the cabbage

Thakuri Thulbau was a reputed name in the town. The Thakuri­­ like his grey moustaches, proud black bhadgaule topi and small smiling eyes, had earned the reputation over long years of dignity and social responsibility. The kingly caste had nothing left to rule over and had seen many of his brethren fall down… in reputation. But this bausaab, as they were called with respect, enjoyed a reign of respect over the people’s hearts. So what if he had lost the old money and land?

When ever he gets down to the bazaar, one mile walk down from his house on the hill near the jungle , he never forgets to carry one or two things for some house in the along with his highly rejoiced dignity.

Times have changed a lot in the 65 years he has lived. The road from Pokhra to Butwal was built in front of his eyes, through the bank of this small river aandhikhola. Today the sandy bank of the aandhi is booming with six to seven story buildings. His own life had taken many turns like the town itself.

He went to India for few years, came back to relive the dignity he had washed away with dishes with dirty water in Dilli. An unwelcome experience, equally unwelcome memory.

Youth passed in a flash and life started burning day by day after that. Year by year he emptied himself on the bhatti of Gursini Kanchhi.
Its now many years he has been a regular customer to her. Regular, loyal, dignified customer. Compared to all the other people gathered at the bhatti – kale tamang, damai sahinla, or akkami, prem bahun – he was a gentleman.
A gentleman jadyanha.
He never shouted on the way back to his home every evening like others.
He never tried to comment at Gurusini Kaanchhi even after her husband’s death.
He never picked up a fight.
He never drank in debit. A peculiarity so rare.
After gurusini kaanchhi's husband died things did not change much.
Few of the customers also died in the way. Few went away.
But those who remained or those who joined new were similar.
Nothing changed.
Yes... the curfew in the town had changed the routine. They could no longer drink till late at night and shout on the way home at night.
And the police also had shifted to the small hillock leaving the town. As the danger grew.
But the emptiness kept growing. Faces emerged – faces evaporated.
Few faces drowned in glasses- few grotesquely smiling outside on the round mirror of the steel glasses.

By now you must have made a judgment that Thakuri Thulbau was a heavy drunkard. But who are you to make any judgment on him?
Who are we to decide on any thing about him?

One house near the bhatti was of Sita.
Sita had a small piece of land where she grew few vegetables. Her husband had a small shop in the town, a small buffalo and two children.

The day was just similar to all the other days except for the turmoil in side him. Thakuri thulbau had already taken three glasses of the kodo-raksi from the Gursini Kanchhi’s bhatti. After he felt that he had finished the last ten rupees note in his pocket, he was trapped.
What could he do? He could have asked for money to the men in the bhatti- men who had taken from him so many times. And he had refused to take it back.
Can I cry in front of all these men- men without dignity and honor- ?
Can I beg in front of Gurusini Kanchhi?
-No. I will never drink in debt.
But he knew he had already drunken those glasses of raksi for which he had no money.
He came out from the bhatti.
Kanchhi did not worry because there had been many occasions when thulbau had many times forgotten to pay for the drink but had come back within minutes.
She knew him he will not forget. He was not like many of the other customers whom she had to remind with harsh words or to deny further trade before they apologized financially.
He looked at the house of Sita. She was the daughter in law of his friend – Tallare Thula.
Though a bahun he was not like other bahuns. They had spent quite a lot of time together in dilli where he had gone after running away from his home. Tallare Thula had helped him get a job in a house. He had stayed with him for three months in that small room behind the garage.
He remembered the days when both of them used to go to the mela. He smiled.
And so much time had passed. They were married. Children were grown. Married. And have children. He felt like a moving history of the town in himself. And then one day he was dead. He heard the news early in the morning when he heard the shankha blown he asked who was it?
THULA.
Life went on.
He did not remember it was the same day or the next day when he was going to the bhatti he had seen the daughters and sons of Thula.
They were going to the pandhero in their white clothes... to eat their meal of grief – meal without salt.
Rice cooked in lot of ghee and fruit and honey.
He did not know why he remembered him now… suddenly!
Then also he used to go to the house though the children did not receive him with the hospitality what he used to get from Thula.
But they are just like his own children – he thought.
And why – he had helped them so many times.
He looked at the house with the affection which he had not felt for years.
No body was there in the house.
Then he saw the healthy cabbage that was growing in the garden.
He stood for some time staring at the house.
Sita was like his own daughter in law. With such a love and care she offers him tea when ever he passes by. After all he was friend of their father. And he used to help them.
He remembered when he had given them the tree branch for only ten rupees when he could have sold it for fifty to any body else.
Now why will not they help me when I am in need?
He held the cabbage in both his hands; broke it free from the shrub and walked to the market.

The news spread like fire.

