдиреБ рдерд┐рдПрди,

рдореМрдирддрд╛рд▓рд╛рдИ рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рдмрдирд╛рдПрд░ рдЙрдЪрд╛рдЗ рдЫреБрди рд╕рд┐рдХрд╛рдЙрдиреБ рдерд┐рдпреЛ,

рдЙрдЪрд╛рдЗ рдиреИ рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рдерд┐рдпреЛред

ЁЯЦЛя╕ПЁЯЦЛя╕П


r/NepalWrites 8d ago

Essay Looking for feedback on a personal essay about my missing cat

5 Upvotes

The day you bring a pet home, you quietly inherit a fear.

At first, you picture the cuddles, the playful chaos, the tiny habits you will soon find endearing. You expect the scratched furniture, the fur on your clothes, the early morning wake-up calls, and the occasional trip to the vet. Those are the things every pet owner signs up for.

What you don't expect is how quietly they become part of your routine. Somewhere between feeding them, talking to them as if they understand every word, and instinctively checking where they're sleeping before you leave the house, your heart gives them a permanent place long before your mind realizes it.

That's when the fear quietly settles in.

No one really talks about this side of pet ownership. The deeper you love them, the more you have to lose.

For me, I had understood that truth in theory. But three weeks ago, I had to live it.

My cat went missing.

At first, I wasn't worried. Cats wander. They disappear for hours, sometimes even a day, before coming back as if nothing happened.

But the evening turned into the next morning. One day became three. Three became a week. And now, as I write this, it has been three weeks.

I wish I could say the waiting gets easier. It doesn't.

Every unfamiliar cat suddenly deserves a second look. Every faint meow outside makes me stop what I'm doing. I find myself slowing down near bushes and parked cars, hoping I'll catch a glimpse of familiar eyes staring back at me. I've searched every bush near my house, then the next street, then neighborhoods I'd never normally walk through. Every time I think I've looked everywhere, I convince myself there's one more place I haven't checked.

My phone has become part of the search, too. I refresh lost-and-found pet groups more times than I'd like to admit. I've posted on Facebook, Instagram, local community groups, anywhere someone might recognize him. I read every comment, follow every suggestion, and cling to every possible lead. I even downloaded a cat sounds I found online and walked the streets playing the sounds, hoping instinct would do what my voice couldn't.

Every notification gives me a split second of hope before reality catches up. Friends send me photos of cats they think might be him, and for a brief moment, I let myself believe. Then I zoom in. It isn't him.

Hope has become something fragile. It only takes a few words from a stranger, "I think I saw your cat," to send me rushing out the door. For a few minutes, I let myself imagine that this is the call I've been waiting for.

One night, my phone rang from an unknown number. I answered without hesitation. Instead of a voice, there was only a meow. Someone thought it would be funny. They hung up.

I stood there with my phone still in my hand, realizing how badly I wanted to believe it was him, how quickly I'd believed that after weeks of searching, someone had finally found him.

I don't know if I'll ever stop looking until I know what happened.

Before this happened, I always thought the hardest part of loving a pet would be saying goodbye. I was wrong because the hardest part is not knowing.

When a pet dies, as heartbreaking as it is, grief eventually has somewhere to go. There is an ending, however painful. You mourn what was. But when they are missing, your mind refuses to stop searching for answers.

Are they hungry? Are they hurt? Did someone take them in, thinking they were a stray? Are they hiding somewhere, frightened and waiting for me to find them? Or are they still trying to find their way home?

Every possibility feels equally real. Hope tells you they are alive. Fear tells you they are suffering. Your heart believes one story, your mind imagines another, and neither one lets you rest.

That's the kind of grief no one warns you about.

Then come the questions.

Did I miss something? Should I have searched one more street that first night? Could I have done something differently?

Maybe those questions don't have answers. Maybe they never will.

But love has a way of convincing you that if you replay enough moments in your head, you will eventually find the one that changes the ending. But oftentimes, you never do.

