Random hits on the keyboard

I have completed 1,000 miles this year. I am not a big fan of the old metric system of miles. I prefer kilometres. But 1,000 miles sounds much cooler than 1,609 kilometres. So, I am going with miles. I did it. And yes, it feels like another proud moment. I did some math. It is only a little more than '6 kilometres a day'. Six kilometres! That sounds minimal when you look at it that way. Still, somehow, it feels good to think about the whole distance. The compound effect is amazing. I run on alternate days, so it is about 12 kilometres per run on average. Some days are different. On Friday, I ran 20 kilometres. I had no plan for a long run, but as I started running, the distance slowly added up to 20. And then I went to the office afterward. It was a happy Friday. I have been thinking about what this 1,000 miles really means to me. Perhaps it is simply an example of 'showing up, no matter what'. Six kilometres on an average day. Sometimes 20, sometimes less than 10. Some...

After a few years of running, I have made my run not only about the distance, the pace, or the time on the Garmin. I weave stories out of it. I like to create little stories from my runs. Some come from my daughter. Some come from the streets of Kathmandu. Some come from my memories. Some are simply things I notice along the way. These little stories make my run interesting. They give meaning to the kilometres. They make the journey lighter. Take today's run. As we all know, the distance is never fixed. But when Garmin showed '13.99' km, I stopped it. Why? Because my daughter wanted my run to end at .99. I had actually run another 700 metres before reaching my destination. But I stopped the Garmin at 13.99. I could have recorded 14.69 km or more.  But then I would have spoiled the story. Sometimes, it is these little things that make running fun. A few days ago, I was running along the Bagmati River. I went out and came back along the same route. This happened because of an...

I visited Nuwakot just after the flood. The flood site is not an easy place to visit. The mud and debris have completely covered the town. The Bidur town that once stood along the riverbank, with its houses, shops, roads, and familiar settlements, had been devastated by the flood. The settlement had simply disappeared. The Trisuli was still flowing, but it had changed its course. The riverbed has, according to locals, been elevated about 15 to 20 meters from its original position. The number of human fatalities and missing people is unbelievable. The number continues to rise. Locals say it could be around tens of thousands. Perhaps the exact number of people will never be confirmed, as in some villages, all families and neighbours perished in the flash flood. Almost everyone we met had a story. Someone had lost a relative. Someone was still waiting for news. Someone had survived by luck, instinct or an escape within a few seconds. The locals would begin telling us what happened, and su...

The internet defines Fear of Missing Out (FOMO) as the anxiety that others might be having more rewarding experiences than we are. For a long time, I thought FOMO was mainly a problem created by social media, invented by Facebook, Instagram, and their algorithmic cousins. I thought I had escaped it. I deactivated my Facebook account in 2016 and never really felt the need to go back. I was quite proud of myself. I thought I had stepped outside the FOMO bubble. I was, as it turns out, living in an illusion. I am beginning to realise that FOMO is much older and deeper than social media. It is a human evolutionary instinct, needed for survival, to know what others are doing, where they are going, and whether we are missing something important. For years, I have been mostly ignorant of what is "viral." People talk about a video, a celebrity, a controversy, or some piece of internet news, and I often have no idea what they are talking about. And I was quite happy about it. I felt l...

My daily routine is so set now that it almost seems boring. But I love to turn boring things into interesting things. Firstly, we have always been told, "Do what you love to do." I do not buy this. There is nothing wrong with doing the thing we love to do, but what if we don't love the thing that we have to do, ie, 'the hard things'? I have built a habit of doing the hard things, which I started to love doing, but not always. Yesterday was my scheduled running day, but the morning brought a heavy, relentless downpour. Running in the rain after you are already out on the road is tolerable, but stepping out the front door into a torrent feels counterintuitive and strange. All day at the office, I felt a lingering sense of incompletion. My body missed the familiar, satisfying fatigue that comes from a morning run. I kept promising myself that I would make up for it after work. The moment I arrived home, I changed into my running gear and headed south into the cool ai...

