Heartburn and soul ache...

Maacha ko mol – Shivkumar Rai (translated* by Vikash Pradhan)

2008-12-06T10:26:00.003+05:45

The Price of Fish

(1)

The torrential shower had just ended. As a frisky southerly wind spread tiny cloud shards across the sky, a dazzling blue sky, freshly washed, peeked through small tears in the cloud cover. There was no trace of the recent tumult. After a fit of madness, nature seemed resplendent in glory. Only the stream, washed clean by the rain, raged on. The nooks and corners of the hill resounded with the mountain brook’s roar as it made its way through them.

Emerging from his hut, fisherman Raaney stretched his right hand, and covering his eyebrows with his palm, looked up at the sky and then shifted his gaze to stare at the raging torrent. Shortish and stocky, clothed in a very old black denim daura suruwal^, patched all over and little more than rags, a striped waistcoat with a dozen white buttons lined up, an old faded cap, and with his suruwal legs pulled up to over his calves, Raaney looked one-of-a-kind.

Wonder what Raaney saw with his enquiring glances at the raging stream, picking a small fishing net from behind, he set out towards the stream. Sitting atop an algae laden rock he looked here and there. His snares were undisturbed, but the small embankment at the confluence had been washed away by the surge. Heaving a sigh of disappointment, Raaney drew in a long breath. A short fellow, he moved quite a way below with a few nimble leaps. Seeing the swirling froth and the swollen waters of the pool, Raaney gave his net a big spin and hauled it in the water. A little while later, Raaney pulled it out with his stocky, muscled limbs. Swept in with pebble, sand and some vegetation, a dozen or so fish writhed on the bank.

(2)

This was how Raaney made a living. His father had also been a fisherman - one night about ten years ago, he had been swept away by a monsoon spate: his memory might now be wandering in some forgotten realm. Ordinary people are scared of ghosts and spirits. As they believe, one should not venture out after dark: by doing so, one incurs the evil eyes of the supernatural. Raaney with his ghoulish ways was soon to touch the ranks of the ghosts. When the people of the diurnal world fell asleep, consciousness went on a trip to dreamland, and an eerie silence descended all around, it was the time Raaney, under the cover of darkness, went out with a blazing torch to search for fish in their nests and nooks. His weather beaten face looked sinister, lit by the flickering blaze of the torch. His white eyes set on his ghoulish face scoured the stream, the rocks, the hills and the walls. Possibly, the spirits of the stream got a chill themselves on seeing such a living ghost.

Raaney whirled his net and threw it again into the green pool. The fish disoriented and scared by the raging current got trapped in his net. A trace of joy flickered across his weather-beaten face. Tears welled up in his eyes. He started weaving his catch of fish on thin bamboo strips. Losing his mother very early, he was alone in the changing world. He may have his own fantasies about a life partner though. A small household by the stream, a toddler who would walk up to him while he was fishing and say, “Father, I want to fish too.” He would shout at his wife in irritation, “O Goray’s mother, take this child away.” Otherwise, returning home exhausted after selling his fish at the market, Goray’s mother would pour him a hot cup of tea, garnished with pepper, with a coy smile on her face. During these moments he would experience the joys of a householder.

(3)

Raaney headed for the market with his catch. His legs were drenched to the knee and bore blue marks due to bumps suffered on the uneven rocks of the stream. Blood flowed from those places where the skin had peeled. Despite the intense cold of the water, his heart was filled with the warmth of hope. He was set to make his biggest profit today.

At the crossing a man enquired, “How much is the fish for?”

“Eight annas a seer.”

“That much for fish that rollicks in the stream?”

“What is this price looking at the effort,” Raaney replied looking at the wounds and blue marks on his limbs. Raaney felt that he ought to price his fish more, but he himself did not know the real value for his fish.

By five, he sold off his entire catch. Counting the money in his hands, he found that he had earned ten rupees in total. He swelled even more with hope. If such sales sustained, he could easily earn no less than one hundred and fifty rupees in a month. With just two months labour, he could earn enough to raise a small hut and bring home a wife. Raaney’s covetousness took roots all around.

As he was heading ahead with similar thoughts in his mind, his attention was suddenly drawn towards a new shop on the roadside. A woman of about twenty or thirty was standing at the door. Though he lacked any influential grounding on matters of sex, there still remained some faint traces of arousal.

“Oh fisherman, do drop in at our shop for tea at times.”

Greedy at the prospect of exchanging a word or two with the woman, young Raaney thought it unwise to let go of the chance. He said, “Why won’t I eat at your place? OK get me what you have.” The woman served Raaney some sel, potato curry and tea and asked, “Shall I give you some fish too?”

Raaney looked at the plate and was enticed by the sight of the fish deep-fried with red spices. Drooling, he asked, “How much?”

“Two annas for a piece.”

“That’s the price of one piece of fish?” He panicked for a moment unable to gauge the valuation.

The woman replied with flair, “What do you think? This same fish will cost eight annas per piece as soon as it reaches a hotel. So, how is two annas for it expensive?”

Raaney thought it fair. Maybe fish should be priced in that manner. I am selling it at too little. Even then the two valuators had been unable to gauge the real value of fish.

The same thought again; a hut by the stream and a life-partner. Raaney suddenly looked at the woman. He felt his heart miss a beat. It then beat louder and faster. For a moment his thoughts became disordered. He asked, “So, where is your husband?”

The woman answered matter-of-factly, “My spouse is no more, my in-laws live in the market. My father-in-law does love me, but my mother-in-law is a harridan. She cannot stand the sight of me, so I moved out.”

These sentences fuelled up his hopes even more. He thought, what if she is a widow, she is still young. Moreover, being a widow she might love me. Now all I need to do is gather money for the hut. As he was about the leave, the widow said, “Please drop in at times, if fate does not intervene we will meet again.”

Raaney felt elated.

(4)

It was already seven when he reached the stream. Tonight there is jest in his body, joy in his heart and his young soul flitted about on its own. Yet again that dark monsoon night, the celestial beings have disappeared into some faraway realm. The sky is covered with clouds. Tears seem ready to drop from the sad faces of the clouds. Thunder struck the mountainside and the sound echoed all around. The stream flows on with its incessant roar. Raaney leaves for the stream with a burning torch. Thunder strikes again. Even the never fearing Raaney is momentarily shaken. He remembers the face of his father during the flash of lightning. But he thought it was just an illusionary shred of memory. The clouds appeared to roar, “Stay away from the water.” But why would he listen - he was resolute to earn double the money he earned today and to make the longings of his heart a reality.

Yet again Raaney cast his net in the pool; the fishes were in a stupor due to the light of the torch. About twenty-thirty carp and trout were caught in the net. He scours beneath the rocks and finds fish, he checks his snares at the embankment, and finds even them teeming with fish. Raaney is neither hungry nor is he sleepy. His hopes have found wings. He has no concerns about physical labour.

A dark cloud blew from the south. A flash flood rushed down from the top of the mountains with a whoosh. Little did Raaney know that riding the flood was the Lord of Death, Yamaraj. Hearing the water gush over the rocks, he started gathering the fish on the bank when the current swept them away. Raaney felt very sad to see the fruits of his hard labour carried away thus, but he did not realize that he was being swept away along with the fish. “The value of this much fish…,” escaped from Raaney’s mouth as he was carried down by the flood, but before the sentence could be completed, the water submerged him.

Everything came to an end – Raaney’s hope, ambitions and aspirations were born in that pool. They died at the same place. A foreboding silence descended all around again. Raaney’s net had already been covered by the sand. Only the remains of his torch flickered in the darkness as if awaiting his return. A cold breeze flew down from the nooks of the mountains. The perennial music of the flowing stream had spread to every corner of the mountains. Disorder was again absent in nature’s laws.

*Disclaimer - This is not an authorized translation
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^ Daura Suruwal: A Nepali attire worn by males, comprising a top (daura) and breeches like trousers (suruwal).

New Dreams, Harsh Reality

2008-09-16T23:25:00.001+05:45

A lot has changed and yet its all the same. The roads are bursting in the seams with traffic, constructions big and small, planned and unplanned have come up all around. The bustle is noticeably more and people appear busier. Kalimpong has not been immune to the recent spurt of change and yet it is perhaps one town in the Darjeeling Hills that has managed to cling on to a large part of its past spirit. Darjeeling did not have much of open spaces, Kurseong was primarily tea garden land, but the brilliant yellow paddy fields have been characteristically Kalimpong. Slowly, many of these open terraces are making way to habitation, but the town still retains enough that draws me back to her on and off.

As I look at Kalimpong town bask in this pleasant December sun, a chilly breeze hits me atop Tirpai Hill. The drive up from town was uneventful. Despite a few Maruti vans forcing down their way through a one-way, the narrow road afforded enough leeway for us to pass without any detours. I have driven up to Tirpai many times from town by the same road, but its only in recent years that I have realised how narrow it is. Maybe the road has shrunk or possibly the constructions on the sides have cramped it to this narrow trail.

---

As a child, Tirpai was birds, walnuts and the cold breeze. The breeze still blows strong and cold, the walnut tree stands taller but the birds have grown silent. The hill no longer plays host to their chirps - the concrete has stifled their very existence. The house is visibly older. The moss has overtaken most of the north wall, some of the wooden frames have rotted at the base and the paint on the roof is peeling off.

The people here are older, my kanchi boju*, B mama**, R chema***. Even B, the little kid as I remember with the loud bawl and the constant snort trail below his nostrils, is grown up to a little man and shakes my hand instead of the conventional dhog^. He even attempts to initiate a conversation and updates me about town and also his own academic pursuits. After his final exams in April, he wants to study further in Calcutta and wonders how good a choice it is.