Thakuri Sanhila was the first one to know. Well may be Gursini Kanchhi was the first one to know but she preferred to keep quite. She was indifferent to such surrenders. It was a matter of now or later… but she knew every one surrendered. So she took the money from him and slid it under her blouse, in her breast. Indifferently.
Then she said – doesn’t matter bausaab! Who can have the courage not to trust you? - When he said he had the money in his pocket but had forgotten to give it that time. You know with time memory also is lost and see my hair is so grey now…. - he had smiled. She smiled back from out side – laughed inside. But she had seen many. And learnt to be indifferent. Her bent of lips straitened with another demand from Prem bahun.
But for Thakuri Sanhila it was a new experience. Rather it was a new opportunity.
When Thulbau had in front of the whole village slapped him for beating his wife when she was pregnant, ha wasn’t able to cry. It was his daughter who had died only one month old twenty years before.

When Sita came back to the house from the fields with some grass for her buffalo…her son told him about the cabbage.
She shouted at the highest of her voice-abused at the thief without knowing who had done that, thrashed her two children for leaving the house un-attended and kept ranting for almost half an hour. Gursini Kanchhi came out from her house; taking out time from her busy schedule- looked indifferently, judged something, shrugged her head and went inside.
Sita continued while milking the buffalo how all rascals lived around , could not see any body doing good, how she had to live among all enemies and survive and how nobody could see her happy.
Her children looked at the plant without the cabbage- the symbol of their lost happiness wiping the tears from their eyes and waiting for their mother to finish the milking so that they could get some happiness back. In some other symbol.
In the evening Thakuri Sanhila came to her house.
- So how are you Sita?
- Oh! I am fine.
It was normal for Sita to be intruded occasionally by the customers of the bhatti.
But suppose he means some business today. He stopped longer than usual.
- Where is that cabbage you were growing so well?
That was enough for Sita to start the crusade at the unknown enemy of her happiness and prosperity.
- Well… I had seen our Thulbau going to the market with a cabbage today. I wonder where he must have got that from.
She did not speak for quite some time.
- Well …I don’t want to say he picked up from your garden but just wondering … and now I see that your cabbage is stolen.
She remembered how Thakuri thulbau had refused to take that money for the bamboo he had given to her for the shed. She did not speak, just hoped Sanhila would leave. He left.
- Sita remembered just a few days before she had requested Thakuri Thulbau to bring her a branch which she will put as support for her simi after the cabbages are finished.
Thakuri Sanhila was speaking to the gathering in the bhatti moments later-
- I heard that somebody has stolen Sita’s cabbage.
Few heard him. Few understood and nodded and others were just too busy with the glasses and thinking how they will sneak for tomorrow’s drink.
- And somebody told me Thulbau had gone to the market with a big cabbage that he sold for fifteen rupees today?
He continued. Gursini Kanchhi was worried in the beginning but looking at the indifferent crowd drowning in the steel glasses she stopped worrying.
But the news spread like fire.
Next morning when Sita got up at five she saw a huge tree branch placed in front of her door.
After a few minutes a shankh blew from the hillside.
Somebody shouted –
THAKURI THULBAU!!!

