'The year that was 2007'

My 2007

How was your last year? Here’s my review of the past year. Rendering ‘Tri Chandra Tour' and the poetry readings was taking time, so I passed the time looking back…

Watching-

Started watching movies again (stopped reading books) this year. Discovered my taste for classics and Korean alike. Here’s the list of my movies of the year-

The Iranian film Children of Heaven and the Italian The Bicycle Thief

Apu Trilogy, Namesake and In Search of Gandhi (road movie) and the short ‘Little Terrorist’ by Indian filmmakers

Sex is Zero was my first Korean flick, Happy End was very provoking, I also liked Daisy, Love Me Not, A Millionaire’s First Love, Il Mare, JSA, My Sassy Girl, and so on…

Will Smith is my favourite actor. I cried watching ‘Pursuit of Happyness’. Couldn’t stand Citizen Kane. Detour was amazing. Taxi Driver was disturbing… The Shawshank Redemption was memorable…

Chinese film- ‘The World’ was a very new experience, like the German ‘Germany Year Zero’. Akira Kurosawa’s ‘The Seven Samurai’ was as good as Satyajit Ray’s Apu Trilogy.

Danish film Adam’s Apple was suited to my mood- a very powerful movie with a spiritual message. Watched Tuesdays With Morrie a number of times.

Was surprised by the Australian ‘The Price of Milk’. Spanish short by Nacho Vigilando ‘7:35 in the Morning’ was both funny and tragic while Afghani ‘Osama’ and Palestinian ‘Paradise Now’ were very remarkable.

Nepali films? Watched few documentaries, but enjoyed one Newari comedy! ‘Inside North Korea’ with Dr Sanduk Ruit was incredible.

Readings -

The Alchemist, The Kite Runner and Autobiography of A Yogi

Blogging-

Finally, foundation of ‘Kathmandu Speaks- Are you listening?’ became stronger this year!

Working (writing)-

As a journo, I got a big break in The Statesman. This year, I worked as a New Media reporter like I always wanted to. Still working at Kantipur Online. Citizen journalism became my first love. Experience in Nepal’s biggest media house- I’ll rate as ‘Overall disappointing’. The month I joined eKantipur, three of my colleagues flew to Germany and the US. Rajendra is going to US this January. Pritam dai (from TKP to the US) also suggested me to try my luck ‘there’.

Media persons of my year-

Our online team (we’re nearly a dozen) is typical- everyone is unique and ‘eccentric’. From Sanjeev Satgaiya to Sanjeev Phuyal, from Suman dai to Salik bhai, from Akhilesh Sir to Sanjeev dai, from Rishav to Ansu, from Apurwa to Subash dai, from Chanakya to Dhiraj dai, from Rajendra to Suresh dai… they were all wonderful people. I enjoyed working with them.

Kosh dai was very helpful. Am sorry for Kiran dai. Baburam dai knows how stupid I can be! Monica ma’m must be tired! Post also got few eccentrics like Sanjog dai.

Stopped complaining about the City Post. Bhusita’s efforts to highlight Nepali literature should be applauded. Do you read ‘Fiction Park’? Er, that distasteful art!

Kantipur is heaven, no doubt! It is the only Nepali newspaper, besides the English Nepali Times for me. And I wish if only we had people like THT in The Kathmandu Post! (For ideas and work.)

The man behind the Madhesi-United We Stand also had a very subtle role in shaping both my thought-process and my career!

Tajim and Deelip (bloggers!) became good friends!

Radical turns-

2007 will be remembered for my new hobby- watching, reading, thinking, talking, making and playing films, films and films alone.

I don’t write poetry anymore, I don’t even try to write. ‘In Search of Lost Pride’ was an unimpressive effort to write something on my bogus patriotism! But now I know how to write news, too bad for an aspiring ‘writer’ who wanted to write fiction! But good, I remember somewhere reading- “If you want to be a writer, find other job than that of writing!” Had started writing a book ‘Death of Last Hindu Kingdom’, now that book will take years to come (or not to come).

Have thought of a few ‘great’ ideas for making films- even that’s gonna take years to come (and this will certainly come).

I’ve learnt to be patient, learning to be more patient and confident! I left designing web and painting altogether towards the end of the year.

Even stopped spending much time with near to dear ones this year! Sorry.

My ABCs-

Didn’t attend classes in that college. Only took exams- results were unimpressive but I was the second topper! Scored 2-3 percentage less than the first topper. I thought she would cross 80%. She was very good and hard-working student for sure. But she barely touched 60%. Probably, the only reason why I don’t want to study here anymore. I’m taking a break for a year from studies. Towards the end of the next year, I’d have joined something somewhere.

Ideological shift-

Spiritual inclination started towards the end of the year. Like always, my hatred for politics only increased. Sad to see my image of Puspa Kamal Dahal crumbling. Isn’t he ashamed to live? Madhesi andolan disillusioned me, but taught me the most important lesson- there’s nothing more important, there is only one identity and one religion- we’re all human, and the greatest religion is humanity! I think this year finally I also understood real patriotism and nationality. Today, I don’t believe in them any longer! Communism stopped running my blood, but democracy continues to feed me.

Thank God -

Am happy, satisfied in my personal life. Started to understand the different aspects of ‘love’. I still try to avoid girls, but have a sense of responsibilities towards some. But I want to change few lives, including myself, before trying to change the world! Started to grow beard. Once I got many compliments for looking much like an al Qaeda terrorist! Saddam’s death almost ‘shattered’ me. ‘Evolution’ (my computer) also suffered two major accidents- the LAN card was fried by lightening once, and now my DVD RW is not working. (I had lent it to some of my friends, and had to keep on switching from home to office!) Mom refused to let me have a pet, but said she liked to have that one girl as her daughter-in-law! I must thank God for everything- thank you.

Thanking Satan too!

Mother and I always fight. She complains that I do not value money. That I do not care. Yes, I never thought it was important (because it was always there). Now, few people who recently came into my life have really made me think if I should earn so much that I can throw bundles of money at their ugly faces. Except that there’s literally nothing! I’d seen the journey from ‘Santosh Babu’ to nobody last year. I struggled to become ‘Salik Shah’ this year. Circumstances again proved I was on the right track. Although money doesn’t lure me, necessity compels! Satan is testing me! Satan is testing all of us!

Goals-

I did everything that I wanted! I think everything went as planned! (But I didn’t plan anything at all!) I realised you cannot do everything on your own, you need a team! This year I also learned the secrets of being a team member!

Any lessons?

Say no to jobs! (And, to girls!)

Anything else? Yeas, Happy New Year!

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My 2008 mantra

“I believe in doing things, than wasting my time talking about it.”

Well, this is my new year resolution, my only matra!

Started chanting this!