Among all the Kalimpong people that make the collage of images in my mind, Ramu daju’s^*^ is one that has perhaps remained unchanged. The hair is white now, which was probably black once, but he has practically remained the same through the years despite the few fine creases that line his face beneath the stubble. As a kid, we had to look up when addressing him, but the difference in height swiftly got bridged and the opposite holds true now. The talk remains the same though: he is aware of most general happenings around town and yet his interpretation and narration can be called only his, much to the glee of others. The omnipresent display of his even, well-brushed white teeth make up for most of his inconsistencies when it comes to the constant banter that he finds himself forced to indulge in out of habit.

For us, Ramu daju was the guy who milked the cow, lit the fire, cleaned the chicken coops and climbed trees around the house to cut branches that blocked the sun. We never really played with him, though we were a passive but constant shadow as he went through his chores. He made some small talk about the cow, birds, bees and hay. There were frequent references and comparisons to ‘his gaon^^’ back in Nepal, where things were similar and yet everything was better - the cow healthier, probably due to the greener pastures, the sun brighter and yet not as hot as in Kalimpong, the bees made more honey and birds were more colourful and plentiful. Most of all, it was peaceful.

The daylight hours for Ramu daju went on household chores, but the evenings were his alone - spent watching Doordarshan on the Sonodyne TV in the living room. There were no set rules or protocols regarding the seating, but Ramu daju shared the spot right in front of the TV on the carpeted floor with us, with the older ones reclining or sitting on the couches further behind. Starting with Krishi Darshan he would take in every second of the programming till it was lights out and the household retired for the night. The evening news was perhaps the highlight and any mention of prime minister Rajiv Gandhi delightful to him. The Nepali King was for him, a parallel to Rajiv Gandhi and he usually embarked on a monologue singing his praises and the development work underway back home under him. His loyalty to the Nepali royalty was perhaps best illustrated by a small framed picture of the Royal Family that hung on the wall above his bed.

The cow is gone now and the coops are filled with poultry chicken in place of local ones. Ramu daju’s shedule seems lighter with the load of the cow’s upkeep gone and LPG now being used in the kitchen instead of wood. Even the big Sonodyne TV has made way for a much sleeker Sony Wega, and in place of Doordarshan Ramu daju can enjoy Nepali fare courtesy Nepal TV, Channel Nepal and Kantipur.

---

Kalimpong town was abuzz with activity that day. A new political force had emerged that was finally posing some serious challenge to the incumbent group. The recent weeks had seem some political strikes and disruptions, and also a few instances of violence and carnage. The townspeople fearful of a resurgence in socio-political unrest, and fed up with the frequent political strikes had embarked on a peace rally around town. There perceptibly was a big assemblage, the roads were jammed and traffic had come to a halt to let the rally through. I could hear the din from the sunny vantage point of my boju’s courtyard. Ramu daju joined me with an update on the recent developments in town.

“The few years of peace we had after the Gorkhaland agitation is about to be broken again. We had a terrible time during the movement - you remember it, don’t you? You were just a kid then. We men-folk barely slept at night. The CRPF personnel would swoop down and arrest people indiscriminately. So many people from this vicinity got arrested and beaten up. I was lucky...,” reminisced Ramu daju. “You must have scampered away scared and hid somewhere. I don’t think they would have arrested you or anything. Moreover, you are a Nepali and you could have just told them that...,” I teased him. “As if it was that easy,” he angrily retorted, “you were too small to realise the way things were then. And you’ve always been nestled safe and cosy in Gangtok.”

Expecting an extended tirade, I moved away, but Ramu daju caught up with me and enquired, “so, how are things in Kathmandu? I have been hearing about the events there. Are things really different? Everyone’s been talking about the New Nepal, must be very exciting to be there now. I’ve heard Prachanda^^^ will be the President. He may well be like Gyanu^*, autocratic and authoritarian...” “Its still the same. There has just been a change in the political system. Recently they even removed the King,” I explained.

“There wasn’t a king as such after the demise of King Birendra. He was the real king,” Ramu daju reasoned with his simple sensibilities. “He was a good king,” he continued. He would have carried on perhaps, but for B, who interjected loudly, “you know what? Ramu daju is all set to return to his homeland. He wants to spend his old age in the New Nepal.”

Ramu daju uttered a few words of denial defensively, but it was clear that he did harbour some dream of returning back to Nepal. The recent events in Nepal, and the thought of a New Nepal, whichever way he took it, had perhaps added vigour to the dormant longing for his land.

A couple of weeks later, I heard that Ramu daju had indeed left for home.

---

A few months later, while in Kalimpong, I was in Tirpai again. I was surprised to see Ramu daju bring in tea. On enquiring, my boju summarized his misadventure in Nepal in a sympathetic tone.

His ordeal had begun right from the day he stepped on a bus for Kathmandu at Kakkarvitta. The journey that normally took about 14 hours had taken him over three days due to the frequent stoppages and detours en route owing to bandas**^ called by the miscellaneous agitating Madhesi factions.

Ramu daju had been an ordinary, average Nepali while at home, a farmer’s son and living off the land. The tarain for him was, going by various accounts, a hot, faraway tract of land, inhospitable and teeming with ‘tarain-basis’ who somehow eked a living off it.

As a teenager, Ramu daju had travelled to Kathmandu in search of a better future. The city built on a valley was dirty and hot, but he was surrounded by familiar looking hills and mountains. After about a year of doing odd jobs in the Valley, he had followed a missionary who was returning home to Kalimpong. It was then that he had had his first taste of the tarain. Attuned to the mountains and hills, the flat plains with miles and miles of semi-tropical foliage was alien to him. If Kathmandu was hot, the heat in the plains was scorching.

During the long, arduous drive he caught glimpses of the tarain-basis working in the fields. They looked no different from his own folk, only darker, and possibly as hard working. They had seemed docile and rapt in earning a sustenance to even bother glancing at the passing thoroughfare.

Returning home, and passing through the tarain again, Ramu Daju felt a perceptible change in the demeanour of the people. The other changes were more visible, a barrage over the Koshi river, many more vehicles plying on the road and a lot more roadside townships. The highway appeared less desolate lined by habitation, small shops and dingy eateries, mostly makeshift and no more than sheds.

The people he encountered now were very different from the ones he had passed during his earlier passage. They seemed much more aggressive, angry and not easily persuaded. Living in Kalimpong, all plainsmen were ‘bhaiyas’ to Ramu Daju. It wasn’t a derogatory reference, but just a label that had stuck on through the years. During a stop at a small hamlet, he had wanted to purchase a piece of fried fish. “Bhaiya, could you give me a piece of fish,” he asked naively. The exchange would have passed off without any incident in the past, but little did he know that now in the New Nepal, the Madheshi was no pahaday’s bhaiya. The vendor burst at him, but feigning ignorance, an apologetic Ramu Daju retreated to the safety of the bus.

As Ramu Daju found out from his fellow passengers, it was inclusive times, and the Madhesh, as the tarain was also called, had finally found a voice and were pressing for the rights they had been denied for so long. The pahadeys could no longer dish out the ‘tarain-basi’ rhetoric without the fear of reprisal. The plains were up in arms, and blockades and stoppages appeared to be the most effective way of expressing the general ire at the administration. An unwary Ramu Daju had to bear the full brunt of the Madheshi agitation, and his journey was riddled with stops and detours in the sticky heat of the plains.

He had finally reached Kathmandu, tired and weak, only to be bewildered by the changes that had come over the Capital in the few decades that he had been away, mostly for the worse. The crowd, the congestion, the traffic and the pace of things in general had literally driven him insane. The city appeared to have seen a massive exodus of the people from the countryside during his absence, and it seemed filled to the brim.

A complete stranger and almost lost, Ramu daju had somehow managed to escape from the metropolis on a bus bound for a town near his village. The trip this time ran smooth and he was pleasantly surprised to know that even his village was connected now by a motorable road, and he was lucky to hitch a ride on an old dilapidated jeep. Weary, he finally set foot in his village, much relieved and overwhelmed to be back. Development as he saw had not swept by here as swift as it had in the Capital. The road had ushered in some changes, but prosperity had been limited to a few, and their taller, bigger brick and cement houses bore witness to that. In general, the village still reeked of poverty.

The Movement was said to have been to change all that - wrest power from the hands of a few and empower the general, but Ramu Daju wondered if it had achieved that end. Despite the lush green crops decorating the terraced slopes, the landscape was still bleak and familiar. He could faintly recollect the general lay of the land, and was soon on his way home where, as a youngster, he had left his elder brother and his family behind on a quest for something better.

Guided by a few helpful people Ramu daju had managed to find his house, but to his dismay, found it locked and in utter disrepair. Some casual enquiry revealed that his brother had died quite a few years back. He was succeeded by a son, but he too was absent. He was supposedly displaced during the People’s War and was now believed to be living in some camp somewhere with his mother, wife and two children. His lands had been confiscated, and the assurance of such land being returned had been only in principle and not yet implemented. A few expected him to return, but no one could say when?

Ram daju was finally home, but found himself homeless.

---

Later, feigning ignorance, I asked a glum looking Ramu daju, “so, did you not go home? Now that the New Nepal has dawned when are you making the trip?” My intention was not sarcasm, but my question had perhaps brushed his ego and he replied sourly, with a hint of ire, “don’t act naive. I did go, but the New Nepal was just too new for my liking...”