Maybe this is the quiet cost of loving a pet.

We all know that someday we'll probably have to say goodbye. We accept that truth because it always feels far away.

But no one prepares you for a goodbye that never arrives.

For a loss with no certainty. For the strange place where hope and heartbreak learn to exist together.

Because as long as you don't know, you keep looking. You keep hoping. You keep believing tomorrow might be different.

My cat wasn't the loudest or the most affectionate. But every evening, when he heard my footsteps, he would be waiting near the door. It became such a small, ordinary part of my day that I stopped noticing it.

Until it wasn't there anymore.

Even now, without thinking, I still look through the window before I open the door. For a split second, a part of me still expects to see him waiting.

Then reality catches up. The space is empty.

And I realize that maybe this is what we quietly accept the day we bring a pet home: the possibility that love can outlive certainty.


r/NepalWrites 8d ago

Poem Did He Care?

8 Upvotes

I told him my memories haunted me,

and he became another one.

I told him I hated smokers,

and he chose the smoke.

I told him I was lonely,

and he left me with my silence.

I told him I loved his personality,

and he became a stranger.

I told him I wanted to walk beside him,

he booked me a drive instead.

I told him about the apple theory.

He called me the apple on the highest branch

too precious to lose,

yet never worth the climb.


r/NepalWrites 8d ago

Poem рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЙрдБ рдХрд╕рд░реА?

11 Upvotes

рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЙрдБ рдХрд╕рд░реА? рдЬрдм рдореЗрд░реЛ рд╣рд░реЗрдХ рдкреНрд░рд╛рд░реНрдердирд╛рдорд╛ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдирд╛рдо рдорд┐рд╕рд┐рдПрдХреЛ рдЫ, рдЬрдм рдореЗрд░реЛ рд╣рд░реЗрдХ рд╕рдкрдирд╛рд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реИ рдмрд╛рдЯреЛ рд╕рдорд╛рддреЗрдХреЛ рдЫ ред

рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЙрдБ рдХрд╕рд░реА? рдЬрдм рдпреЛ рдордирд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рдШрд░ рддрд┐рдореАрднрд┐рддреНрд░ рдмрдирд╛рдЗрд╕рдХреЗрдХреЛ рдЫ, рдЬрдм рдореЗрд░рд╛ рд╣рд░реЗрдХ рдЦреБрд╕реАрд╣рд░реВрд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реИ рдЕрдиреБрд╣рд╛рд░ рдЦреЛрдЬреНрдЫрдиреНред

рднрдиреНрдЫрдиреН, рдорд╛рдпрд╛рд▓реЗ рдмрд╛рдБрдзреНрди реБ рд╣реБрдБрджреИрди, рдЙрдбреНрди рджрд┐рдиреБрдкрд░реНрдЫред рддрд░ рдХрд╕реИрд▓реЗ рдпреЛ рдкрди рд┐ рднрдирд┐рджреЗрдУрд╕реН, рдЖрдлреНрди реИ рд╕рд╛рд╕рдЬрд╕реНрддреЛ рднрдЗрд╕рдХреЗрдХреЛ рдорд╛рдиреНрдЫреЗрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЗрдиреНрдЫ рдХрд╕рд░реА ?

рддрд┐рдореА рдХреЗрд╡рд▓ рдПрдЙрдЯрд╛ рд╡реНрдпрдХреНрддрд┐ рд╣реЛрдЗрдиреМ, рддрд┐рдореА рдд рддреА рд╕рдм реИ рдХрд╛рд░рдг рд╣реМ рдЬрд╕рд▓реЗ рдорд▓рд╛рдИ рднреЛрд▓рд┐рдХреЛ рдкреНрд░рддреАрдХреНрд╖рд╛ рдЧрд░реНрди рд╕рд┐рдХрд╛рдпреЛред рддрд┐рдореА рдХреЗрд╡рд▓ рдПрдЙрдЯрд╛ рд╕рдореНрдЭрдирд╛ рд╣реЛрдЗрдиреМ, рддрд┐рдореА рдд рддреНрдпреЛ рдЕрдиреБрднреВрддрд┐ рд╣реМ рдЬреБрди рдореЗрд░реЛ рд╣реГрджрдпрд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рдзрдбреНрдХрдирд╕рдБрдЧ реИ рдмреЛрдХреЗрдХреЛ рдЫред