A number of times I’ve tried to reform myself (i.e. start waking up early but still I don’t get up before 10 on normal days), here’s a recount from 2005. And I expect Vipassyana to be of great help in taming this tongue of mine! Just imagine how I would manage to wake up at around 4 in the morning at Shivapuri, that too in this cold December, after reading this morning woes!

(Not a thing to boast- I was kicked out again for being late that very day.)

Happy New Year 2008!

Morning Woes
Published in Post Platform on 12/09/’05

Waking up early in the morning is the most difficult task in my life. Trust me, I really mean it. For me, waking up early is a perilous journey and I've begun to think that I'm not for such a great ordeal.

Trust me, I also want to be with you when you go out to play cricket in the early morning at Tudhikhel. I don't fear that frost or cold in the air but my addiction to sleeping never lets me out of these warm blankets. Finally, when I feel that enough is enough, my eyes open wide just to see that the clock has already struck half-past-eight. I am filled with both regret and anger. Then, I sleep again to feel good! I'm such a pitiful creature, you see.

Everyone improves and I'm also the one in that everyone. When I was in school, I used to be called a tourist and a visiting student by my teachers and friends. The reason behind my nicknames was my irregularity in school.

Now you can just imagine the fettle of a school-boy who couldn't make it out to school even at ten in the morning and the number of A - 'Absent' keeps on mounting in my school's attendance register. They ridiculed my (bad) habit but I was so helpless to even care about that.

Now I realize the value of waking up early in the morning and being on time. In fact, I am a good student but my SLC marks were less than my expectations. I couldn't prove myself better as there are no second chances in real life. I used to think that I could do better even if I was not regular in my classes.

There I was wrong and I have realized it now. I want to thank all my teachers for scolding me and giving me advice. Then, I was too naïve to think about them. Now, I do think of your expectations and I fear my addiction does more harm than good to me and everybody else.

It has been four days within this week that I couldn't attend my morning classes in the college. I used to be carefree but now I'm filled with the fear of losing those precious marks, knowledge and wisdom. I know that there will be no second chances in the next board exams as well.

I feel that I must alter these prominent patterns of my lifestyle. I must get victory over my addiction if I really want to be somebody in life. I think it's easy-it's just waking up' early in the morning. But I cannot remember how many times I have said this to me.

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"Not a fool just a bit crazy"

Here’s the third Vijay Kumar article from TKP.

Leo, Julia and Deb
By Vijay Kumar

Christmas and New Year remind me of Syracuse and Berkeley campuses. Professor Leo E. Rose always used to tell me in Berkeley, "Normally speaking, foreign policy of a country is an extension of its domestic and financial interests but in case of Nepal the process is reverse; where its foreign policy largely affects its domestic politics." Professor Rose is no more in this world but his theory is still valid to quite some extent. For anyone to read Nepal's internal happenings correctly, it is essential to be aware of the games international players play. They are like the wheels operating within the wheel. While accepting this relative truth we must not forget that international players are just one of the factors; not 'the factor' as falsely believed by many.

Sushama, my wife remembers Leo fondly because he made me realize that it was perfectly alright for men to go inside the kitchen and cook! I learned from Leo that one can be a good cook and a good professional at the same time, and it is good to help your wife in the kitchen. When I came across this great scholar, he was the Editor Emeritus of 'Asian Survey'.

I was referred to him by Julia Chang Bloc, colorful and flamboyant American Ambassador in Kathmandu during 1990's. She was a political appointee, so would not care much about protocols. She used to mingle with the people easily irrespective of their worldly status. She was the first, first-generation American to be appointed as an ambassador. I guess, her husband, Mr. Block, a big time real state lawyer with strong links to Republican Party, too had a role in Julia's appointment. Needless to add that Julia on her own is also quite sharp and competent.

Those days, I had just joined television and was far away from the sophistications (hypocrisy?) of the diplomatic world. Julia was the first ambassador who invited me for dinner at Kamal Kunj. Once she called, "Would you like to join us for lunch tomorrow at the base of Langtang Himal?" Before I could answer, she laughed and added, "We will bring you back by the late afternoon". There were four of us in the helicopter: Myself, Damannath Dhungana, then Speaker of the House, a rich American friend of Julia, and herself.

I guess it was Julia who planted the idea in Sher Bahadur Deuba's head, who was Home Minister at the time, to marry Dr. Arzu. The idea seems to be working quite well. I remember the farewell dinner for Julia hosted by bachelor Sher Bhadur at his quarters, where his security guards prepared vegetable salad, leaving finger patches on the white radish. Naturally, Julia did not touch the salad.

Three years after Julia left Nepal, I found myself in Berkeley as a Hubert H Humphrey fellow. Just across the bay was Julia, working as a vice president in the Bank of America.

She gave me a memorable treat. She called me and said, "I have bought two tickets for a fund raising dinner for the California Science Academy, would you like to join?" When I said, "of course," I did not realize the amount one ticket on such occasions would cost. Anyways, that was not my headache. It was her kindness. Ticket was there but not the appropriate dress. The occasion required a black tie tuxedo, something beyond my reach. Julia solved the problem by suggesting that a Nepalese national dress would do. I still remember all those curious eyes looking at me; being the only person in a big hall with a funny looking dress. I was least bothered. Being a television person has some great advantages, you would not care who is staring at you and who is not. I figured out very soon that we were placed in an important table (read expensive-ticket table), and I was told that I was sitting next to some big shotin California. Those days I used to drink, and was on the higher side that day. I was talking mostly nonsense, but thanks to my good karma that day, the guy next to me was very keen on my nonsense blabbering. He thought I was very bright. He pulled out his card, wrote his private number with his pen and gave it to me. Julia too was very impressed with me for getting that card. I never called that number, but felt quite nice having it until I lost it, within a week. I don't know where Julia is these days, but I always remember her fondly. She introduced me to the myths and realities of the diplomatic community.

Talking about diplomats, Deb Mukharji was in town last week. He used to be the Indian Ambassador in Kathmandu about seven years back. Very simple and very unassuming. Kathmandu was to be his last posting as a diplomat. Contrary to the expected role of Kathmandu based Indian ambassadors, Deb Mukharji never ever gave any 'political line' to Nepali politicians. So much so that few of our politicians went to Delhi and complained, "What kind of the ambassador have you sent, he does not give any line to us?"

Behind this simple looking Bengali hides a brilliant officer who was the topper of the elite St. Stephen College and his IFS batch. Shyam Saran, advisor to the Indian Prime Minister Man Mohan Singh, once told me, "Deb is a great man".

Deb Mukharji loves trekking and photography. I often joke with him, "I think you are a better photographer than an ambassador." To my surprise the ambassador would reply, "This is a great compliment for me." His book 'Magic of Nepal' shows the class of Deb as a fine photographer.