---

* Grandma’s youngest sister
** Maternal uncle
*** Maternal aunt
^*^ Elder brother
^ A way of greeting where a younger person bows his/her head for the older person to lay his/her hand on and bless.
^^ Village
^^^ Maoist leader
^* Short for Gyanendra, the deposed king
**^ Strike, shutdown

Motley Mix

2008-09-16T23:11:00.004+05:45

A new podcast from Nepal: http://motleymix.nepal123.com

Cherry Blossoms

2007-09-25T22:23:00.000+05:45

Cherry blossoms fall
down to earth with the
hailstones that melt soon away

Critiquing Critics

2007-09-24T10:01:00.000+05:45

Critics, as I have realized, are a hated lot and yet appeased when the moment dictates so. I am not much of an ‘art’ or a ‘public’ kind of person, so, I have not faced many from this elevated lot and have largely been away from their caustic remarks and unfounded ire.

Filled with the ‘exuberance of youth’, a few of us decided to convert an article that we had done in the past about the music in the Darjeeling Hills into a documentary. The inaugural Darjeeling Carnival was on, and we were excited to hear about the performers of the yesteryears getting together on stage. We thought it was the perfect platform to put together our film.

Looking back, it was indeed the exuberance of youth that took us all the way to Darjeeling, manage about 15 mini DV tapes of footage and piles of fun together. Back in Kathmandu, the enormity of the task hit us on the face. First of all, we were amateurs, and sitting with some supposed-pros on the edit bench, our technical flaws were starkly exposed. It was just too late to make amends so we trudged ahead, and then we were hit with some technical snags – with the film almost done, the hard disk crashed and we were back to square one.

We were next hit by some human inconsistencies and failings. Money is an issue, and it became one that forced us to move on to another edit station. We started afresh and the going was OK, but then some in our group found the going too slow and our attitude too laid back. The work came to a standstill.

After much heartburn and soulache, we finally decided to shelve our differences, temporarily, and finish the film. Well, we did, but it did not come out as a documentary as originally planned, but more of a documentation of what the music scene was like in the past in the Darjeeling Hills through interviews of the past performers. Knowing the people, being acquainted with the lingo and having amply heard of their lore and tales, we thought and hoped we would find photographs, records and other memorabilia from the days past. But to our dismay, the people themselves and their accounts were the only witness to the past and their achievements. We did manage to recover an old song from someone’s archives, which incidentally, the performer himself did not have a copy of. Another high for us was scouring the archives of Time magazine and purchasing an article from April 1963 about the coronation of the King of Sikkim that had a reference to The Hillians as the Sikkimese Beatles, one of the bands we had featured. Anyway, the film was done – not a work of art as such, but a fitting tribute to the past and an end to our tribulations.

Now to cut short this ramble – we had a public viewing, and we got some coverage on the local media too. Admittedly, we had not produced a work of art and the general coverage was fair and square. We made it clear right in the beginning that our shortcoming was the lack of archived media – photos, recordings and footage from the past, which as we had found out was simply not available. People had just not bothered to archive anything – maybe the archival culture was, and sadly is not one of the stronger points of the Darjeeling Hills. We were mostly critiqued on the technical aspects of the film, which we accepted whole-heartedly, but one critic was especially caustic and spewed gall over lack of archived media.

We took the criticism then as deserving. Somehow, I happened to re-read the review today, and I realize that we do not deserve to be criticized so. We never intended to entertain – our sole purpose was to keep alive the memories of the past popular culture of the Darjeeling Hills, and in that I feel we have succeeded to a large extent. The memorabilia from those days are non-existent and soon those very voices that recount the glorious days of old will fall silent – we have at least managed to capture their recollections in film as witness of those times.

I am not cribbing because someone found our film boring – maybe, many from our own group found our efforts less than flattering and were bored. What I am not happy about is being penalized so severely for what was essentially not our shortcoming, but an inherent one among our people of not valuing objects and memorabilia from the past. Anyone can write a review; especially with the advent of the Internet, over half of any review is done even before you start – you can just pick lines from here and there. But it takes special skills to critique: a sound understanding of the background, attitudes, the culture…

It is very easy to be a harsh critic, but hard to be a fair one.

It is hard to acknowledge any initiative, but very easy to clip it at the bud.

Initiatives galore – why for? Where for?

2006-07-21T16:57:00.000+05:45

While working with WAVE some years back, we often soaked up the sun on the terrace of the Sanchaya Kosh building, right opposite the United Nations office at Pulchowk. We were always impressed and awed by the fleet of gleaming white SUVs that were lined up each evening in the UN parking lot, despite an unimpressive track record on the activities and transparency front. Is humanitarian work, in a country that one of its agencies (UNDP) puts in the mid 140s of the Human Development Report, so demanding as to require that big a fleet of SUVs? Or is it plain extravagance, borne out of unmonitored, misguided and forced charity in the name of corporate social responsibility: corporate ‘paap kaatai’, to use local lingo.

I read about the United Nations in school, and I was duly impressed. But, as I grew up the image slowly crumpled, and I now view it as a house of vice. While there have been instances when the UN has come off in exemplary light, in general I have nothing but cynicism for it. While the Secretary General perennially rants about the lack of funds to fulfill all its goals, the establishment and its numerous appendages suck the main body dry through sheer extravagance and corruption.

This post is very different from my usual ones – in fact, this is the first time I have expressed my ire against a public body in a public platform, but I guess it is high time each one of us expressed our disappointments more openly. And the credit for this outpouring goes to Lochan Rizal. Most know him as a singer, some as a ‘very good person’ (the aankha halda pani nabijauney type), and a very few as a ‘UN White Band ambassador’. As a goodwill ambassador of the UN, he was invited to a Millennium Development Goals seminar held in Kathmandu recently. The event may have found mention in the media, but what was snubbed out was Lochan’s oration during the event.

The floor flew high fuelled by bloated, far-fetched plans and initiatives, characteristically UN, UNDP, Youth Initiative, the government… It was big in every respect – the dignitaries, the budgets, the plans, but hollow to the core. Finally, it was Lochan’s turn to address the gathering and much to the ire of the preceding speakers, he proceeded to speak out his heart and his soul. His speech was rudimentary, but it was ‘honest’. While the speakers before him painted a hollow picture of achievement for the future, he scrubbed the sheen off it, exposing the sordid reality that we live in. His agenda was not big initiatives, bigger budgets and much bigger piles of reports and declarations – but, an honest effort at poverty alleviation, driven not by the multi-million dollar budgets of the INGOs, but by a true zeal to see a positive change in the plight of the underprivileged.

As Lochan spoke a silence descended upon the gathering. Many heaved a sigh of relief as he left the podium. There was no applause, but he had struck a discordant note among all those assembled – and that was evident in the air. He may have failed to get public approval for his outburst, but I am sure he has gained the respect of many like myself.

He was a layman speaking among a group of experts. His speech lacked the finesse, the oratory or the statistics displayed by the others, but it was 'honest'. Way to go Lochan.

Now that is attitude!

Green Brigade

2006-07-09T10:37:00.000+05:45

If you want to sell someone a Mac, show that person a PC. Sounds odd, but going by some recent Apple ads, it appears to be a ploy that works really well. What better way to highlight the Mac-vantage than by showcasing the faults of the PC. The past few decades have been a turbulent one for business, and we have seen some drastic changes in business sense, models and ethics. Innovation, traditionally a Xerox domain, is now Google’s forte, and innovation seems to be the key to success in recent times. Apple’s dig at the PC maybe seen by many as innovative marketing, but despite being a Mac fan, I do not approve of it. Living in Nepal, I am all too familiar with such negative marketing, and thus know the pitfalls.

With the Red Brigade now in the national mainstream, a lot of people are breathing easier. This is the time to look ahead and put the wheels of the economy back on track. The red shadow still looms at large, but I see a bigger threat from the Green Brigade – it may not be out in the open, but it lies within most of us, and manifests itself in our policies and day-to-day dealings. The green in us is not a new phenomenon, even inspiring Kunti Moktan’s very popular hit, ‘Khutta tandai gara…’. Many people in fact consider it the basic ‘Nepali trait’.

I am no expert on Nepali business, but I have been in Nepal long enough to see its ailments. Corruption has sucked this nation dry, and sadly it continues to do so. People languish on favours and obligations, scratching each other’s backs, and flushing down talent, quality and ability towards extinction. Another rabid infection that is keeping back business is the negativity that resides in all levels. I remember the members of the marketing team, of a newspaper I worked for once, come back with long faces and say how difficult it was to sell ad space in the market. As they said, clients were not difficult to convince, but they had no way of keeping at bay the competition and their negative marketing. What our competitors were selling was not ad space in their publications, but reasons why not to buy space on ours.

The green thing is not just about selling advertisements or rather spreading bad vibes about the competition, but it is something we encounter everywhere. I went to New Road recently to buy some RAM for my computer – the price as I was told in one shop would be lower than what was being offered elsewhere. I first had to tell the person what the price was in another shop and then he would quote his. It is okay to be wary of competition, but why base one’s business or marketing policy on someone else’s? We so fixated about the competition’s offering and why not to go for it that we often neglect our own offering so much so that it fails to be competitive on its own. It is ironic that our USP is not our own strength, but the competition’s alleged weakness.

When Apple can, so can Orange, but how many of us really have an offering as good and as innovative as Apple does to go into negative overdrive? Have we explored our inherent strengths fully so that we can now move our sights to the competition? Is our offering good enough to justify marketing the weaknesses in others’?

Lost years

2006-07-01T12:19:00.000+05:45

A friend of mine turned 26 recently. I cautioned him to think twice before calling me ‘old’ henceforth since he would be in my place soon enough. On a serious note though, I have just one thing to say to him: ‘youth comes just once and it passes by sooner than we realise’. This friend in question is a doer: someone who likes to do things and is always ready for fresh challenges. Of late however, I have seen a faint trace of cynicism seep into him, and he is no longer ready to jump into things as of old. He is more cautious and definitely wiser, but I wonder if he realizes the valuable years that he is losing through caution, by being cynical, and looking for ‘a reason and purpose’ to justify each effort.

