Immobile Bliss

There was a time, in the not so very distant past, when the only way for me to communicate was verbal, face-to-face. Then came a phone connection, and I gained some (many moments of sweet-nothings, idle gossip, some laughter and…), but lost quite a chunk of my piece of mind. Next came an Internet connection: just email to start with, but my days of freedom and blissful ignorance was already over. Checking my mail became a ritual and Outlook Express my shrine. Soon to follow was access to the cyber maze, yahoo, ….com, google!

About a year or so back, I finally succumbed to the call of the mobile phone. I had resisted for long (couldn’t afford it to be honest), but a generous offer from a friend finally took me in – ‘The cat was belled’.

Post Feb 1, after a long period of mobile phone services being suspended, restored and new offers, my SIM lies wrapped in a shroud of ivory white paper in a small pocket in my wallet. Losing all hope of getting it re-registered (long queues, longer official formalities), I left my handset at Siliguri. Luckily for me, a friend of my wife came to my rescue and voila – my SIM’s been activated and working, but my wallet being a single-function, low-tech device, does not double as a handset, so, I am now in the lookout for a handset.

Not really a situation to crib about, is it? Trust my word, if I had spent as much energy in trying to find the right handset on anything else, I guess I could have achieved so much by now. Magazines, the web, friends – all I have on my mind are WAP, GPRS, Mhz, MB… To top it all, I woke up just the other night using a phone that was a super-hybrid, featuring the best features of a dozen and more phones.

Now I wonder if technology has made my life easier? Looking back at those good-ol’ immobile days, I have my doubts!

A God for a day, a dog the remaining 364

Tihar is over, and with it comes to an end another long round of holidays. No crackers (thankfully), relatively few deusi and bhailo groups – a sign of the times I suppose. The past month has been quite calm and peaceful in comparison to the months prior to it: the Maoist ceasefire, the seven-party alliance on a dasain-induced languor and the administration in its usual state of non-committal defiance. The political scenario foments ahead of a bigger outburst, while I am here recounting the past few days.

Kag tihar, kukur tihar, gai tihar – a long list of rituals and festivities, and me a mute spectator to this cultural extravaganza. I enjoyed most the sight of garlanded dogs enjoying one-day of elevation to godhood. My next-door neighbour who chased any stray dogs that ventured near his front-gate with abuses, water, bricks and stones, sent his son on a mission to get any dog that came his way for the ritual on kukur tihar.

Every dog has his day – perhaps ours is the only place where almost every dog gets to be a God at least one day in a year. The abuses continue thereon, but there is at least a day of respite in a year. And the dog is not alone in enjoying that privilege. The cow is at least 364 times more fortunate, and so is the elephant – they are gods right through.

The marigold garland around the dog and the cow’s neck signifies our gratitude to the animal for lifelong servitude. And yet, it also exposes how selfish we are, and our double standards. Cows are sacred, and bulls often have their way in the busiest of Kathmandu streets, but how many of these living deities actually get their daily dose of fodder. To set a calf free is a pious act, what about it’s life thereafter. The busy streets and lanes of this city is hell for humans, just how does a helpless calf survive in this polluted concrete jungle?

Let dogs be dogs and so, cows, cows. Don’t deify, just give them their share of respect, love and compassion – not one day a year, but 365!

All that Jazz

Defining any genre of music within clear boundaries may be difficult or even impossible, especially jazz, the essence of which is spontaneity and improvisation. I am not an expert in music nor am I a practitioner – I am just an average fan, one who refuses to be taken for a ride.

Its Jazzmandu time again in Kathmandu, and I am yet again stuck with a misgiving. Not with the event as such, but with the artist line up. In fact I have a problem with the way jazz is portrayed here – is jazz really a free for all? Will picking up an exotic instrument tomorrow and making a show of it make me a jazz artist? And will my sounds come under the periphery of the jazz frontier? If blues is jazz, fusion is jazz, pop is jazz and everything is jazz, why have jazz? Why not music? Or even better why have music in our lexicon, why not just jazz?

Sticking to music in Kathmandu, but moving away from jazz – should amateurs and hobby singers be given the stage in paid events? I do realize that every singer starts off as an amateur, but should any one be allowed to practice one’s calling at the expense of another? Support – yes we do need to support our local talent, but can it happen at the expense of our entire music industry and system?

I have heard many of our young artists cribbing about having to struggle initially. Looking at the quality of stars, or rather the lack of it, I believe things are just too easy for them now, and yet the cribs about the going being tough…

Music has to be made and stars too – but?