A year after the retirement, Deb was in Kathmanu on his way to Kailash Mountains. We were walking in Lazimpat. All of a sudden the Indian ambassador's official car, a white Mercedes fluttering Indian national flag passed by. I looked at Deb and asked, "Sir! How it feels as 22 CD 1 passes by and you are walking in a footpath along with a fool like me?" Deb replied, "Vijay! I am thankful to the God that I used to have that car, but I am much more thankful to him for today as I walk in the footpath, I neither have any desire to be inside that car again nor have any sense of jealousy with the person occupying it at the moment. I am thankful to God for allowing me to use that kind of the car in more than one capital so that I could enjoy my footpath walk today without being disturbed at all by any car that passes by". His answer made me speechless and Deb added, "By the way, you are not a fool just a bit crazy. If one can survive that then you are fun".

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Bhutto's assassination- A tragic end

Tragedy for Pakistani people, for all

Another tragedy has struck South Asia- the Pakistani people, who longed for peace and democracy in their nation and looked to Benazir Bhutto with hope, have lost one more time.

The leader of opposition party of Pakistan and former Prime Minister Bhutto was assassinated today.

There was a huge expectation from Bhutto from not only Pakistani people but from people all over the world who hoped to see Pakistan transform into a democratic society.

Now who could have benefited from the attack?

Pakistani dictator President Pervez Musharraf, former Pakistani Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif who is now in strongest position after Musharraf or the radical Islamists groups both within and outside Pakistan.

What happens here in this nuclear-armed country will certainly affect the world, and as long as the country struggles to transform itself into a stable democracy from the military rule, the threat from the radical Islamists and terrorists cannot be snubbed.

Musharraf has failed. But other Pakistani leaders seem impotent. Bhutto was, in many ways, a very brave woman and a people’s leader who chose to go to the people even after knowing there was such a great risk to her own life.

Not only the latest tragedy has disappointed Bhutto’s sympathizers but also the supporters of Musharraf himself. Was that crocodile tears in Sharif’s eyes?

With Bhutto’s assassination, no matter who planned the attack, the democratic movement in Pakistan has suffered a major blow.

If the Pakistani people remain quiet, which I believe is not the case, chances of January election are dim. But what kind of elections would it be even if they were to be held at the scheduled time now?

If the election is postponed, which looks like the main objective behind the latest attack, the future of democracy is not only uncertain but the chances of widespread violence and anarchy in the South Asian nation sharing border with Afghanistan—where the ‘war on terror’ is underway-- is obvious.

With both Musharraf’s power and popularity waning, there is very little he can do.

But if he is a real military man, he still can conduct an impartial probe into Bhutto’s assassination, arrest those who were found to have clear links with the terrorists and ensure the January elections are held on the scheduled date amidst tight security in peaceful manner. But even he seems to have lost guts to face the extremists and other Taliban-sympathizers in the country as he gets drunk on power.

BBC reports:

Benazir Bhutto killed in attack

Benazir Bhutto had been addressing rallies in many parts of Pakistan

Pakistani former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto has been killed in a presumed suicide attack.

News of her death was confirmed by a military spokesman and members of her Pakistan People's Party (PPP).

Ms Bhutto had just addressed an election rally in Rawalpindi when gunfire and an explosion occurred.

At least 15 other people are reported killed in the attack and several more were injured. Ms Bhutto had twice been the country's prime minister.

She had been campaigning ahead of elections due in January.

The BBC's Barbara Plett says the killing is likely to provoke an agonised response from her followers, especially from her loyal following in Sindh Province.

Ms Bhutto was key to her party, she was the focus of her party and she was a major political player amongst all those fighting for seats in the forthcoming elections, our correspondent adds.

The PPP has the largest support of any party in the country.

Analysts note that Rawalpindi, a garrison city, is seen as one of the country's most secure cities, making the attack even more embarrassing for the military authorities.

Scene of grief

The explosion occurred close to an entrance gate of the park in Rawalpindi where

Ms Bhutto had been speaking.

Wasif Ali Khan, a member of the PPP who was at Rawalpindi General Hospital, said she died at 1816 (1316 GMT).

The blast caused carnage

Supporters at the hospital began chanting "Dog, Musharraf, dog", referring to President Pervez Musharraf, the Associated Press (AP) reports.

Some broke the glass door at the main entrance to the emergency unit as others wept.

A man with a PPP flag tied around his head could be seen beating his chest, the agency adds.

An interior ministry spokesman, Javed Cheema, was quoted as saying by AFP that she may have been killed by pellets packed into the suicide bomber's vest.

However, AP quoted a PPP security adviser as saying she was shot in the neck and chest as she got into her vehicle, before the gunman blew himself up.

Return from exile

The killing was condemned by the US and Russia, and a statement is expected shortly from the UK.

"The attack shows that there are still those in Pakistan trying to undermine reconciliation and democratic development in Pakistan," a US state department official said.

Russia's foreign ministry condemned the attack, offered condolences to Ms Bhutto's family and said it hoped the Pakistani leadership would "manage to take necessary steps to ensure stability in the country".

Ms Bhutto returned from self-imposed exile in October after years out of Pakistan where she had faced corruption charges.

Her return was the result of a power-sharing agreement with President Musharraf in which he granted an amnesty that covered the court cases she was facing.

Since her return relations with Mr Musharraf had broken down.

On the day of her return she led a motor cavalcade through the city of Karachi. It was hit by a double suicide attack that left some 130 dead.

Earlier on Thursday at least four people were killed ahead of an election rally that Pakistan's former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif was preparing to attend close to Rawalpindi.

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Two Worlds, Autumn Leaves

My story idea

Two Worlds

“Do you like it?”

I nodded, but explained, “Not for me though!”

“Oh! For her?” he said heartily having caught me hankering for a pair of white woolen gloves.

It was a very unusual pair of woolen gloves. There was an extra piece of covering attached atop the otherwise ordinary glove. As I lost myself again, a few scenes from ‘Il Mare’, a beautiful film that I chanced upon at the recent Korean Film Festival, flashed instantly in front these eyes.

“Buy it then,” my friend suggested. I’m often surprised how fast he taught himself to read my thoughts within a few weeks.

“But what would I say, if she asks me why are you giving this to me?” I wondered. And, this thought catapulted me back into the realization of the chaotic lane we were standing. Because I don’t have any answer (you can say- I’m not ready to answer), the pair of the white woolen gloves with equally interesting designs of many colours now looked even more costly.

He bought a funny-looking headdress with two tails! I laughed when he tried it on- he looked a perfect clown in it! He has a weird taste, unlike the metrosexuals.

We then headed for a little place well known for its Tongba. But without the pair of those white woolen gloves that would continue to haunt me afterwards.

A week later, my friend reminded me that her birthday was drawing near.

“Present her the same gloves,” he bantered.

I said, “Gimme more time to decide.”

He laughed, “Still undecided, god!”

“Go and meet her, and all your problems would be solved, trust me,” he advised me.

What is my problem? My ordeal began with this task of identifying my real problem. Well as it came out later: we never had any problem. Only those people thought we had one or many.