The cushion is so much thicker when you are young. You can take risks, and if you fail, you can bounce back each and every time. But, as time goes by and responsibilities pile on the cushion wears thinner, and you no longer recover as you do in the past. It takes more time and leaves deeper bruises on the mind and soul.

As youngsters, we often leave things for the future and for a time ‘when we are older’: we wait for that day to dawn when we are old enough to make a start. We wait and we wait some more, and very often, there comes a time when we look back and realize we are just too old to start or to risk failure. It is a hard fact to bear, but we only wake up to the lost years when they long gone and over.

Youth comes once in a lifetime, and it is nothing short of magic. It is a difficult time to wade through: one of discovery, learning, stumbling, adjusting… I would advise extreme caution for all my young siblings, but while I say that, I would also ask them to take risks. One can always leaves things for better times, but there is no better time to start than when one is young – to lay foundations and to build on them. If you have big dreams as a youngster, dare to take the plunge while you have youth on your side.

Getting back to my friend, a word of advice for him, “Wipe the cynicism from your mind. Take the plunge and do the twist while you are young. Things may not always work out as you expect them to, but you will regret more never having tried when you had time and youth in hand.”

Failures can be reversed, but the lost years are never recovered.

Live your youth to the fullest, but plant your memories with care!

2006-06-19T14:47:00.000+05:45

There many who refer to me affectionately :) as ‘old’. The tag is a misnomer: a reference more to my frequent forays into the past, and the experiences picked up thereon, than to my age. I even got an offer once to write using the alias, ‘Buddhiman’, which I politely refused. I am far from wise, and I commit more mistakes than the average person. But being more of a ‘cup half full’ type of person, I have learnt valuable lessons from those mistakes and missteps. Two things that I have learnt in particular from my past are: life is the greatest teacher one can have, and memories can be the best of allies and the worst of foes.

Youth can be a fleeting moment or a lifetime. I have been a ‘Bob Dylan’ fanatic for long, but it is only now that I can safely say that I understand and feel, “Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now (<a href=”http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/backpages.html”>My Back Pages – Bob Dylan</a>).” Age has added on a lot many physical constraints, but I feel refreshingly young to be rid of the emotional and other baggage that piled on with the onset of adolescence and lasted till the wee days of my 20s. I watched mutely as my youth overtook me and left me behind, weighed down by attitude, mindset and expectations. I was honest with everyone save my self.

Youth is a miracle, and it has many wonders. We often take its biggest wonder for granted: friends. It is great if one can be a friend as well to one’s love, but it is sad when the latter rear its fangs on the former and contaminates the bond. A lucky few succeed in making love last for a lifetime, but for most folks, friends are forever while love may be momentary. Friends are forever says it all, but to be more explicit, we can add ‘through thick and thin’. And, friends cannot be bought: if you think you can, there always is someone offering a premium. There is no real insurance for the future, but it is wise to invest on good and loyal friends. People fall in love and out it but friendship carries on.

Another wonder of youth is the feeling of being in love and giving in. But don’t drown in it so deep that you surface only to realize that your best days have passed you by. Love at first sight does happen, but it can pass off as easily as it seeps in. Heartaches hurt more than toothaches, and the hurt lingers on, often for life. People may dispute this, but you fall in love many times and yet you fall in love only once – something hard to explain, easier felt. When marriages fail, love can be no exception, but there are some that last, so, ‘believe’ in that rare chance. Love hurts and is often hard, but it is bliss while it lasts.

As a line in Pink Floyd’s <a href=”http://www.lyricsfreak.com/p/pink+floyd/free+four_20108669.html”> Free Four </a> goes, ‘The memories of a man in his old age, are the deeds of a man in his prime’, with every action in our youth, we sow a memory for the future. While it will be an utter waste not to live life to the fullest while we are young, it will be a nightmare to have our memories stalking us the remainder of our lives through out indiscretions.

Live your youth to the fullest, but plant your memories with care!

Casteaway

2006-06-14T10:52:00.000+05:45

Any publicity is said to be good publicity, and likewise in a blog, any comment is a welcome one. I thus took this one in with a pinch of salt, ‘Hey, VIKASH PRADHAN.. STOP ACTING>> YOU R NOT A NEPALI>> AND DONT TRY TO ACT LIKE ONE. I was a little bothered initially, but filling in a school admission form proved therapeutic, and I realized that the comment was too trivial to lose sleep over. My nationality is an issue, but the questions of caste and religion that haunt many Nepalis even in this modern age easily overshadow it.  

I never knew that so much of details was necessary to get a child admitted in Class II: name, address, height, weight… and even ‘caste’ and religion. I haven’t heard of segregated classes, but the fact that caste and religion featured in the admission, I wonder if it does have some bearing in the performance or treatment meted out to a student? John Lennon’s utopian dream as laid down in Imagine maybe a very distant reality, but when social and religious barriers are finally beginning to breakdown, why and wherefore would a school insist in knowing a child’s caste?

Having grown up in Gangtok, I know how deep communal feelings run, but I consider myself lucky to have never faced any stigma based on the colour of my skin, my race or religion. Over the years I have however gained enough insight on our social structure to genuinely feel for those who have to live with the stigma of being born in a caste deemed inferior by many. During an interview with a prominent lawyer and social activist, Yash Kumar’s Mailey choyeko pani chaldaina… came up as one facet of popular music, that was highlighting social issues and could bring some necessary changes in the future. This particular track, as I heard in Darjeeling, was a huge hit in many areas of Doars and the neighbouring plains. I can only understand why: it maybe no landmark like Ambar Gurung’s Nau lakhey tara but it epitomizes perfectly the plight of the people segregated by, and their status defined by ‘water’. Fresh out of a historic movement that has changed political horizons, many may dream of a ‘New Nepal’, but I guess all those dreams will come to naught if we fail to wash away the barriers of caste and religion from our system, and scratch similar boxes from our forms.

Quite big things for me to utter, but having done that, a return to my nationality: I have never claimed or claim to be Nepali, though I feel as Nepali as I guess Adrian, Feroze or even Nirakar feel when they sing, Yo mann ta mero Nepali ho… Nepal has been very accommodating and I am grateful for many reasons, but I am content being a Gorkha (a reaffirmation of why the Nepali diaspora in India need to insist on the Gorkha label and not ‘Nepali’) and rather happy with my prabasi status unlike many of my peers who are Nepali in the true or the false sense of it. I know many people who are very reluctant to talk about their origins, I would like to distance myself from that lot.

On a positive note, the comment has been a wake up call: a reminder that I may be getting just a bit too Nepali. A call to make amends before ddhoka wipes out dailo and mech</> replaces chauki from my vocabulary.

I’d rather be a sinner than to repent if ‘nationality is my only sin’ – a la Louis Armstrong.

Black and Blue, Louis Armstrong

Cold empty bed springs hurt my headFeels like ole ned wished I was deadWhat did I do to be so black and blueEven the mouse ran from my houseThey laugh at you and all that you doWhat did I do to be so black and blueI'm white inside but, that don't help my caseThat's life can’t hide what is in my faceHow would it end ain't got a friendMy only sin is in my skinWhat did I do to be so black and blueHow would it end I ain't got a friendMy only sin is in my skinWhat did I do to be so black and blue

Second Take

2006-06-11T14:01:00.000+05:45

I seldom watch NTV, but being stuck indoors due to rain on a recent trip to Daman, I was forced to a liberal dose of it. I don’t have much to say about the fare except for an anti-piracy ad issued by the association of record producers. When piracy makes a big dent on the multi-billion dollar movie and music industry in the west, the extent of its impact on our fledgling audio industry can only be imagined. Music is yet to become a mainstream career, but the industry has seen its share of success stories, and the future promises better and bigger things. Piracy is a major hurdle on the way, but I see the intrinsic flaws more than the external hurdles holding the industry back.

Piracy does affect the revenue from music sales adversely, and I am no advocate of piracy, but more than the impact on the sales due to music piracy, I see the music industry suffering more from piracy of ideas and concepts. The ‘template mindset’ has sounded the death knell for creativity in most areas here. From music to ads to movies, even before we ink the drawing board, we have presets in mind – templates of the finished product picked up from elsewhere. I have no qualms about adapting a style or a genre, but I simply detest clones. I can happily listen to GP belting out their attitude on ‘Ma Yesto Chu’ but I blow my top every time Mystic comes with their clone of Blue’s One Love. I only wonder why? Are we so pathetic and sad? I can understand Mystic coming up with a clone, but how can any music producer agree to produce such trash? Don’t our TV and radio stations have any form of quality control for their programs to be playing those tracks and videos on air? Imagine my surprise at seeing a Nepali music video on Channel Nepal, which featured video footage ripped straight from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, not in, parts but verbatim. Now I wonder who is doing more harm to Nepali music – the pirate or the producer and the media?

Technology can be empowering, and it can help a singer sing better. Our problem lies in thinking that technology can make a singer out of just anybody. The Nepali music industry is growing bigger and our TV channels and Radio stations are making stars of ordinary folk on almost a daily basis. Nepali music sells like never before, but is the future really bright? Our record producers, TV channels, Radio stations and the other so called guardians of Nepali music – are they really in a bid to save Nepali music or is it only a effort to save their pecuniary interests? Just how many singers and musicians that have come up in the past decade can we rate as truly talented? The Uglyz sell, but I would pay to hear the vocalist utter a single ‘clear’ line without the video hiding his flaws. Sabin Rai is hot, but why would I pay to hear a Bryan Adams clone sing in Nepali? If I want good Nepali music I would rather depend on Deep Shrestha who sings like himself. Likewise, if I want to hear Bryan Adams, would I need a clone who is not even half as good?