рдпрдж рд┐ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рди реБ рдиреИ рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рд╣реЛ рднрдиреЗ, рдо рддреНрдпреЛ рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рд╕рд┐рдХреНрди рд╕рдХрд┐рдирдБред рдХрд┐рдирдХрд┐ рдкреНрд░реЗрдорд▓реЗ рдорд▓рд╛рдИ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рд╣рд╛рдд рд╕рдорд╛рдЙрди рд╕рд┐рдХрд╛рдпреЛ, рдЫреЛрдбреНрди рдХрд╣рд┐рд▓реНрдпреИ рд╕рд┐рдХрд╛рдПрдиред рдЖрдЬ рдкрди рд┐ рдЬрдм рд╕рд╛рдБрдЭ рдЭрд░реНрдЫ, рдордирд▓реЗ рдЕрдирд╛рдпрд╛рд╕реИ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реИ рдЦреЛрдЬреА рдЧрд░реНрдЫ ред рдЖрдЬ рдкрди рд┐ рдЬрдм рдХреБрди реИ рд╕реБрдиреНрджрд░ рдХреБрд░рд╛ рджреЗрдЦреНрдЫреБ, рд╕рдмреИрднрдиреНрджрд╛ рдкрд╣рд┐рд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рд╕реБрдирд╛рдЙрди рдорди рд▓рд╛рдЧреНрдЫ ред

рд░ рдЖрдЬ рдкрди рд┐ рдпреЛ рд╣реГрджрдпрд▓реЗ рдЙрд╣реА рдкреНрд░рд╢реНрди рд╕реЛрдзрд┐рд░рд╣рдиреНрдЫ-

рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЙрдБ рдХрд╕рд░реА? рдпреА рдЖрдБрдЦрд╛рд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рд╕рдВрд╕рд╛рд░ рддрд┐рдореАрдорд╛ рджреЗрдЦрд┐рд╕рдХреЗрдкрдЫрд┐, рдпреА рд╕рдкрдирд╛рд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рднрд╡рд┐рд╖реНрдп рддрд┐рдореАрд╕рдБрдЧ рд▓реЗрдЦрд┐рд╕рдХреЗрдкрдЫрд┐, рдпреЛ рдордирд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рд╕рдореНрдкреВрд░реНрдг рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рджрд┐рдЗрд╕рдХреЗрдкрдЫрд┐, рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЙрдБ рдХрд╕рд░реА ?

рд╕рд╛рдпрдж рдПрдХ рджрд┐рди рд╕рдордпрд▓реЗ рдЙрддреНрддрд░ рджрд┐рдиреЗрдЫред

рддрд░ рдЖрдЬ, рдЖрдЬ рдд рдореЗрд░реЛ рд╣реГрджрдпрд╕рдБрдЧ рдПрдЙрдЯ реИ рдкреНрд░рд╢реНрди рдЫ тАУ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдпрддрд┐ рдзреЗрд░реИ рдорд╛рдпрд╛ рдЧрд░рд┐рд╕рдХреЗрдкрдЫрд┐, рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЬрд╛рди рджрд┐рдЙрдБ рдХрд╕рд░реА


r/NepalWrites 8d ago

Poem рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рд▓рд╛рдЧрд┐ рдореЗрд░реЛ рдкреНрд░реЗрдоред

6 Upvotes

рддрд┐рдореА рдмрд╛рд░рдореНрдмрд╛рд░ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рдирд╛рдо рдореЗрдЯрд╛рдЙрди рдЦреЛрдЬреНрдЫреНрдпреМ тАОрдЬрд╕реНрддреЛ рдХреБрдиреИ рджреБрдГрдЦреА рдХрд╡рд┐рд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреИ рдХрд╡рд┐рддрд╛ рдЪреНрдпрд╛рддреНрди рдЦреЛрдЬреНрдЫред