In fact, we had nothing in between us.

Few days ago, I told my friend that I wanted to cast him in my role. He’d have to play me in my short (film) ‘Two Worlds’. After watching Robert Rodriguez’s Five/Ten Minute Film Schools and reading more on the likes of the ‘Rebel Without A Crew’, I’m madly taking all the bustling ideas that continue rolling without any traces to trail on any film reels but in my mind alone.

(CUT TO-)

Door opens. I enter. And the time on the clock on the wall is 9:30. Then, as I fall asleep, it's already 12:30. I'm sleeping, and slowly the camera cut to my hands: there is the same pair of gloves in my hand...

(CUT TO-)

I’m waiting, my eyes fixed at the road and the watch on my wrist both at the same time! And, she comes. She is looking more beautiful this time, or my senses deceiving me? She gives me her usual smile that she gives to everyone.

“Hi,” she says. And our usual, awkward, odd and what-not kind of conversation begins. After (only) a few minutes of chatting, I apologise for not wishing her on her birthday. I then, like in usual Korean movies (I’ve already forgotten those Bollywood moves), take out the woolen gloves from the right pocket of my light-brown jacket (December is a cold month, don’t you know?).

“Oh, thank you,” she says. Why did it seem as if she was putting on that fake smile? The way she accepted my woolen gloves, it seemed more like I was forcing her to accept me. But then within those flash of a few seconds, she was all cheerful again. She was again the girl of my many a dreams. Then adios and adieus!

(CUT TO-)

I’m a happy man. We need a little more than a table, chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin to be happy. I’m sure you’d be jealous if you knew how happy I am right now.

(CUT TO-)

“Mama, I’m home,” she says. She puts her girly-bag at one side. Takes out the gloves from her bag and tries one in her left hand. It looks a little shaggy. She doesn’t try another. A female voice calls her from the background.

“Comin’,” she almost yells as she removes the piece of just an ordinary glove. She puts the pair of gloves on the table at the corner of the room.

(CUT TO-)

The woolen gloves. Zooms in until the camera blurs out.

(What is the theme? How could the same thing be an ordinary piece of wools for one, and not just a pair of warm gloves for another? We’re living in two different worlds, two worlds! )

***

Right now, I’m listening to Cole Porter Songbook.

Here see my dotty camera works (if you love the Autumn Leaves by Miles Davis & Cannonball Adderley)

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Vijay Kumar reflects on his memorable talk-shows

The first Nepali heroine I loved to watch was none other than this ‘Sandwich girl’. Reason- she looked more like my first crush back in school. One day, I saw a couple at Maru, the woman, maybe in her thirties, also looked like her! LOL! Now I’d the image of our future together! Flakey fantasy!

But most of my friends didn’t like her, so I could never devote my jabberings on her!

Vijay Kumar has written two wonderful write ups in the last two weeks. This man should have started writing a long time ago. I’m enjoying reading this man. Dishanirdesh (his talk show) was one my favourite tv shows that ran in the state-owned Nepal Television other than Biswa Ghatana and Bahas! (And, NTV news of course!) But now, I guess, you know more than me about them.

I only know him only from the gossips that I’ve chanced upon. And, they always portrayed him in a very unusual persona- one whom it’s better not to meet!

Once, one radio jockey called him and said that s/he wanted to interview him.

And, as far as the gossips go- he rejected the offer saying, “I’m born to take interviews, not to give one!”

Once he wrote an article. The man, (a Kantipur tv news coordinator) who told me this, liked the write up so much that he telephoned him to say congrats.

I cannot believe what he said, “That’s all right. But next time if you like my article, please send a letter to the editor. Don’t call me up.”

He reminded him that if one likes a published article, then s/he should actually write a mail to the editor…

Let’s put the talks aside. Now, go through the write ups reflecting on his career, both published in The Kathmandu Post.

Sandwich girl, she came to my show
By Vijay Kumar

Karishma was beautiful, very beautiful. She was stunning both on and off the screen. Many would agree she is the most beautiful actress till today in Nepali film industry. Her face was her trump card and she possessed a great pair of eyes. As an actress her performance was just an average and so was her figure. It hardly mattered because her face was so captivating; leaving very little space for people to think about anything else. Her education? Eighth grade! Not that she did not want to continue, but because she could not tolerate the financial sufferings of her widowed mother. She once told me, "The sight of my mother carrying big loads of ration bags on her frail shoulders became unbearable, so I opted to work in a garment factory to help her out rather than continuing with my education".

I guess, Karishma must have done about five dozen Nepali and one Hindi films. I have watched three of them. The first one I watched also happened to be her maiden film Santan. It so happened because a girl I was dating some 22 years back wanted to watch that film. After that I would occasionally watch her song clippings on Nepal Television or read about her in Nepali press, mostly negative coverage. Barring a couple of exceptions, I have very little respect for the writings that appear on local press about films, television and music. I find most of them shallow and cheap. A typical article coming from this breed would read something like,"Why Hindi and Nepali films are not as good as English films?" Another would yell, "American pop stars are so good looking and rich, why are ours not so?" A wiser among the lot would seriously write, "My great formula to bring Nepali films to Hollywood standard!" I remember a drunk star telling me once, "Most of the film critics have one thing in common—they themselves are short, fat and unimpressive looking people. Sounds so funny that they have a job of writing about good looking people like us." I found the statement worth exploring, and to my horror it had elements of truth in it. Being a pressman, I defended my cousin critics by saying, "Look Honey! The paradox is that you beautiful people also desperately need our 'short, fat and bad' looking cousins. Had it not been for them, you would not reach this height today. I later realized this was too heavy for that actress even without her booze that day. It took me so many years to realize that the world is not linear but is dialectical. Neither anything is ugly nor is anything beautiful. Everything is total and complete as it is.

I might have met Karishma seven, eight times. First three times for the sake of cover story of Nepal, a mainstream weekly magazine. That was seven years ago. When Raman Ghimire and I were doing a cover story on Karishma many journalists frowned in the newsroom. The frowning lot came from the school that believed that 'only politicians make headlines '.

On the very first meeting, Karishma told me her story very frankly. She started with her father. "I don't remember his face but I can still feel his neck, shoulders and back. Because he always carried me on his back. My mother later told me that he passed away when I was just two and a half! After he passed away, my mother brought me to Kathmandu and rented a very small shop, so we could survive. My friends in school used to drink Coke and I used to wonder how it would feel to have that magical drink. There was no way I could afford that. One day I stole a 50 rupee note from home so that I could have some fun eating and drinking. The whole day the note remained in my hand but I could not spend it. Later in the evening I returned it back to mother."