NEPAL: Save our Global face

The world is changing at an unconceivable pace. Balance of power shifting it’s centres, cultures and traditions are being revived throughout the world, more so in the real vicinity, south Asia. In this fast paced world, how do we define, defend and develop our identity?
Merely befooling ourselves with an unconquered history is not only puerile, it’s suicidal. This might help to cultivate a superficially imposed idealistic instinct. But it has no significance in the present situation of the country when people inside are destroying it piece by piece. Often the optimistic youth consoles himself everything gets ok once the problem of Maoist is solved. I’ve heard many learned people often surrender to the crisis, they say, just because of this problem. What we the citizens of Nepal can not afford to forget is; Maoists or no Maoists, monarchy or no monarchy, civil war or no civil war, the country has to survive. Just surviving isn’t enough; we have to prepare ourselves for the new world.
Before we dwell into the future, let’s drill deep into the present. Drooling on the past is often the biggest mistake done by mankind. The same malaise seems to de-capacitate the state today. Current situation is nothing but our power-crisis; it’s a collision between forces. History and science both prove that every collision leads to two things; destruction of some particles and creation of a few. Similarly it’s certain that some force (I can not call them particles) will certainly be destroyed after the collision. But to look forward, for the citizens of Nepal is the forces that will emerge after the collision. What ever comes out as the result of the emission, the base line or the ground reality remains the same-Nepal, the nation has to survive, live and lead itself into the new world. Hence, the excuse of crisis for switching off the penchant to search for the creative path for the country is not only immature, it’s fatal. Let it be anybody, destructions or even negligence of the resources, natural, physical or human, can be like digging his own grave. Often, mistake done by power hungry forces is prioritizing a short term tactical gain over a long term strategic strengthening.
Let us now look into the present scenario in some detail. What is happening around us is clear to all. End of cold war era has brought a remarkable shift in the power centers of the world. The huge power vacuum created due to the disintegration of USSR, is negated by a bipolar Asian Equilibrium-China and India. Both these countries are growing with a high rate. Their global stand is improving manifolds day by day. And, what’s more important is both of them are two giant neighbours of Nepal.
The recent uni-polar world with only US as one superpower has regional power equations replace the old bipolar power balance. Hence, whenever the giant superpower tilts, the parameters of balance experience a remarkable change. Recent co-operation between US and India is not only a short term effect of 9/11. It’s a symbol of unleashing of locked powers of the region. South Asian region is a highly productive area in terms of intellect and human resources. China’s emerging power has forced the American skeptics to boost the Indian Aroma to a heightening effect.
What we should learn from India, however, is clear. Anybody who has observed India for last few years has no problem in judging the heightened sense of development, amongst the common man. The confidence reflected by the populace is visible everywhere. The media shouts it loud. Increasing influence of Indian media, movies, literature and culture not only in neighbouring countries like Pakistan or Nepal but also in the US of A, puts a stamp on this. Tourism has pronounced it. But for a country which has fought three major wars in 50 years and has a continuous history of insurgency, the type if optimism, it’s polity, economy and common man promise, is great. This is more important than the materialistic growth.
We the people of Nepal, are reaching into the changing world with our old clothes still on. More embarrassing is, our cloths are bloody.
Tourism is the back bone of our (one of the poorest) economy. We can not escape from the fact that until and unless we device a dramatic method to support the economy, we are on the verge of extinction. But more importantly we have to regenerate the faith in ourselves. No nation can develop over night from trash. Those countries have survived the taste of time, history proves, which are unified with a cause. When the cause is identified, motivation can be fuelled in to generate co-operation which in turn leads to the excellence of the nation as a whole.
The recent shift of world attention to south Asia has not helped countries like Nepal. But it has darkened the shadow we fall under. It is nobody’s job but ourselves to lighten the path we have to traverse into the future. Few of the common set backs on us in this era of increasing Asian boom are:
· We are loosing our tourist (due to various obvious reasons) to India and other Asian countries.
· The boom in outsourcing (BPO) jobs from European countries and the US of A to this region has left Nepal untouched till now.
· Although the IT revolution has made the world a global village, our contribution to the InfoTech can be paralleled to an outcaste community of the village.
As a result on going conflict is affecting the socio-economic globalization of the nation.
These maladies are not only bank-corrupting the country, it is corrupting our path to the future. Where is the future of this country? Often one hears the poets shouting save the country first if you want to rule. Certainly, with a history of rulers not at all interested in a long term strengthening of the country, we are projecting a weak picture in the global forum. Our leaders not only were interested in personal privileges more than national interest, they lacked vision for the future. The advice from renowned Indian historian, Rahul Sankrityayan, is what I would like to quote here. He says
“Nepal and Japan are similar in many ways. Both the countries and the people. Both are mountainous places, grow similar crops (almost), both are an intermingling of Kiranti and Mongolian culture and what’s more, their temples too have similar roofs. Japanese prowess in agricultural, electricity and industry can be easily imitated by Nepal. Today’s Nepal can learn a lot from the technique of Japan. Thus the poverty and illiteracy can be eradicated. Nepal has to live its theoretical talks and go in to real reforming and re-building. Otherwise the present rulers will also have to follow the footsteps of the Rana rulers.”
What Rahul Sankrityayan said more than half a century ago proved itself during the Panchayati Raj, it comes true even today. Though the priorities for economic development have changed today due to development in the information technology, we still fight a similar problem.
When the snowy mountains in Kasmir shine on the Dal lake with tourist, Pokhara is clouded over Fewa. When Buddha advertises the tourism for the Indian economy, Lumbini sleeps. When Bangalore awakens at midnight to attend calls from US of A, Biratnagar snores away to a false glory. But the barracks, palaces and bunkers are rocking 24x7. Where is my global face? What do I say to introduce myself and my country? And more important is when I will start saying this.
As a nation, all small countries in the world can look up to Israel or Japan for inspiration. Japan has excelled after World War II, which reminds literally of phoenix. Israel has not only survived extreme hostilities and emerged victorious through many wars but has also excelled. “Survival is the mother of self dependence” for Israel. The type of national psyche which is required for a nation undergoing a crisis is clear from this statement of Moshe Dayan- one of the greatest military and administrative leader of Israel. He had said-
“It is the fate of our generation that our life requires that we be always prepared and armed, strong and determined, for if the sword be struck from our grasp, we shall die.”
Dinesh Tiwari