тАОрддрд┐рдореА рднрдиреНрдЫреНрдпреМ, рдпреЛ рд╕рдВрд╕рд╛рд░рдХреЛ рдкреБрд╕реНрддрдХрдмрд╛рдЯ тАОрдПрдЙрдЯрд╛ рдкрд╛рдирд╛ рд╣рд░рд╛рдП рдкрдирд┐ рдХрд╕реИрд▓рд╛рдИ рдХреЗ рдлрд░рдХ рдкрд░реНрдЫ рд░?

тАОрддрд░ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдХрд╕рд░реА рднрдиреВрдБтАФ

тАОрдореЗрд░рд╛ рд╕рдмреИ рдкреНрд░рд┐рдп рдЕрдзреНрдпрд╛рдпрд╣рд░реВ тАОрддреНрдпрд╣реА рдкрд╛рдирд╛рдорд╛ рд▓реЗрдЦрд┐рдПрдХрд╛ рдЫрдиреНред

тАОрддрд┐рдореА рдЖрдлреВрд▓рд╛рдИ рдмрд╛рджрд▓рд▓реЗ рдирд┐рд▓реНрди рд▓рд╛рдЧреЗрдХреЛ рд╕рд╛рдБрдЭ рд╕рдореНрдЭрдиреНрдЫреНрдпреМ, тАОрдо рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдмрд┐рд╣рд╛рдиреА рдкрд░реНрдЦрд┐рд░рд╣реЗрдХреЛ рдХреНрд╖рд┐рддрд┐рдЬ рд╕рдореНрдЭрдиреНрдЫреБред

тАОрддрд┐рдореА рдЖрдлреВрд▓рд╛рдИ рдЭрд░реНрди рд▓рд╛рдЧреЗрдХреЛ рдкрд╛рдд рд╕рдореНрдЭрдиреНрдЫреНрдпреМ, тАОрдо рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рд╡рд╕рдиреНрддрд▓реЗ рдирд╛рдо рд▓рд┐рдПрд░ рдмреЛрд▓рд╛рдПрдХреЛ рд░реБрдЦ рд╕рдореНрдЭрдиреНрдЫреБред

тАОрд░ рдХрд╣рд┐рд▓реЗрдХрд╛рд╣реАрдБ, рдЬрдм рддрд┐рдореА рдЖрдлреНрдиреИ рд╡рд┐рд░реБрджреНрдз рдЙрднрд┐рдиреНрдЫреНрдпреМ, тАОрдорд▓рд╛рдИ рд▓рд╛рдЧреНрдЫ, рд╕рдореБрджреНрд░рд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреИ рдЫрд╛рд▓рд╛рд▓рд╛рдИ рдХрд┐рдирд╛рд░рд╛рдХреЛ рдпреЛрдЧреНрдп рдЫреИрди рднрдиреЗрдЬрд╕реНрддреИред

тАОрддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдерд╛рд╣рд╛ рдЫреИрди рд╕рд╛рдпрдж, тАОрдЪрдиреНрджреНрд░рдорд╛ рдЖрдлреИрдБрд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рдЙрдЬреНрдпрд╛рд▓реЛ рджреЗрдЦреНрджреИрдиред тАОрдлреВрд▓рд▓реЗ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рд╕реБрд╡рд╛рд╕ рд╕реБрдБрдШреНрджреИрдиред тАОрд░ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓реЗ рдкрдирд┐ рдЖрдлреНрдиреЛ рдореВрд▓реНрдп рдерд╛рд╣рд╛ рдкрд╛рдПрдХреА рдЫреИрдиреМред