After her eighth grade, Karishma joined a garment factory where she had to count the clothes. Her salary was five hundred rupees. Years later Karishma told me in a fashionable Katmandu restaurant, "You know Vijay, what I did with the money? I paid my school fees, bought some decent clothes and had some coke, too." Few years later Karishma joined the film industry. Kamal KC, her mother told me, "Karishma bought a sofa set, a sari for me, and a pressure cooker from her first earning as an actress. I was so happy and proud that day."

I might have gone out with Karishma three or four times for lunch. Once we went to an upscale Kathmandu place, it was full of 'that type' of Nepalis who took pride in claiming (mostly in English) that they never watched a Nepali film, and recognize none of Nepali actors. I was surprised, a deep silence fell in the place as soon as Karishma entered.

I was more impressed by the struggle of this girl than her looks. I believe, a woman can be called beautiful only if she has gone through some kind of struggle for survival. If 'survival struggle' is not there, women are just plastic flowers, no matter how she looks and no matter who she is.

Karishma was neither educated nor intelligent but there was a childlike innocence in her. She and her husband tried her luck in film with her husband Binod, but the venture failed badly. I guess it was the financial failure of her film Dhuk Duki that brought a paradigm shift in her life, and one fine morning Karishma left for America.

I found her straight forward and direct. She told me that she is moody and can get very angry. I did a television show with her after she returned Nepal for a holiday. She proudly told me, "Vijay, I had been a garment girl, then I became a movie star, and now I am a sandwich girl from Baltimore. One thing is—I have always tried to do my best in all these roles". To the surprise of quite a few Nepalis in America (mostly illegal immigrants, who used to proudly claim in Kathmandu that they had never watched a Nepali film) she was given a green card in less than two years because she was an established artist. More than the green card, I guess, America also gave her a new perspective of life. I found her much more mature and articulate after she went to America. I am not sure if she is still making sandwiches, but I am very sure whatever she is doing; Karishma must have been enjoying it. A fatherless girl who was counting clothes, rose to stardom in Nepali films. I will always remember her smiling face, brimming with confidence, looking straight into my eyes and saying, "Vijay! I am the sandwich girl who came to your show".

Published on Dec 23, ‘07


Best interviews are to be felt
By VIJAY KUMAR

Pemla did not survive long after Narayan Gopal's death. She was a fan of Narayan Gopal, the greatest Nepali singer ever. She was his long-distance pen pal from Darjeling hills, and subsequently his lover and wife. The couple used to live at five-minute walk from Maharajgung chowk, where a statue of late Narayan Gopal stands today.

A year after the passing away of her husband, I asked Pemla, "How does it feel when you have to pass through that statue?" Waves of memories swept her face. She replied with a weak smile, "Vijay Bhai, I know it is not him but his statue! I am also aware that it is made of stone, and has no life in it. But still in a cold winter day; on my way back home from work, I stop; look at him and feel like wrapping an overcoat around him! I know it is not him, just his statue, but still … as I pass by in a rainy day I feel like giving him an umbrella!

As Pemla spoke these lines, I did not realize when tears started rolling down my eyes. Pemla Bhauju too broke down briefly, and later consoled me. Pemla Bhauju was as graceful in her pains as she would be in her joys. I wiped my tears and remembered the happier times I had with the family.

Those were the years of no television in Nepal, the Internet was beyond imagination. I am talking of Kathmandu twenty-five years back. Freak Street, a hub of of hippy era was decaying and Thamel was emerging. I wanted to be famous quickly, without much effort. That foolish and naïve desire led me to journalism. I was lucky to be a part of Saptahik Manch, a weekly. Harihar Birahia used to do a popular interview column, featuring only politicians. One day, he decided to change the pattern. He announced that he would do an interview with Narayan Gopal. We had a dinner (read a lot of drinking) at Janardan Acharya 's place, where I came across the great singer. The first thing that shocked me was his outlook. In person, Narayan Gopal had no trace of the golden voice we heard in his songs. Like a typical Kathmandu-Newar, his spoken Nepali was full of flaws. I wondered how did he sing in so melodious voice? I awaited eargerly to witness the transformation in him. We were all waiting, and were prepared to do so until he would decide to sing. Narayan Gopal was not an easy person. He rarely sang in private homes, almost never.

All of a sudden, after three hours of partying, Narayan Gopal asked for harmonium. As he touched the musical instrument the transformation began. Slowly a magical sight started unfolding. Here I witnessed the conversion. He was a magical voice, almost divine. All solidity melted into waves of a great musical presence. That day I felt brilliancy comes in moments not in continuity. Brilliancy is nothing but a 'gap' in between dull moments. A great surgeon operating, a great player playing, a great singer singing, a great actor acting -- they work in a pure rhythm . It can be felt by heart, no need to read or talk about it . The presence is enough.

Not just the talent; Narayan Gopal was different, very different. It was unfortunate that he was labeled arrogant. Narayan dai was basically a shy person. He would sing only if he felt like singing. Once he told me, "All sycophants are called self-respecting, and people with some dignity and self-respects are branded as arrogant in this city."

Whenever I think of Narayan Gopal, two names come to my mind, immediately. Great Gopal Yonjon and Bishwambhar Pyakurel. Two best friends of Narayan Dai. Narayan Gopal would not mix with people, easily. He had a very limited circle of friends. He lived in his own world. If someone rare dared to join his world, Narayan would set the rules, unilaterally. I remember the evenings at Bishwambhar Pyakurel's quarters at Tribhuvan University, where Narayan was a regular. With affection I remember Basant Chaudahri, when I think of Narayan Gopal. During the last stage of Narayan Gopal, he stood by his side like a brother.

Television arrived in Nepal three years after I first met Narayan Dai. I shifted to this new medium. This medium suited perfectly to my lazy character. Laziness is an inseparable part of my character. At times people tell me I could have 'moved up' in life, if it was not the case. Sushama, my best friend who also happens to be my wife, on occasions considers me a 'waste of talent'. Momentarily, I agree. But if laziness is deleted from my character, will the remaining person be me? Would I like to be someone else? Never. Despite all my shortcomings, I would not like to exchange my existence.

Despite being a television talk show host for over two decades, I never interviewed Narayan Gopal. A year before he passed away, while he was still sick, I went to his home with camera, without an appointment. He got visibly disappointed hearing my request for an interview. He said, "Vijay, I have never taken you just as a journalist. You can feel so much about me. What good a half an hour interview does? Will it reflect my being better than my songs? You too want to make name for yourself by interviewing me? You know, finest interviews are to be felt, not just heard or seen. I wish you will develop that class some day."

He said rather he would sing a song for me penned by Bhim Birag:

Bato ho ki kubato andho lai kay ko matlab? Akha hunay ko pani thokincha jinadagi. Pani ma hoina baluwa ma lekincha jindagi, tar ekai lahar le pani metincha jindagi.

(What difference does it make to a blind man whether the road is right or wrong? Even the lives of people with eyes get bashed. Life is written on sand not in water, but a single wave washes it all!)