I got transferred to Kathmandu without anyone's 'blessing'. It was almost unbelievable. The Maoist insurgency was spreading rapidly across the mid-Western hills. The police units started to be attacked. Police, then, had limited resources and skills to fight the 'guerrilla' warfare. Many policemen would obviously prefer to be in Kathmandu or the Urban areas. So, Kathmandu postings required influence, recommendations, or knowing the right people. I had none of those, but the stars aligned, and my transfer order arrived anyway. I reported to the Bagmati Police Battalion, the Zonal Police Reserve Force. For my family, it was a huge relief. For me, it felt like coming home after spending nearly a year in Mahottari. I was back in my hometown. Kathmandu was comfortable; I knew the language, culture, and society. I had my friends here. My barrack was nice, next to the Bagmati river, at Tripureshwor. Therw were nothing much to do. When I was a duty officer, I had to inspect...

"Hello, my name is Bond, James Bond, and I am a marketing assistant." A 9-to-5 job holder, James Bond would be proudly selling a product. But James chose the right job: to become an assassin.  he is still a government employee, and much of his identity as 007 is as an MI6 agent. Our surnames are based on profession. My surname is Maharjan, which means a farmer. I no more do farming; nonetheless, the surname remains deeply embedded in social identity. My surname says what my parents and ancestors used to do for a living. Many government quota systems are still based on surnames. For me, I have a profession, and I have my Business cards, LinkedIn profiles, office door nameplate, email signatures, and my elevator pitch; all reinforce my profession as the centre of my identity. Have I blurred the line between my profession and personality? I have been a job holder for more than 25 years now. A job title is useful for me. It tells people what I do. It is comforting. It provides pu...

I cannot remember the exact day I started running. It was sometime around July 2023. I only remember that it began with a few kilometres. I did not have proper shoes or gear. Looking back, those first few kilometres changed my life in ways I never imagined. Three years later, I can confidently say that running has become one of the best habits I have ever built. Like most runners, I did not begin with ambitious dreams of marathons or ultramarathons. I simply wanted to run a little farther than yesterday. A few kilometres gradually became five. Five became ten. Every run quietly pushed the boundary a little further. By the end of 2023, I had made a plan that by the end of 2024, I would run 15 kilometres without stopping. To my surprise, I achieved that goal in February. I was almost ten months ahead of my own plan. It was a gentle lesson that we often underestimate what consistent effort can accomplish. Progress is rarely dramatic. It happens one ordinary run at a time until, one day, t...

"The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page." — Saint Augustine "One must travel to learn." — Mark Twain "To travel is to live." — Hans Christian Andersen Travel quotes are beautiful. They make me want to quit my job, buy a backpack, and disappear into the mountains with nothing but a notebook and an unreasonable amount of optimism. Then I remember I have bills. I also admire the people who wrote these famous travel quotes. They all lived before commercial airlines, budget airlines, baggage fees, airport security, visa applications, and the invention of the middle seat. Back then, travel was a genuine adventure. You packed your belongings, mounted a horse, boarded a ship, or simply started walking. If you returned, you wrote a book. If you didn't, someone else wrote your biography. There was no climate guilt attached to every journey. Nobody calculated the carbon footprint of a camel. There were no traffic jams stretching for fi...

Cultural preservation is a subject that has always been close to my heart. I am a proud Newar, born and raised in Kathmandu, and like many in my community, I have inherited the language, traditions and identity. The Newar community is often praised for preserving its rich heritage, festivals, architecture, cuisine, music, and rituals. In many ways, Newar culture has become synonymous with the cultural identity of Nepal itself. What makes this remarkable is our size. Newars make up less than five percent of Nepal's population, yet our influence on the country's cultural landscape is immeasurable. The temples of Kathmandu, the intricately carved windows, the vibrant festivals, the masked dances, the music, the food, and the centuries-old rituals are all deeply rooted in Newar civilisation. It is a heritage I deeply cherish and one I hope future generations will continue to experience. Yet preserving culture today is becoming increasingly difficult. Over the past few decades, Newa...

I finished The Book Thief this week. The first thing that stands out about the novel is its narrator. The story is told from the perspective of Death. Rather than appearing as a terrifying force, Death becomes an observer, a collector of souls, and ultimately a storyteller. Out of the millions of lives that pass before him, he keeps returning to one ordinary yet remarkable girl: Liesel Meminger. Liesel is a foster child growing up on Himmel Street, a modest working-class street in Nazi Germany during the Second World War. Through Death's narration, we witness her life, her struggles, her friendships, and the quiet moments that unfold beneath the shadow of a devastating conflict. What impressed me most was the simplicity with which the story is told. There are no grand military campaigns or dramatic political speeches. Instead, we see football games in the street, the loyalty of her friend Rudy, the kindness of the Hubermann family, and the small routines of everyday life. Most war ...