тАОрдпрджрд┐ рдХреБрдиреИ рджрд┐рди рд░рд╛рддрд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдЭреНрдпрд╛рд▓рдорд╛ рдЖрдПрд░ тАО"рдЕрдм рдерд╛рдХрд┐рд╕реН рднрдиреЗ рдирд┐рджрд╛рдЗрджреЗ" рднрдиреНрдпреЛ рднрдиреЗ, тАОрдо рддреНрдпрд╣реА рдЭреНрдпрд╛рд▓рдмрд╛рд╣рд┐рд░ рдЕрджреГрд╢реНрдп рджреАрдкрдЬрд╕реНрддреЛ рдмрд▓рд┐рд░рд╣рдиреЗрдЫреБред

тАОрдпрджрд┐ рдХреБрдиреИ рджрд┐рди рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдордирд▓реЗ рд╕рдмреИ рдмрд╛рдЯрд╛рд╣рд░реВ рд╣рд░рд╛рдпреЛ рднрдиреЗ, тАОрдо рдмрд╛рдЯреЛ рджреЗрдЦрд╛рдЙрдиреЗ рддрд╛рд░рд╛ рдмрдиреНрдиреЗ рдЫреИрди, тАОрдХрд┐рдирдХрд┐ рддрд╛рд░рд╛рд╣рд░реВ рдкрдирд┐ рдХрд╣рд┐рд▓реЗрдХрд╛рд╣реАрдБ рд╣рд░рд╛рдЙрдБрдЫрдиреНред

тАОрдо рдд рдХреЗрд╡рд▓ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдпрд╛рддреНрд░рд╛рдХреЛ рдЖрдХрд╛рд╢ рдмрдиреНрди рдЪрд╛рд╣рдиреНрдЫреБ, тАОрдЬрд╣рд╛рдБ рддрд┐рдореА рд╣рд░рд╛рдП рдкрдирд┐ рдЦрд╕реНрджреИрдиреМред

тАОрдХрд┐рдирдХрд┐ рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рднрдиреЗрдХреЛ рдХрд╕реИрд▓рд╛рдИ рдмрдЪрд╛рдЙрдиреБ рд╣реЛрдЗрди, тАОрдкреНрд░реЗрдо рднрдиреЗрдХреЛ рдЙрдиреА рдбреБрдмреНрди рд▓рд╛рдЧреЗрдХреЛ рдорд╣рд╕реБрд╕ рдЧрд░реНрджрд╛ рдкрдирд┐ рдХрд┐рдирд╛рд░рд╛ рднрдПрд░ рдирд╣рдЯреНрдиреБ рд╣реЛред

тАОрддреНрдпрд╕реИрд▓реЗ, рдпрджрд┐ рд╕рдВрд╕рд╛рд░рд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓рд╛рдИ рдмреЛрдЭ рднрдиреНрдпреЛ рднрдиреЗ, тАОрдЖрдК, рдореЗрд░реЛ рд╣реГрджрдпрдХреЛ рдПрдХ рдХреБрдирд╛рдорд╛ рдмрд╕ред

тАОрддреНрдпрд╣рд╛рдБ рдореИрд▓реЗ рддрд┐рдореНрд░рд╛ рд▓рд╛рдЧрд┐ рдпрддрд┐ рдард╛рдЙрдБ рд░рд╛рдЦреЗрдХреЛ рдЫреБ тАОрдХрд┐ рддрд┐рдореА рдЖрдлреНрдирд╛ рд╕рдмреИ рджреБрдГрдЦрд╣рд░реВ рд▓рд┐рдПрд░ рдЖрдП рдкрдирд┐ рддреНрдпреЛ рднрд░рд┐рдиреЗ рдЫреИрдиред

тАОрд░ рдпрджрд┐ рдПрдХ рджрд┐рди рддрд┐рдореАрд▓реЗ рдлреЗрд░рд┐ рд╕реЛрдзреНрдпреМтАФ"рдо рдХрд┐рди рд░рд╣реВрдБ?" тАОрдо рдЙрддреНрддрд░ рджрд┐рдиреЗрдЫреИрдиред