Yes, life is written on sands not in water but a single wave washes it all! Narayan Gopal never lived to record this song. But for me this unrecorded song will always remain as a 'direct transmission' from a great master.

A year before Pemla passed away Sushama and I visited her. She fondly recited the moment she first met Narayan Gopal in Darjeling. “Vijay Bhai I had just heard his voice, never even seen his picture. Two of them came to meet me. I had no clue which one was whom.

One guy looked like a wrestle, so I thought the other would be him. Thankfully, Nagendra Thapa hastily signaled. The wrestler-like guy was Narayan Gopal, my favorite singer.

“After he is gone I am left with only his voice. When I play his songs l feel as if he is in the room.

“Do you remember his cooking? He was a great cook. Remember the Saturdays you used to come and eat here?'

Yes Pemla Bhauju, I remember it all.

Published on Dec 15, ‘07

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What else does a man need to be happy?

“A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy.”

-Albert Einstein

(making use of shots...)

This is a typical Window Movie Maker piece.

Imagine, Lennon, Slideshow idea by Suman dai

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I Am A Filmmaker

“So you want to be a filmmaker? The first step to being a filmmaker is to stop saying you want to be a filmmaker. You are a filmmaker. Go maker yourself a business card.”

-Robert Rodriguez
from 10 Minute Film School (Rebel Without A Crew)

"I Am A Filmmaker."


Now, what? I'm going home, gotta lots of things to do!

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Reading tutorials on Adobe Premiere Pro

Teaching Myself

After half-an-hour of ‘deep search’, took root to read ‘Adobe Premiere Pro 2.0 Revealed’. Huhuhu, now this mammoth 321-page tutorial! Oh, those bibles? No way!

I've also downloaded few youtube tutorials on Adobe Premiere.


Yesterday, we shot few clips for ‘Mero Chowk’ (Bhupi Sherchan). I’ve to work on that tonight. Besides, there are several other things to do. One by one. Hmm, see I am learning to be patient. (Really?) It took this new ‘hobby’ to realise that life is long… But ufff that booook, videos are OKAY, but books! They take so much ‘time’, and I don’t know why I always fall asleep… may be, it’s impossible to finish a book when you’re inside warm blankets in a cold winter night.

Bulla ki Jana mein kaun! Good night!

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First lessons

Silhouette

Well, my new experiments with the handycam (Sony 20x 990x) has taught me a few things. The most important- even a small ‘cam can do wonders. But it cannot create the 'world' that I have in mind frame by frame.

We went to the location, and what Prabesh dai said was true, my ‘first’ short requires more expertise and budget than I’d expected.

Then, I wonder why it didn’t occur to me that I need to learn Adobe Premiere too. Earlier, I ditched it for an easy Ulead video-editing software.

“When your film is ready, it’d be already 2070 (BS),” said my friend, Sabin (the handsome guy in the shots below) , last night after inspecting the site.

Why do I always aspire for the apples at the top? Well, I cannot do anything about this. "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." (Oscar Wilde)

These shots are from yesterday’s 'works'.

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Khoya Khoya Chand

Going back into the time

At Hanuman Dhoka Durbar Square, a number of times, I’ve felt this strange but strong desire. What if I go back into the time? What if I uncover, locate one of the several love stories long buried here, waiting to be discovered? “How would he (Sudhir Mishra) manage to do it?” I wondered.

Circumstances bring a writer-director and an actress together, but set them apart when they realise that now they need each other more than anytime before. When the complexity of their relationship unfolds, I was awestruck by the number of similarities between myself and the lead characters.

“Is it really necessary to bring what is in heart to lips?”

There is not much difference between the real and the reel for me, between real and unreal. With short but effective dialogues, Mishra’s characters from the past stirred my heart, forced me to reconsider each passing frames seriously. It shows helplessness of the main characters and gives us a glimpse of the “people who live in 'glance' houses and do not realize their own mirror-image vulnerability until it's too late”. (1) It’s too early for me to start writing film reviews, even make one! But I’ve started working on both. As I get acquainted with different aspects of cinema and filmmaking itself, I wonder how many dreamers like me are waiting to take on the difficult route.

I cannot fully understand the depth of the emotions of the characters of this film. Mishra is romanticising the stories of the bygone era of Indian cinema and those who dominated it. Here, we are told painful story, but not given time to grieve. “He ruthlessly denies that sentimental quality which makes movies about the past so moist and dewy.” (1) If rumours are true, then Zafar could be Guru Dutt, or the amalgam of his contemporaries. Ah, Dutt’s affair with actress Waheeda Rehman could be his inspiration. Kagaz Ke Phool and Pyasa- I’ve not seen these films yet. (Well, I’ve asked my DVD vendor to get them for me. Some films require patience and certain ‘age’, I could not finish Citizen Kane (1941) although I tried a couple of times.)

A beautiful and effectively directed film. The 50s and 60s of Bollywood is recognized as the golden era of Indian Cinema. Khoya Khoya Chand is a painful but honest revelation of the era. And, I think the ‘tradition’ still continues not only here but in every film industry.

External links:

1. Subhash K Jha speaks about Khoya Khoya Chand
2. More


Becoming a filmmaker

“I don’t know when I would quit this job and start making films. But that’s my aspiration. Having seen the hardship, the struggle, I’m afraid to leave this secured life, this job and start all over again from a zero,” Sudeep dai told me. A brother of a filmmaker himself, his earnest confession made me realise that my fatal interest in this craft was not the guarantee of my success. “You don’t need to study films, we can’t afford it. But you can still make films.”

Should I take the risk? I tell you I’m afraid, very, very scared. Mumbai- I cannot afford this dream. It’s very easy to think, to write but very difficult to do. And, it is when you do ‘real’ things that you see results. There must be reasons why I’m madly pursuing this interest. I think I’ve become used to this passive life- life of a journalist (not mine) here doesn’t hold much charm. Why do I feel as if it is killing all my creativity? It was necessary, now I can confidently say that I’m more interested in expressing/doing things myself than the otherwise.

Three months. I’ve already decided to go and see what it’s like there. I know I have time, I need not hurry but I must work every day, each night. First few years I will have to train myself and understand the art of filmmaking. But I want to run away from this mediocrity as soon as possible. I cannot take it any longer. I sometimes feel, and it seems true, that I’ve done nothing, someone else is doing everything for me. And, this time I’m confident he will take care of me, I need not worry. Another newfound madness, maybe!

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Raw Voice

Reciting poems

Well, the first time I faced a camera in front of perfect strangers was for a VJ contest… I told them tips on love… Funny and unbelievable it seems to me now. And, the first time I recited a poem at a competition in Bal Mandir, some three-four years ago, I was awed not by my own performance but by this one girl whose recitation won my heart… (I dedicated one exercise book to write poetry that I wanted to give her someday…) I long to see her again, I forgot her exact lines, but she had written something like… (Peace was the topic ?).