I have often been told to be nationalistic and ‘to be Nepali and support Nepali’. I do agree to a certain extent to Nepalis helping Nepalis – but we have to stop supporting mediocrity driven by emotional and nationalistic attachments. Nepali music in its current state is at best mediocre, and it is not piracy to blame for its sordid state. As producers, our producers are doing a disservice to Nepali music by producing trash, and so our channels by playing trash, and each one of us by buying trash.

Do not pirate Nepali music, but stop buying and accepting trash that gets made in the name of music.

Shooting Star

2006-06-02T13:50:00.000+05:45

I saw a shooting star last night. As it is said, you wish upon a shooting star: experience though stopped me from wishing anything new. Wishes thus made seldom come true, but the moments do leave indelible marks in one's memory to be recalled and wished upon again, with each fresh encounter. As a line from Dylan's Shooting Star goes, 'seen a shooting star tonight, and I thought of me', I recalled a line I wrote many years ago for someone dear, who then was away in a distant city. The physical distance was hard to bear, but I found solace looking at the starlit sky above: I felt a connection to her through the sky we both were under and the air that we shared.

It has been a promising start so far, but driven by habit I now take an unromantic turn. I saw a shooting star last night and I thought of me, her, a wish made on one cold and dark December night, and I thought of polar bears and Mt. Kilimanjaro. When Wilma ravaged parts of the United States, I was struck right here in Nepal: our webserver being based in the U.S., our site was down for almost a week. The polar ice-caps were nothing more than just chapters in our geography textbook when I was in school. Now I find myself much nearer to it than I ever was - the sweat sticking to my t-shirt as I type is a grim reminder of the drastic climate change that has occured in the last few years, and the heat that makes me sweat is the same that is slowly melting the ice in the poles away.

The world has shrunk, and geographical barriers no longer hold significance. Communication is a breeze and travel getting shorter and faster. I am now as much a world citizen as of the place I am in, and thus bear the same responsibilities towards earth and the continutiy of life as we know it. As experts say, the average weight of polar bears has almost halved in the last century, and by 2020, Mt. Kilimanjaro will bid adieu to its snow cap. Tucked a world away in Nepal, I can brush aside the possibility as a cost of development and consider myself immune, or I can wonder when the bell will toll for us. We are already experiencing the affects of climate changes first hand, so the wait is not long for sure.

While 'dead' is 'as a dodo' for most of us, it already is 'as a thylacine' and may well be 'as a tiger', 'a polar bear', or even 'a cheetah' for our children. A meteor strike is said to have wiped out the dinosaurs, but humans through their ingenuity may well survive one. We may even live through a nuclear holocaust but can we survive human progress?

One too many…

2006-05-26T14:52:00.000+05:45

I have a friend who wants to change ‘the’ world. I have asked him to change ‘his’ world for starters. Many of us strive for change, and feel a need to initiate it, especially as youngsters. With time, and as practical realities dawn upon us, we often become cynical and soon a sense of apathy takes over. Walking a tightrope every single moment of our adult lives, we seldom have the privilege to extend our sights beyond our own narrow personal domain. While a majority of us settle down to languid domesticity, a rare few manage to rise above all, to initiate and spearhead change that each generation experiences in some form or the other.

I feel lucky in many ways to have witnessed many changes that others fail to see in eons: from the fall of the Berlin wall to the break up of the Soviet Union, the changing of the millennium to the very recent change of guard in Nepal. I have seen more than a normal share of change, but I am still to see my kind of it. I understand when my friend gets frustrated at the pace of change, and the way the masses do not react, as he would have liked them to. He wants to change the world, but he often feels helpless and lonely when faced with the reality of things.

My friend wants to change the world, and he wants the world to change with him. There are the rare few who successfully move the masses, but just how many manage to reach such a position? Does change always come in groups? Does ‘one’ really make a difference? I have discussed in length with many people about this, but have failed to come up with any concrete answers.

A few months back on a trip to Bangkok, I refused to have shark fin soup. I felt it a very harmful indulgence, and though a few detractors scoffed at my stance, I was able to wean the other members of my family away from the delicacy. One person staying away from shark fin soup will do no good for the world shark population, but if every person who says ‘no’ to it convinces at least one other person to do so, it will definitely make an impact.

Change does require the masses, but it starts with one. We can wait for change to come: an end to poaching, an end to CFCs, an end to discrimination, and end to… Or we can start with one.

Return to innocence: sweet nothings

2006-05-21T12:50:00.000+05:45

The best thing about growing up has been taking stock of things and taking responsibility. I often look back and wonder at the pace at which time has moved on. Things have changed for the better or for worse, but I do not have any major regrets as such. There are moments though, when I long for the days of old, the moments of innocent bliss. I had a lot of time to kill then, and I still have quite a bit of time to kill now, but when was the last time I sent a mail to a friend or a loved one, just because I wanted to? Mention my name, and many may talk of detailed and very regular emails. My habits haven’t changed much: my mails drop into inboxes as often as they did in the past. I have changed though, and so my mails.

I remember remembering to remember uttering pleasantries for every little thing, from a smile to a swagger. Sweet nothings were everything, and everything else did not mean very much. I did not need a reason to smile or a purpose to utter endearments. Some called me romantic, others genial and friendly, and yet some others, a treat to know. I may have been all that, but I was just me, and innocent.

I am still the same me, though more mature and sadly less innocent. I smile still, I mail as much, but I have forgotten the art of sweet nothings: I need a purpose now for every single gesture!

Right turn

2006-05-17T11:25:00.000+05:45

A few months ago, a friend was planning a South Asian rock festival to be held in Kathmandu. Contacting the bands and getting them to agree to perform did not pose much of a problem, finding sponsors was quite a deal, but the biggest hurdle turned out to be finding a venue big enough to accommodate the crowd that we anticipated. Dasrath Rangashalla was an option, but, as we found out, it took much more than just the charges and the relevant no-objection-certificates to be able to stage an event there. It was more about ‘sources’ and ‘whoreses’ than about technical and financial formalities. Anyway, while we were pondering about the other options, a senior journalist gave us an interesting insight, “Just wait a while. A republic is on the cards – then you can have your concert in the palace grounds.”

People power in recent times has meant different things to different people. For some of our political leaders, it has meant a return to familiar grounds: even before the prime minister was sworn in, they were already squabbling over portfolios. Quotes and misquotes have blown huge gaps in the apparent show of strength and unity among the political parties. Those with portfolio are having their say, but others without are drowning their voices.

As many say, for Kantipur TV, as an outcome of the movement, and its role in relaying the administration’s high-handedness to the masses, it will be a positive nod finally to its satellite dreams. I have been told about some people making trips abroad, and that only means the opening up of floodgates to foreign funds. For me personally, with the heat on in full blast, it has meant a welcome end to load shedding.

The recent turn of events have indeed brought a world of change to this nation. Every individual may find his/her own meaning to the movement and its fallout. I have my own, though I wonder, has this been about being able to park in no-parking zones? Has this movement been about the right to openly flout existing rules and regulations? Has it been about the right to do wrong?

Do you turn right now, where turning right is disallowed?

Just thanks...

2006-05-12T14:17:00.000+05:45

I remember joking with a friend about my mobile phone: ‘I rarely make calls from it, and I receive even less. Even among the rare few that come, most are wrong numbers’. Looking up my call records, I have found that I make the most calls to my ISP’s support centre. I take ‘customer is king’ literally and I have very itchy fingers when it comes to Internet service. The slightest of faults and I am all set to pour my ire on the support people. It may appear that my ISP’s service is appalling, but to be honest, I am quite happy with it. I just hate disruptions and I make it a point to make it known that I do.

Recently I made the switch to a Mac. I got myself an Airport Express Base Station and took my first step into the WiFi realm. Setup was a breeze, but I had to call my ISP yet again to have the base station’s MAC registered. I was expecting a long procedure, but to my surprise, it hardly took a minute to get it done and over with. In fact the person who took my call asked me to try my connection and to get back to him if I had any problems connecting. It was not much of a big deal, but I felt really special: the service was instant, and the person very helpful and polite. I ended up sending a thank you note to the support team.

Sending that note made me remember the words of my former Principal, Francis Fanthome, who is now a senior official of the I.C.S.E Board. One day, when I was in Class VII, Mr Fanthome asked everyone in school to submit to him in small slips of paper, what changes we thought were necessary in our school. As he told us during morning assembly a couple of days later, the list compiled from those slips ran long, but the most common entry was for a swimming pool, which was rumoured to be built the following year. After running through the most common entries, he ended his address by saying that he was disappointed in some ways not to have received a single note saying thanks - the school was just fine as it was. It was only natural for us to expect more from the school, but as he reminded us, there were so many things we had access to, which many others did not.

As a kid, Mr. Fanthome’s words did not strike home, but now it does, loud and clear. Just how many things we take for granted when they are okay. Why are we never grateful for things that work? Why do we only make calls to complain?

I take pride in not being too stingy a person, but why am I so miserly when it comes to ‘thank yous’? I have lost count of the complaints I have made this year: I have made just so many. I can neither count the thank yous I have said so far: there have been too few of them to keep a count of.

Thank Yous come for free – why am I so miserly with them?

Sympathy for the devil

2006-05-07T11:18:00.000+05:45

A couple of years ago, one of my friends was out in the streets shooting some footage of an ongoing political protest. He came back one evening rather distraught at the brick batting on the security personnel by a group of protesters. My friend, despite not being a big fan of the security forces, found them displaying restraint in their crowd control efforts, and found fault with the protesters. On my part, I sided with the protestors and explained that faced with 364 days of police and army high-handedness, if I was to get that single day to get back at them, to kick their butt, I would jump ahead. Even if I were not provoked directly, getting back would be sweet, and given the track record of our security personnel, justified.