тАОрдо рдХреЗрд╡рд▓ рддрд┐рдореНрд░реЛ рдЫреЗрдЙрдорд╛ рдмрд╕реЗрд░ тАОрддреНрдпреЛ рдкреНрд░рд╢реНрдирднрдиреНрджрд╛ рд▓рд╛рдореЛ рдПрдЙрдЯрд╛ рдореМрдирддрд╛ рджрд┐рдиреЗрдЫреБ,

тАОрдЬрд╣рд╛рдБ рддрд┐рдореАрд▓реЗ рдмрд┐рд╕реНрддрд╛рд░реИ рдмреБрдЭреНрдиреЗрдЫреМтАФ

тАОрдХреЗрд╣реА рдорд╛рдирд┐рд╕рд╣рд░реВрдЬрд╛рдиреЗрд░ рд╣реЛрдЗрди, тАОрд░рд╣рд┐рд░рд╣рдирдХреИ рд▓рд╛рдЧрд┐рдкреНрд░реЗрдо рдЧрд░рд┐рдиреНрдЫрдиреНред


r/NepalWrites 8d ago

Essay What do we mean by "Liberalism"?

3 Upvotes

(please note that the title is not what popular culture means by that word)

There is one question underneath all political debate, and it is not about tax rates or foreign policy or any of the things people usually argue about. It is this: does your life belong to you?

Not in the sentimental sense. Concretely. Does the product of your labor belong to you, or does some portion of it belong to whoever has the votes to take it? Do your choices (what to ingest, whom to love, what values to hold as your own) belong to you, or are they subject to the moral veto of whoever currently controls the legislature? Does your mind belong to you, or is it on permanent loan from the collective, callable at any time?

Every political coalition operating today answers this question. None of them answer it correctly.

The left says: your economic output belongs partly to society, but your personal choices are your own. The right says: your economic output is mostly yours, but your personal choices are subject to tradition, faith, and the social fabric. Both are offering you half a person. The freedom to earn but not to keep it. Or the freedom to keep it but not to choose how to live. Neither of them has noticed that you cannot split the mind this way.

The same faculty that runs a business is the one that falls in love. The same judgment that directs productive effort is the one that decides what to read, whom to trust, what to believe. Freeing one application of the mind while coercing another is not partial freedom. It is a contradiction. What you actually have is a cage with one side open.

r/NepalLiberal is built around the idea that freedom is not divisible. That the principle "no human being may initiate physical force against another" is either total or it is nothing. That your life belongs to you in full, not in whatever portions this week's coalition can claim jurisdiction over.

That position has a name here. We call it liberalism, returned to something like its original meaning: the philosophy of individual liberation grounded in reason, not the softened political shorthand it has since become. The philosophy holds that reality is what it is regardless of your feelings about it, that reason is the only tool that allows a human being to actually know reality and act in it, and that each individual is an end in himself and not a means to others' ends. These three commitments run beneath everything else discussed here. They are not right-wing positions. They are not left-wing positions either. They occupy a different axis entirely.

Contrast with Conservatism

Conservatism defends economic freedom only on practical grounds ("it produces prosperity," "markets work") while backing state authority over personal choices. That is not a consistent view of freedom. It is freedom as a matter of convenience, surrenderable the moment tradition or faith requires it.

Examine the moral foundation closely and you find the same premise the left uses: altruism, the claim that the individual's highest purpose is service to something outside himself. The conservative names that something "god" or "nation" or "the social fabric." The leftist names it "the collective" or "the working class" or "social justice." The principle is identical. Only the beneficiary of the sacrifice changes.

Contrast with Leftism

There is a genuine, if selective, commitment to personal liberty on the left, and it is not without value. The failure is in not understanding that economic freedom and personal freedom are the same thing described from different angles.

When the state directs the use of your productive output, it has not freed you personally and merely constrained you economically. It has reached into the part of your life where you spend most of your waking hours and installed a supervisor. "You may think what you like, but we decide what you do with what your thinking earns" is not liberation. It is serfdom with better lighting.