And, a bag on (my) shoulder,
And a pen, a book, and a small statue of Budhha inside it…

She won first prize that year, the previous year she came second or third… that’s it, I saw her twice, her poetry improved, I was always impoverished… for now when I look back, I think I lacked mentors, I lacked reading habit, I never practiced writing poetry, I thought it was occasional, yes, I did spend more time writing poems than studying my textbooks during SLC… Can I call myself a poet now? Or do I need to bag few prizes, publish few books? “Why do you need others to understand you? Why do you need to cry just because nobody is reading your poem?” Suman dai told me few days ago, true. I admit when I was young I didn’t understand this, but now I do. But I guess, I never wanted to be personal, but a people’s poet…

I’ve not written a single poem for the last few months (years? maybe)… So, I’m always posting the oldies, they don’t belong to a genius, they were product of a creative and very intriguing mind. He was a lover, a little playful! (Every teenager is.) Anyways, here is my first poetry reading after a few years of gap. What I’ve learned from this is what I’ve been reluctant to accept- I still have a very raw voice. I’m happy that I still have ‘me’…

This morning, I wanted to restart learning to play few songs. I’ve not told anybody (except one of my friends), because I know they will laugh, how, how many things you want to do, just one dismissed me today saying I’ve got ‘verbal diarrhoea’! I admit, I speak too much, but don’t you think I’ve stopped blogging as much I used to? Let’s admit, hehehe I got this verbal disease (earlier, it was writing). And, it was the only reason that I wanted to join Vipassyana retreat until few months ago. (Yup, I've lost sense of time...) Now, the reasons have changed, and for good.

Bhupi Sherchan- Safalata (youtube link)

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Guide to A Glimpse of My Mind

1:14 AM, for all of you my dear friends

Only few months back, I’d have said, “There is nothing that I want to hide.” That I would better choose not to tell you a few things. Today, however, I’m hiding many things, see. I don’t even tell myself what’s happening to me, with me and around me. How can you understand? I’m crazy, people say, but I think I’m perfectly fine, only very confused, about feelings, obsessions and things that I want (‘I love what I cannot get’ kind)… I’ve started to sound monotonous, but am very cheerful these days, I know how to laugh, it’s so easy for me these days, I laugh without reason, I laugh here, there, I tease people, I talk to myself, make jokes, and laugh at my random stupidity… there is no big things now, for everything seems so small. There is no rich and poor, I’ve lost distinction. There is not a place I belong, because I belong to every place. There’s not a nationality, I’ve none today. No one language, but I speak with myself in nepanglish. I’ve started to realize that I’m a human being, that I am lost in human feelings. (hehehe what a realization! bravoo) I’m fed up with politics, so much, that I don’t want to talk about it anymore, I laugh… I want to spit on their faces, and that’s what my film is (was and will be) all about. I told few more friends about it, they couldn’t understand (later, when I explained, they were supportive, but I admit ‘all your aspirations depend upon only one thing to get materialised-money’). I think now I can use more restrain, control myself. I do what I like, still I long for more freedom. This humanness won’t last long, in few months time, I would come back into the race… “You’re getting lot of free time here, so your mind is like this,” dai said, “When he gets into a hand of a professional and starts to work, he’ll get lost into it, and, all these problems will be solved…” Yes, I agree… nothing interests me here anymore, nothing. (hehehe many really things do yaar… besides deepika but I can’t pronounce her last name though) I’m readin another book- Fatalism and Development, Nepal’s Struggle for Modernization. Dor Bahadur mysteriously disappeared after sometime of this publication, I heard somebody saw him in Banaras, he became an ascetic… nobody knows what life has in store for us, yes, I’m sounding too … but believe me "Learn how to die, and you learn how to live." (Tuesdays with Morrie- another must read) Another book, that everyone should read is Autobiography of A Yogi. It replaced all my weak foundations with new, strong ones. Life gave me everything (let’s not thank God), but it has also taught me so many things in this short period (don’t you think I’m too old for my age: >20 years). I think I’ve seen everything now except death, the only body I’ve seen is of Ganeshmaan in the parade when I was a young boy (Still I am but my beard is so thick, my tash is (was hihihi)disturbing, almost protruding into my mouth… hehehe) I watched Adam’s Apple today (with Deelip) at KIMFF, it was a powerful movie. Even for all my critical mind, these days spiritualism makes sense, I thank dai for teaching me that being religious and spiritual were two different things, and I’m happy that I’m struggling not to achieve greatness, but goodness within myself. What I always wanted to do? Help people, help them be happy, find peace. Spiritualism is so vast, this thing I’m trying to learn might take several lifetimes! (I wish days were long long, and I could do everything, many things hehehe) But as far as signs are, they were always in my favour, I always thought I’m so lucky, and yes, I am blessed to be, now it’s time for me to find balance, manage time (oh, I told you I’m getting borin hehehe)… I feel relaxed, look at the transition, the way this write up has started, and the way I’m ending it, study my style, I’m manipulating the stream of consciousness no doubt, and I’ve never reread any of my published write ups more than twice-thrice, but I reread ‘If You Want Me’ over two dozen times, I can still read it, not because I don’t like it, but because it’s so powerful, there are so many things that I wanted to tell, that I’ve told in subtle ways, it’s such a beautiful, powerful, yet so ‘short’… Read it, if you are/were in love. And, love, when you are, you cannot tell exactly what is happening to you, but it’s more than that, for me, it’s more than that. (There was time I used to think and memorise Oxford dictionary, now the message (the essence) is more important to me, simplicity is the best way to go, unless you want to prove otherwise…)

(Penned last week…)

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Children of Heaven!

Can somebody tell me what these numbers actually mean, please?

Finally, today, I'm watching Children of Heaven. You cannot imagine how restless I am (like always, yea) to get back tonight... After Prabesh dai told me the story, I was dying to see this film.

I hope the movie turns out more beautiful than how he described, when he narrated the story in his calm, exemplifying, marvellous tone, yes, I was really, really impressed... He is also making a documentary, I wish him best of luck! Dai, tapaiko film chhadai herna paau...

Sorry, but I’m not updating you about other films that I’m into these days. Mostly, it’s all but learning. Those avant-gardes, black and white movies are taking most of my time. Besides, Koreans, of course!

Sudeep dai suggested me to work on a different idea first, and said that I must learn (and earn first) before actually shooting that short film I wanted to shoot. He has been a great help, and am learning many things from him. He is such a cheerful and encouraging guy…

“A journalist must either write a book or make a film,” he told me encouragingly when I told him that I wanted to make a film. I wish him good luck and I’m sure that soon he will be able to entertain us with his film!

All about a pair of shoes...