Living in Kathmandu, I am familiar with the skirmishes on the street between protesters and the security forces. The recent flare up was unprecedented, and we saw police brutality escalate, as a result of which, the already tarnished image of the security forces plummeted to a new low. Thankfully, a semblance of order has returned to the Valley with the restoration of the House of Representatives. The general mood is upbeat and the sense of impending doom has been replaced with one of expectation. It is a big relief to see this city shed its image of being a virtual war zone: barbed wire fences, armed forces patrolling the streets and checkpoint and manifests in every nook and corner.

Recently on my way back from New Road, I passed by a group of Armed Police personnel. It was a hot day, and they were seeking shade in a narrow alley. Some of them were nibbling at biscuits, a few were drinking water from discarded Coke pet bottles, and many had earphones on and were listening probably to music on FM radio. All of them looked weather beaten – tanned faces, red eyes and taut, tired bodies. Apart from the uniform they wore, they looked exactly the same as the common person on the street, as vulnerable and as human. I was surprised. Was it these very people we saw as the devil’s reincarnate just a fortnight ago?

I have never felt any sympathy for security personnel, but looking at that group of ragged police people, I felt I had been unjust to some extent. Admitted that they do take their role of ‘maintaining order’ a bit too seriously at times, they are as human as each one of us. I guess they have the same aspirations as every other human and so the insecurities and worries. The people higher up the ranks maybe an entirely different breed, but the ones at the bottom, as I see it now, have to bear the worse of both worlds: they face orders, often against their own principles, that come from above, and then the wrath and disdain of the people in general they face in following those orders.

The pay packet to say the least is miserable and the uniform comes with an unenviable reputation and loads and loads of contempt and loathing. Putting things in perspective, for once, my sympathies are for the devil.

Ground Reality

2006-05-02T12:13:00.000+05:45

As a freelancer, I have been involved with many different projects in the past. About a year ago, along with a couple of friends, I was assigned to create and launch an advertising portal. My main role was content creation, though, I took up anything that came up, from formulating concepts to site updating. It was a novel project, at least in the Nepali context, and we were quite pleased with the initial response that we received from our visitors and the advertising fraternity.

Being a close knit group, and involved with something new and interesting, we put in our efforts without a receiving a single paise in advance. Since we knew the people we were working for, it was granted that we would be paid for our services when the time was ripe. The arrangement went on from a month to two and then to four, at the end of which it finally dawned on us that our effort so far may have been in vain. Our employer did not have the best of reputations as a paymaster, but we were banking on his better side. Well as this story goes, it has been almost a year now and we have almost given up on our hopes of seeing even a fraction of our rightful remuneration in out hands. And, this was not a one-off incident. Sometime back I worked on creating brochures for a reputed software company just prior to CAN-Infotech 2005. It was not a big deal at all, and taking the size of the company, a miniscule expense, but it took me over a year and countless emails to finally get them to part with what was due to me. And then there was a school magazine I edited three years ago – I did my job well, the magazine came out good, but the director and the principal conveniently forgot about my remuneration.

Well, this has started as a crib, but that is not really the point I am making. I am regularly in touch with youngsters who have big and blown out aspirations. I wish I could tell them how different the ground realities are from what they study or think it to be. I especially hate reading the Wednesday supplement of a popular English daily that comes out in Nepal. Yes, they do fill it with a lot of strategic stuff, debates and profiles that would do any business and management book proud, but putting them into perspective, they are nothing but bloated and hollow ego-boosters implying that Nepali business and industry is ‘professional’.

Our industry leaders can make bold and moving statements, but ask them to make something as simple as on-time payments and they will buckle. Our articles and quotes are liberally sprinkled with theories and ideas from luminaries like Peter Drucker, but the only theory that really works here is, ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’. Delaying payments is the corporate pastime, and ‘relativity’, the hiring principle (if you are a relative, you’re in).

Salaries are abysmally low, not that living costs and standards are cheap, but the employers just refuse to let go of the lot they make. Beware ‘internship offers’ and shun all pep talk. Interns are basically ‘free’ workers and a very good cost cutting measure. Pep talks, well, I have had first hand experience with it – in fact I sustained on it alone for over four years in a company I worked for before finally coming to my senses and quitting. There is an inverse relationship between the money you get and the pep talk that you have to bear with.

Infidelity is in – not in marital terms, but in employment. If you think of ‘lifelong-relationships’, get ready to be ground to the ground. ‘Hop, skip and jump’ is the best and the surest way of climbing up corporate ladder in Nepal. Dedication is essential where you are, and in what you are doing, but don’t get tied up and attached to your work or company – you lose if you do.

It is wrong to generalize, and there are many organizations where things run differently, but I think a lot of people will agree to what I say.

We portray ourselves as a poor people belonging to a poor nation. I disagree – we are ordinary people impoverished by a few poor-at-heart.

Power to the people

2006-04-26T15:32:00.000+05:45

The restoration of the House of Representatives brought a semblance of order to the Valley, but with the memory of September 01, 2004 fresh in my mind, I looked on with apprehension as the people took to the streets on Tuesday for the victory rally. To begin with, I do not agree to the use of the term victory: agreed that the monarch has acceded in parts to reason and the need of the hour, but the ongoing tussle has left no victors, only losers. The people have been the hardest hit and the biggest losers.

Led by the seven agitating parties, and catalyzed by the excessive use of force by the security forces, the people have had a big say in the recent political developments in Nepal. The parties owe their success to people power, but people power may well their downfall. The unprecedented arson and pillage that the capital witnessed on September 01, 2004 was a vent to the dormant angst and frustration of the people. A single spark was enough to inflame passions and inspire destruction of private property at a scale never before seen. It does not take much to trigger such a flare up of emotions, and it maybe only a matter of time, before the next one takes place.

Political rhetoric can change overnight. The same leaders who braved the bite of the monarchy alongside the people on the street may themselves be forced to turn the guns on the public when in power. Many promises were made during the past fortnight. Fuelled by a sense of right and the promises made, people power drove the leaders ahead. Expectations are heavy, but will they keep the promises made?

Pro-republic slogans are echoing across the nation. While most people welcome the current initiative, there are others who feel let down. Life is steadily returning to normal, but the fear of recurrence lies heavy in our minds.

We have seen a tremendous display of ‘people power’, but reining in the same force seems a headache this coalition of parties may have to contend with if they fail to deliver yet again.

Fall from grace

2006-04-24T08:52:00.000+05:45

Not so long ago, I was rebuked by a close friend for questioning the protocol of addressing the monarch as Shree paanch. As I rationalized, it would be absolutely silly to address the British monarch 'Her Highness, Highness,..., on similar logic. I was accused of not being a 'Nepali at heart, and that I failed to understand Nepali sensibilities and the reverence with which a common Nepali looks on at the institution of monarchy. My friend in question BTW is a U.S. educated, open, liberal and intelligent individual. Last evening, I met my friend online and she complained about 'that king' being stubborn, and leading the nation to ruin. Gone was the former reverence for the monarch. In its place instead was a certain degree of revulsion. I have been a mute observer to the events in Nepal in the last few years, but I found it especially sad to see the royal institution's fall from grace in the wake of recent happenings.

Power is said to be intoxicating and addictive, but never being in a position of power, I cannot validate that claim. Further, being an ordinary person on the street, I have to admit that my view and perspective may be way different from what the monarch sees. However, given the state of affairs, I strongly feel that 'a graceful exit' would be really becoming of an institution, traditionally, so loved and revered by the common people. Ironically, by his fixation towards maintaining his royal status, the monarch appears to have taken the royalty itself towards extinction.

Many condemned the monarch’s move to take the state of affairs into his own hands towards a possible salvage from shambles. In retrospect, I think it was a bold and proactive initiative. The political leaders had sold out previously on many occasions, and the people felt let down by the democratic institution. The royal takeover thus raised the hope and aspirations of many. But as things unfolded, the initiative was not backed by the will that sparked during the takeover. Surrounded by sycophants, most with their own axes to grind, what followed was ‘public ego wrestling’ between the royalists and the democratic forces.

From bad, the situation plummeted down to worse. As it soon became evident, autocracy and high-handedness would achieve as little or even less than what the democratically elected bodies had managed to in the past. Well, we all know the rest of the story. Anyway, the recent headlines may read the monarch's address as 'bowing down' to pressure, but I would label it as a sensible move. I agree though that the content of the address is unacceptable: it is yet another hollow promise. It was good for the monarch to relinquish executive powers, but it is ‘too little, a little too late’. For someone who wrested power into his own hands for the common good not very long away, it was a complete let down to do a 'Pontius Pilate’ when things did not fare as expected.

It took tremendous will and purpose from the monarch to make the unpopular move of taking things into his own hands, but the same has not been shown when it is time now to make a graceful admission that the mission has failed: to acknowledge the mandate, and to read the writing on the wall.

The monarch may have his way yet and continue to rule the people, but he no longer rules their heart for sure.

Some permanence for a change

2006-04-19T10:46:00.000+05:45

The air blows heavy with expectation. Thursday is set to bring out hundreds of thousands of ordinary men and women into the streets in what is said to be the biggest ever rally in Nepali history. The time of reckoning is here: what will it herald for Nepal? Will it be another ‘interim’ solution or will it be a more permanent one this time around?

We face a peculiar and rather difficult situation here with the monarchy and the Maoists on the two extremes, and the seven agitating parties smack in the middle. Equilibrium is hard to achieve, and any equation that does not take into account any one of the three is good enough for just another temporary solution.