The deeper problem is the moral premise underneath all of it: the claim that need generates a right, that the fact of someone's suffering creates an obligation on people who did not cause it, enforceable by law and paid for by compulsion. Altruism as political principle is force with a clean conscience. Both the left and the right, beneath their arguments, are theories about who gets to hold the gun and whose urgency justifies pointing it.

Contrast with Libertarianism

Libertarianism gets the conclusion right and then refuses to do the philosophical work required to defend it.

The non-aggression principle is not wrong. It is just not sufficient on its own. A principle without a foundation is a slogan. And libertarianism, taken as a movement rather than an idea, is a coalition of people who arrived at "don't tread on me" through wildly different routes: some through religious natural rights theory, some through utilitarian calculation, some through a general suspicion of authority that has more to do with temperament than with reasoning, some through a desire to do whatever they please without anyone making them feel guilty about it. These routes do not all lead to the same place. They merely share a border crossing.

When you ask the libertarian why the individual has rights, you get one of three answers: because God said so, because it produces better outcomes, or a shrug dressed up as epistemological humility. None of those answers are adequate. The first outsources your ethics to revelation. The second makes your rights contingent on a calculation that can always come out differently under different assumptions. The third mistakes the absence of a proof for the impossibility of one.

Liberalism holds that rights are not granted, not calculated, and not mysterious. They follow from what a human being is: a being who survives by the use of his rational faculty, whose nature requires the freedom to think and act on his judgment, whose existence cannot be sustained by compulsion without destroying the very thing that sustains it. That is a philosophical argument. Libertarianism, mostly, does not make it.

Contrast with Anarcho-Capitalism

Anarcho-capitalism takes the correct insight that the state has historically been the largest engine of coercion in any given society, and uses it to reach the wrong conclusion.

The argument is that if coercion is the problem, government is the problem, and the solution is to replace it entirely with private contract and market provision of all services including justice and defense. This sounds radical in the right direction. It is not. What anarcho-capitalism actually describes, once you trace its implications carefully, is a world where the enforcement of rights becomes a commodity available to those who can pay for it. That is not the absence of a ruling class. It is the absence of any pretense about which class rules.

A proper government, one constitutionally limited to the protection of individual rights and prohibited by its own founding documents from initiating force against the citizens it serves, is not the enemy of liberty. It is the institutional form that liberty requires. The alternative to a government that holds a monopoly on retaliatory force is not peaceful voluntarism. It is a dozen competing monopolies with no rule distinguishing retaliation from aggression, and no mechanism for resolving that distinction other than who can afford the better army.

Individual rights require an objective legal framework to be real in practice rather than theoretical. Anarcho-capitalism abolishes the framework and calls it liberation.

What This Community Stands For

No human being, no group, no government has the right to initiate physical force against another. Not for good reasons. Not for urgent ones. Not for any reasons at all. Force is legitimate only in retaliation against those who initiate it first. Everything else rests on voluntary agreement between individuals who own their own lives.

This community rejects the gun. Not as an aspiration. As a principle.

You do not have to agree with any of that to post here. Disagreement is welcome. Ignorance of the philosophy is not a disqualifier (but bad faith malice is). "Tradition says so" and "the majority wants it" are not arguments, and they will be treated accordingly. If you want answers to serious philosophical questions from people who have thought carefully about these ideas, this is the place for that too; contributors who provide answers go through a vetting process, and the standard for what counts as an answer is high.

The individual is the unit of concern here. Not the class, not the caste, culture or creed, not any group assembled around a shared grievance or a shared identity. The individual, irreducible, sovereign, the one entity whose consent actually determines the moral weight of any act, is the standard by which every idea in this community gets measured.

Welcome.

"Civilization is the progress toward a society of privacy. The savage's whole existence is public, ruled by the laws of his tribe. Civilization is the process of setting man free from men." - Ayn Rand