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Parkhirane, nepali song, unheard voice

Nice Nepali song, liked it, very much... enjoy!

mukool (!), good luck guys

the lyrics

parkhirane

Parchhyaai rahe timilai
Timi hinde galliharumaa
Dekhchhyau ki bhandai
Luki hinde andheriharumaa
Tara timlai jana thiyo
Maile nachhine thaauma
Kehi bhanchhu bhandai thiye
Najau pani bhaninau
Ajha ma yahi chhu
Tyehi galli hin-diranchhu
Kunai kunama haallla gardai
Timilai birsna khojchhu
Tara basanta
Aairanchha, chiso bataas lagi rancha tyesaile timro naamele gijyairanchha, priye
Timi yaad aauchha
Tara timi jasto yaha kohi chhaina aha kohi chhaina
Satya ho yo maile khoji sake
Hera malai
Ma ajhai tyestai ajhai tyestai
Timi naaayena ni parkhirane, parkhirane, parkhirane

Kahile eklai hudaa, mangadhante kura bunchhu
Timi malai chhinchhyau re
Mero kura bujhchhau re
Tara kasaile bolairanchha
Mitho sapana jhaskaidinchha
Bhanchha bahira jaau
birsidiu
Tara malai samjhane mann chha
Tara kaha ma kaha timi
Kaha timro sansar
Kaha mero marabhumi
Ani arulai angaaloma badhchhua hola
jiwansaathi samjhi
Tara timi jasto yaha kohi chhaina aha kohi chhaina
Satya ho yo maile khoji sake
Hera malai
Ma ajhai tyestai ajhai tyestai
Timi naaayena ni parkhirane, parkhirane, parkhirane

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Into filmmaking

"First politician, then writer now director!"

After few days of creative inactivity, my mind is bustling with ideas. The most fascinating, seductive is this new inspiration to shoot a short film. For the last three-four days, I can but see each and every scene of the short. When I am walking, I’m shooting a scene, I’m living it. I can see the whole film in full consciousness. It’s happening to me for the first time, so am very excited. Well, this can be the very first signs… I still have to choose what I want to be, what I should study now. Seriously, I’ve got few more months to choose…

As one might expect, I got positive feedbacks from my friends and colleagues about my idea, i.e. if it could be done, it’d be great!

I’m studying films, wanted to do a story on how Nepali films were in the past, still working on it. It’s the only thing that ‘really’ keeps me busy (before I sleep, I try to finish a chapter from ‘Autobiography of A Yogi’ which calms me). Poetry, discussions on story-ideas, this is how I pass my days, got to do something before I leave the capital. So only next few months here.

I want to finish this film before doing anything else. Express myself, the anger, the pain of my generation, and this would be my take on Nepali politics. Need to start with a storyboard tonight. Well, a colleague with very good knowledge of contemporary Nepali films said that my project would cost around 2 lacks rupees!

GOD! Admittedly, I don’t have such a big budget, I want to cut the cost to the maximum limit, to the bare minimum. Have to compromise with the output, quality, maybe. Right now, I don’t know how to begin… What I’ve recently discovered is the potential of a movie- I now realize how I can express myself more effectively… I was always afraid to try, now I do not. Let's see what happens next...

Difficult… Ambitious. Challenging, and at the same time it seems so promising, a big opportunity, maybe. This is how my mind works, this is why I am always restless. Pray for me, for the good cause, for the country. Sigh***

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If you want me

Bed. No 9.

I cannot forget your number. Unfortunately, whenever I dial a number in despair, even urgency, it is the same number what I end up dialing. When I look at the poster on my wall, I see you, your body, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. It's been a few days, or a week, maybe. But I miss you everyday. I curse you, why do I miss you?

When I get a missed-call, my heart starts to pound heavily. I'm afraid when I get a new sms. I somewhere wish if it were you. But that's not the case, I laugh as if nothing happened. But some part of me feels sad, loneliness. As if I laugh at myself. I'm not able to help myself, cure it, a year.

I no longer believe what I used to, my definitions are changing constantly. I become easily bored, so fast. But my friend is lively, I don't feel bored at all. He lets me fly at the seventh sky! Some people become part of our lives no matter how they are, what they are, where they are.

10 minutes, a few hours a day- and you 'love' your dog. "Love by continual habit," Vatsyayan said. Am I lost in imaginations here!

How much could it affect, how long? This is not love, it's curiosity. My heart is always pounding. But my mind was never so much disturbed like now. Luckily, I can see the devil within me. As I chased you, maybe, you already knew that I was not trying to catch you. I chased you away, and I regret. It was more than I could bear, or you could give.

Emotional men are so vulnerable, they need to guard themselves, cocoon themselves within ugly walls. We need respect, and nobody humiliates you without your own consent. I gave you space, too personal, and you humiliated me. It's difficult to forget, to frown at, or heal the wounds you take from your beloved, for granted. But we easily forgive, so funny!

I learned another lesson, and I'm happy that you're an outsider in my world. At least, I can choose to be with you or not. Such people, I've always despised, but not you! I always had my circle, when I joined a new, I adapted to the circumstances, and later I would always struggle to change them.

But I don't want to change you, I don't want to infect you, teach you anything about my life. Did I ever tell you that I find your world so small, so hollow, so soulless? My world is different, that I everyday meet people who teach me lessons of life, of bliss and are always ready to show me the right path leading to my own truer self! That I meet generations of creative, sensitive, reactionary, impractical people devoted to pursuit of truth with a longing to know the world and one's own self, I really don't care much what you say. I really don't care that I want to be many things, that I love many things, or how I look.

I don't regret for not having anything, I know I can get whatever I wish. Not everything, you say. But I don't believe, why should I believe you? Let me build my castles in the air. If you want me, come help me build my castles here.

I want to fly, not fall in love.

Also published in The Kathmandu Post.

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Behind the Bars of Justice

Gender Inequality in the Nepalese Legal and Penal Systems

Women prisoners in Nepal taking literacy classes. (©)

A report on the state of Nepalese women in prison (as well). SarahRich Zendel has done a wonderful job, I thank her (and someone else too). Download from here (pdf).

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Eat fruits but with care

Eat fruits but with care
Chandrashekhar Karki, Hinda-hindai, Nepal (2 Dec, '07)

"Fruits are extremely beneficial for human health. However, very few consumers are aware of the side effects to health caused by different chemicals used while storing them these days. Moreover, we have a trend to sell fruits openly without paying enough attention to its effects as well. The government agencies have not paid any attention on such matters of public concern. So, should consumers aware themselves?" (translated caption)

Paddha-paddhdai

I thought this photograph was about the poor boy. I thought the photographer was moved by the boy at the forefront. At least a few thousand minors can be easily spotted in the capital selling fruits, vegetables, collecting rags, working in hotels, greeting us in public vehicles as conductors, serving in renowned libraries and families as domestic helpers, and so on.

The noise in the photograph i.e. the boy grabbed my attention, not the fruits in the background. My heart cries for future, food and family of the boy, not the effect of eating one of these fruits to my own health.

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