Compromise formulae have already been exhausted, with every one attempted in the past few years failing. We saw the monarch take things into his own hands in an attempt to salvage what was left of this nation. Surrounded by his band of sycophants, he however failed to impress with any of his efforts, and plunged Nepal into a more serious and deeper crisis. Faced with an autocratic monarch, the political parties did a paradigm shift to align with the Maoists whom they thought as the lesser evil.

Every single front that has a voice is promulgating a solution, and I truly believe the time is ripe for one. But what form will it take? The monarch is too deep into this mess to come out unscathed, the political parties too advanced into this movement to change their stance and sell out yet again, and the Maoists?

As many predict, an emergency may be declared on the eve of the mass rally. The general public having borne the high-handedness of the administration, and survived bullets, tear gas and batons in recent weeks, the potency of such a measure is questionable. There are others who expect the monarch to step down and make way for a republic, but that too may be far fetched. A constituent assembly and the formation of a democracy with the monarch as its titular head seems another possibility. This requires the Maoists to lay down arms and join the national mainstream, but more importantly, the monarch has to accede to it.

As a common person, I can but guess the outcome, and accept it when it comes, at least temporarily. But I really crave for something permanent: from one ‘interim’ to another to another has been a long tiring journey. I seek respite. Give me some permanence for a change.

Kamalji, our reluctant hero

2006-04-18T12:19:00.000+05:45

Many years down the line, we may look back at this movement as one of the most significant events of modern Nepali history, as important as the one in 2046 B.S. This momentous event will surely bring out its line up of heroes and villains. Many people may already be busy drawing up their individual line-ups, and I think home minister Kamal Thapa, who has been featuring prominently in recent happenings, finds a place in many of them. For most, he may be a villain, at least in the present context, but I personally feel that he deserves a well-earned place among the heroes.

Kamalji belong to a special species: he is a plasticine peg that fits in all holes, and a chameleon that changes colour with the need of the moment. The recent happenings in Nepal have put him under the spotlight more than anyone else, and more than anytime before. Voluntarily or involuntarily he has had the biggest role to play in the present scheme of things. I am not a political analyst, but even as a lay person, I can safely give him credit for single-handedly elevating what started as a 'protest rally' by the seven agitating parties into a 'people's movement'. He of course had the support of many rounds of bullets, live and rubber, canisters of tear gas, batons, boots....

A champion tennis player and a crafty politician, we saw a tough, fire breathing side of Kamalji as he took on the responsibilities as the home minister. Information minister Rana spews gall every time he finds himself behind the microphone, but Kamalji is no less impressive with his gush of misinformation and hollow assurances. As we know now, he has democratic ideals and is a 'people's man' - be it a baton charge or even shooting, he does it 'among' the public, 'for' the public's security.

Tennis requires strong shoulders and stronger arms, lucikly for us, Kamalji is well endowed on both counts. Who better than Kamalji to use 'strong arm techinques' during these moments of need?

Lemon @ NRs 15/piece and Extortion Notes

2006-04-16T21:54:00.000+05:45

Just a fortnight or so ago, I got a shock to hear that a lemon cost five rupees – it seemed I was still stuck in those good ol’ days when ‘nimbu’ was sold in the ‘saikada’ and not per piece. Now I realize why the bottles of lemon pickle have diminished or disappeared from our homes. Imagine my consternation when I heard this morning that lemon now cost 15 a piece. Lemon I can cut off my diet, but imagine food without salt. And, with salt already scarce in the market, it may soon be a reality. Panic buying is on and prices are sky high.

The people of the Darjeeling Hills braved a 40-day banda in the 1980s. I admire them for their tenacity and resilience at the face of such adversity. We are now in the 11th day of the pro-democracy stir, and it is uncertain how long it will continue on. Life in Nepal has come to a virtual standstill, and ordinary sustenance has become an ordeal. It is heartening indeed to note that the public moral is still high, and we seem to be coping OK with the situation.

Price hikes and food shortages are difficult, but manageable for the moment. ‘What tomorrow?’ is a question that plagues us all – the answers though, only the future will reveal. At a time when every moment and action needs many rounds of thinking and re-thinking, imagine receiving an ‘extortion note’ from one Sushanata Sharma, who claims to be the Battalion Commander of the Maoist, Kathmandu Valley. Investigating the note has revealed that it is a fictitious claim. I heaved a sigh of relief, but this is a very worrying development.

I can bear cutting down my diet, adjusting my budget and my expenses, but how will I cope up with the hyenas that seem to be freely roaming around in our streets. Hyenas by nature are said to prey on the dead and the dying – are our social hyenas doing the same? Is this movement proof that our society is ‘alive’ and well? Or is it on its dying throes?

And here is a follow up to the above email... We await the disaster now:

Spontaneous Combustion

2006-04-13T12:41:00.000+05:45

Nepal awaits the monarch’s address on New Years Eve. Speculations abound, but most folk hope for a peaceful resolution to the political stalemate the nation finds itself in. I look forward to peace, but I am scared of the changes that have come in the general psyche, attitudes and morals.

The security personnel in Nepal have behaved as demi-gods in the past, and there has been no let up despite the political changes that have come about in recent decades. They have always enjoyed immunity for most of their actions, some bordering atrocities and others crossing over. Bloated by their seemingly immune status, the security forces have often squashed over the rights of the public with impunity. Ask the commoners on the streets, and in the villages, for ‘public enemy # 1’, and fingers may be pointed towards the people in uniform. It is ironic, but this is not a trait limited to Nepal alone – the role of security forces is very often translated as ‘ruling’ and ‘bullying’ in many South Asian countries.

The attitudes of the people in uniform leave much to be desired for, but a recent development in the public leaves me worried. On my way to office this morning, I passed a group of people. I heard one of them say, “… lets start with this taxi…” A moment later, he poured some inflammable on the tyres and set the taxi ablaze. It was utterly callous and casual, and unprovoked. It was done as leisurely as we would take a walk or shop.

What I witnessed maybe a one-off incident, but it does not bode well for the future. Peace may come somehow, but with a public that does not think twice before an act as horrendous as burning a taxi, the administration has major headaches in store for them.

From the desecration of private property to that of life is a minuscle step. Political crises may be resolved, but moral afflictions?

Extremist + Terrorist makes bitter brew

2006-04-12T11:41:00.000+05:45

Punctuality has never been a virtue in Nepal, but thanks to the recent turn of events, we are now living by the minute. Schedules are tight and every second literally counts. The credit for this overnight transformation goes to the extremists in, and the terrorists out - of control.

The extremist rhetoric is ‘negotiations and talks’, but the terrorist ceasefire was blatantly ignored. The streets are ablaze and the masses demonstrating for democracy. Peaceful demonstrations have been thwarted by the imposition of curfews, and security personnel have ironically used ‘excessive’ force against the public for their ‘safety and protection’. Brick batting has been seen in plenty, but all I see is retaliation by unarmed commoners against provocation by gun wielding and tear-gas spewing forces.

The extremists refuse to acknowledge the terrorists. They maintain their distance from the terrorists and condemn everyone else’s initiatives to bring them into the national mainstream. The extremists have made offers to the seven agitating parties to come for talks with the monarch, but they want a realignment first – a complete disassociation of the seven parties from the terrorists.

What is the ‘in-control’ faction driving at? What future are they leading this nation to? Admitted the ‘out-of-control’ faction is no group of angels, are those in control a better option? Is the issue about the ‘people’ or is it about the ‘monarch’? Is a ‘ceremonial monarch’ the nation’s need or is it a ‘ceremonial government’?

What is the crisis facing the nation today? Is it the commoner’s aspirations for ‘democracy and rights’ or is it the terrorist game plan? Like it or not, but the extremists have a run of the administration while the terrorists rule the countryside. Given the agitating parties agree to talks with the monarch under the extremists pre-condition, and even come to a settlement – where is the nation left? Are we going for a stalemate yet again?

The root of the current crisis runs back to the terrorists and their agenda. If they are to be left out of all future negotiations and talks what are we really trying to solve?

The monarch ascended the throne in suspicious circumstances. Have the extremists forgotten the real issues and concerns of the nations or do they think, legitimizing an institution that has not found much favour in recent times, a bigger priority?

Innuendo

2006-04-05T10:54:00.000+05:45

I do not believe much in history - it is nothing more than a story written in the perspective of the dominant clan, creed or person. A language is integral to any story, and language can really be twisted, turned and manipulated to serve individual purposes or schemes. Any event or action can be demonized or idolized through usage, and living in Kathmandu for the past few years, I have encountered quite a sampling of it.

Soldiers get martyred, Maoists get killed – the implication, death is justified when carried out by government forces, a damnable offence otherwise.

Bandas (shutdowns/ strikes) are disruptive, curfew, a preventive measure. A friend described a recent curfew as a government sponsored banda. Taking things into perspective, I didn’t see any difference between the two, except for the factions behind them.

Abduction, when by the government, is termed custody, kidnapping otherwise.

Brick batting, lathi charges and tear-gassing is crowd control when by the government forces, disruptive violence otherwise.

Unprovoked and indiscriminate shooting – well, only the army or the police do this. People die, like the 12 at Nagarkot recently, but its not murder, it is just a rare incident.

Kathmandu shopping bonanza

2006-04-04T09:27:00.000+05:45

I do not claim to have travelled much, but I have heard about Walmart and Lotus megastores around the world. The biggest mall I have been to is MBK in Bangkok, and it was a revelation indeed. Having seen the workings of an anthill on some nature channel, it was quite an experience to be in one, bigger though, but no less busy and crowded.

Many admit to being impulsive shoppers – addicted to the fine art of splurge. I haven’t had enough to ‘splurge’ in the real sense, but I would love to, at least once, just to get the feel of what it feels like. Anyway, I am now moving away from what I set out to write.

Nepal is in the news for all the wrong reasons – tourism, the staple industry, is at a record low, and tourists down to a trickle. But, big constructions go on unabated in Kathmandu. The Sundhara Mall opened recently, and a few more are on the way. Thamel maybe be bare but New Road is still a hub of intense activity. Business goes on as usual, or is it?

The finance minister dishes out stats that indicate a sustaining economy, if not one that is growing. Well, shopping is still a delight in Kathmandu. In fact, it just got better – given the resources to splurge, one can buy not just the ware, but entire shops. And you got quite a choice: from cybercafés to restaurants, everything is up for sale in the alleys.

Malls are going up fast, but shutters are coming down faster.

Drink Dunk

2006-01-31T14:11:00.000+05:45

Not very long ago, while trying to contact some South Asian rock bands for a concert in Kathmandu, we came in contact with some really cool rockers who readily agreed to come and perform for free, but expected a nice time, including a plentiful supply of booze. Having grown up in Gangtok, where liquor is almost an essential ingredient of the local culture, I am used to seeing alcohol being sold in the open market. But coming to Kathmandu, it took even me some while to get used its ‘open’ sale in the market. Open here seemed to take a different meaning altogether: from the neighbourhood kirana pasaal to the pan dokan, everyone appeared to have a bottle or two of rum of whiskey among their fare.

The administration seems pretty lenient on the sale of alcohol, and why not? Prohibition has failed in most places so why not reap the benefits of keeping liquor in the open market by way of tax and excise revenues. I really admire open policies when it comes to substances deemed addictive and derogatory for general health and the society. Curbs and bans only tend to increase the ‘wow’ factor, leading to more serious implications.

Anyway, after my pro-administration banter, I have one question to raise. Why arrest a person who consumes the liquor, over the sale of which the administration has no qualms about?

Why penalize consumption when the sale of the same is no violation?

A-political comment

2006-01-18T09:10:00.000+05:45

Adult franchise is said to be a right, but I choose to be wrong by forfeiting it. I have voted once, and that was the end to my foray into anything remotely political. I would be naive to think that I am not affected by politics, but that in no way makes me politically inclined or interested: I stand a-political.

I normally refrain from any political comments, but the recent turn of events in the Nepali political scene seems to tempt even the a-political me to have my political say. The current regime claims to be working towards a constructive democracy, and they are proudly reporting their intentions and game plan to some very 'democratic' nations, at least going by their track record - Russia, China and Pakistan.

The three nations in turn express their solidarity for the monarch and his regime by stating that whatever is happening in the country is an internal matter, beyond the purview of any foreign government. I can understand Pakistan and China's stance, the two countries themselves being under autocratic rule, but Russia...

If I am to believe even the least bit of fact cloaked under the fiction of Steve Berry’s The Romanov Prophecy, many Russians sorely miss the Romanovs. Their honeymoon with both communism and democracy having gone awry, they are said to see redemption in a monarch.

Now to put Nepal and Russia into perspective - a lot of people appear to be sick and tired of the current Nepali monarch, whom they consider illegitimate. The Russians meanwhile feel the need for a monarch. Given this scenario, let the Russians have the Nepali monarch.

I for one would be quite happy with the arrangement...

New Year Resolutions and Evolution

2006-01-12T10:57:00.000+05:45

We are well into 2006, and having missed out on the excitement of the dawn of a New Year, I woke up this morning thinking about resolutions. Not being the type to actually believe in them, I realised that rather than making resolutions, most of which I may not keep, it would be a better idea to evolve with each New Year.

Looking back, at the recent past and the not so recent, I think I have been extremely lucky - a monetary jackpot has eluded me so far, but I have nothing to crib about: no major worries on any front, and very few regrets and frustrations. Overall, it has been smooth sailing and my boat continues to move ahead on a similar vein.

Once, not so long ago, on one of my Namaste Kathmandus, I asked a simple question at the start (picked up from Reader's Digest), "If this was the end of the world, and you had one phone call to make, to whom would it be, and what would you say?" The answer at the end of the show was, "Why are you waiting for the world to end to make that phone call - make the call, NOW!" It made a lot of sense, and taking cue from that, I caught up or made efforts to, with a lot of old friends, forgotten or ignored - a lot of Thank yous and many Sorries. It was a wonderful feeling doing that, and I am glad now that I took the initiative.

A fresh new year, and I am in the mood for an encore performance - I looked back at the years gone by, and as I said earlier, ended feeling blessed and lucky. Not many apologies, but a whole lot of Thank Yous. I thought I'd begin with the latter, and I have a list that runs long.

Thank You – couldn’t ask for the company of better people.

Sorry – anything to make amends…

Immobile Bliss

2005-11-08T09:48:00.000+05:45

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

2005-11-04T14:24:00.000+05:45

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

2005-11-01T11:17:00.000+05:45

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?

Banda Bust

2005-10-28T11:28:00.000+05:45

I am a maverick and I do not have fixed working hours. I do my work when I have any, but I have a lot of time where I can indulge my pleasures and passions. It is an easy schedule, but living in a city, I do wish for the quiet moments.

Prior to the infamous ‘February 01 – Royal Takeover’ the opposition parties or the Maoists gave me my share of those quiet moments, through strikes or bandas. Well, it’s a banda today and I am welcoming it with flaring nostrils and wide open ears – its refreshing, even more so than a wash with ‘Liril or our own Mayalu Freshness Soap’.

The issue this time, as I have read in a local daily, is the government action against Kantipur FM. Some call it an act of repression, a few others an act of retribution, and most like me, I guess, have no opinion about it or have not had the time to ponder over the issue. There was a cry of ‘Foul Play’ when the station began relaying its programs to Eastern Nepal through a 10MW relay tower. The FM station had a 1 MW license and many felt that relaying it was illegal. Tales of a 7 Crore kickback to the Communication minister Jayaprakash Gupta ran rife, but with time, things just moved on.

And then came the government action against Kantipur for broadcasting news despite the ordinance banning it. What is my say on it? I do believe in the freedom of expression, but I disdain corruption, and logically speaking why FM if the coverage is not local? So, do I support the government’s move? Not really, I’d rather have free access to what I hear.

Anyway, it’s a banda and my schedule is bust. Its clean air, low decibel levels and life as usual: Yes Kantipur or No Kantipur, Yes ordinance or No ordinance…

Wilma hit me too

2005-10-27T12:12:00.000+05:45

Living in Nepal, a hurricane has at the most been a natural phenomenon documented by a National Geographic program or, in recent times, the Katrina aftermath on Oprah. Yesterday, a new realisation dawned on me: Katrina spared me, but Wilma did not.

No material damage, no loss of life, but at the wake of Wilma, I was left without access to the website I maintain – www.adtricks.com. Our servers being based in Florida, they were out of service due to Wilma.

Not a scoop as such, but very interesting to know the impact of a hurricane in North America to one living the other side of the earth in Nepal.

Third World Realities

2005-10-25T10:05:00.000+05:45

I wrote a radio play, aired it, and then went on to make an animation film out of it. My budget was nil, but enthusiasm and ideas I had in plenty. I know a couple of people who are into video post-production and they helped me with it. It took about two months to finish, and by the end of it all, I ended up spending about Rs. 4000 on it (US $50+).

Am I proud to have made an animation film – well, there are more of static frames than dynamic ones, but it was a good dream while it lasted. The project is over now and the film in question lost in my yard of projects that were abandoned or forgotten after completion. I did send the film to a Film Festival – it is another story that it failed to get past the initial selection round.

I recently got a chance to be involved in a documentary project: to cover the Deepankha Festival, which was happening in Patan, Nepal after 38 years. It was a historic event, but I declined. I still have a sour aftertaste after my documentary fling. Will I ever make a film again? Definitely, only this time, it will not meet the same fate as my last one.

An attempt at animation on a 50 dollar budget – it sounds absurd: see the result and you see that its worth much more than that. Was there a public screening? NO! What about publicity? NO again. Was it then a complete waste of time and effort? Not at all. It ended up being a lesson on life.

I live in a third world country, though, don’t imagine me as a diseased, shriveled-up, hungry and dirty fellow. I live okay, no cars, ipods or razr V3s, but a decent enough life. I am hard-working, honest, creative to some extent, and I dream too. I have a mini DV cam, use an assembled PC and software (pirated, but the best of the lot).

We lack a lot, but we have plenty too. I have seen miracles where it seemed implausible.

We lack, but we adapt. We fail, but we try.

We have limits, we got to work within them.

2005-10-24T13:35:00.000+05:45

Up and away before dawn (Horn Festival, Patan - Aug. 21, 2005)

2005-10-24T13:20:00.000+05:45

Languid Retirement

Onward Christian Soldier

2005-10-24T09:00:00.001+05:45

It’s a war we are going to, a war to win new souls… I am a believer, though I do not recall the last time I attended a church service. If the definition of a ‘good Christian’ is church attendance, I miss the mark by a wide margin, but mark my words, I do trust in the Lord.

Onward Christian Soldier – march ahead to capture more souls for the Lord. I am privileged and feel lucky that some missionary in the past captured the soul of one of my ancestors, one of the earliest among his lot. In sermons and fellowships, I still hear the call given. Yes, I do need to capture souls that are astray and lead them to the path of salvation, and I am a Christian soldier.

There is a multitude of hungry and lost souls, sorely in need the word of god. This is where the Christian Soldier has to play a role.

We need preachers, teachers and more… most of all; we need Christians, not good ones, but true ones.

I woke up this morning, looked at myself in the mirror and asked myself, “Am I ready to make a conquest for the Lord?” No, not yet – my soul is not the Lord’s yet. Let me work on it first, and then we will see…