CONFESSION STORY

Here’s where you can really shed the burden of your poor soul
I will start with my own story.
When I was studying in Darjeeling way back in1998-99 I think I was in eleventh standard.
I used to stay as a paying guest in one of the houses owned by a retired army man. His daughter with children used to live with him where as the son in law stayed in a village – lebong.
The story started like this. Since her husband was staying alone she said she needed somebody to help him at home. He had field to look after as well as few cattle. She wanted me to get somebody from Nepal… (I forgot to mention I am from Nepal) ..a boy of may be ten or twelve to help him.
The next time when I went home I gave this a serious thought. Darjeeling is good as far as education is concerned. That time in my juvenile idiocy, I was mesmerized by the westernized outlook of the people in Darjeeling. Good accent in English. Western clothes... and music...
I really thought if I can get somebody there! May be a poor boy barred from education will be enlightened.
When I told this to my mother she was happy with the noble cause and hence I brought along a ten year old boy to Darjeeling.
Things went well for some time. In between I visited the place once…found he had made a few friends in the school. I talked a few times on phone too. Away from his home… I was happy to see him happy and getting some study also.
But then I had to leave that house and later that place. My biggest mistake was I did not take him home even once in those five months I was there. Because of my boards I hadn’t gone my self...
When I left that place I asked if he wanted to go back or want to continue... He said he will stay there.
Ok.
For some time I had thought I really did a noble thing.
But his father in village was ill for years. He had three brothers. After some time I got the news that the boy had run away from that place. He did not return home... may be he had forgotten the way back or may be he simply did not want to...
But then after few years his father died … when ever I used to meet him he used to tell me to get him his son back. He died before he met his son.
Today it’s been seven years... he must be eighteen or nineteen now...
But the guilt in soul is much more aged.
And every time I visit my village – the silent eyes of the mother of that boy question me and I stand –broken, naked in front of her.gone

prints are gone

prints are gone

Cabbage

Thakuri Thulbau was a reputed name in the town. The Thakuri­­ like his grey moustaches, proud black bhadgaule topi and small smiling eyes, had earned the reputation over long years of dignity and social responsibility. The kingly caste had nothing left to rule over and had seen many of his brethren fall down… in reputation. But this bausaab, as they were called with respect, enjoyed a reign of respect over the people’s hearts. So what if he had lost the old money and land?

When ever he gets down to the bazaar, one mile walk down from his house on the hill near the jungle , he never forgets to carry one or two things for some house in the along with his highly rejoiced dignity.

Times have changed a lot in the 65 years he has lived. The road from Pokhra to Butwal was built in front of his eyes, through the bank of this small river aandhikhola. Today the sandy bank of the aandhi is booming with six to seven story buildings. His own life had taken many turns like the town itself.

He went to India for few years, came back to relive the dignity he had washed away with dishes with dirty water in Dilli. An unwelcome experience, equally unwelcome memory.

Youth passed in a flash and life started burning day by day after that. Year by year he emptied himself on the bhatti of Gursini Kanchhi.
Its now many years he has been a regular customer to her. Regular, loyal, dignified customer. Compared to all the other people gathered at the bhatti – kale tamang, damai sahinla, or akkami, prem bahun – he was a gentleman.
A gentleman jadyanha.
He never shouted on the way back to his home every evening like others.
He never tried to comment at Gurusini Kaanchhi even after her husband’s death.
He never picked up a fight.
He never drank in debit. A peculiarity so rare.
After gurusini kaanchhi's husband died things did not change much.
Few of the customers also died in the way. Few went away.
But those who remained or those who joined new were similar.
Nothing changed.
Yes... the curfew in the town had changed the routine. They could no longer drink till late at night and shout on the way home at night.
And the police also had shifted to the small hillock leaving the town. As the danger grew.
But the emptiness kept growing. Faces emerged – faces evaporated.
Few faces drowned in glasses- few grotesquely smiling outside on the round mirror of the steel glasses.

By now you must have made a judgment that Thakuri Thulbau was a heavy drunkard. But who are you to make any judgment on him?
Who are we to decide on any thing about him?

One house near the bhatti was of Sita.
Sita had a small piece of land where she grew few vegetables. Her husband had a small shop in the town, a small buffalo and two children.

The day was just similar to all the other days except for the turmoil in side him. Thakuri thulbau had already taken three glasses of the kodo-raksi from the Gursini Kanchhi’s bhatti. After he felt that he had finished the last ten rupees note in his pocket, he was trapped.
What could he do? He could have asked for money to the men in the bhatti- men who had taken from him so many times. And he had refused to take it back.
Can I cry in front of all these men- men without dignity and honor- ?
Can I beg in front of Gurusini Kanchhi?
-No. I will never drink in debt.
But he knew he had already drunken those glasses of raksi for which he had no money.
He came out from the bhatti.
Kanchhi did not worry because there had been many occasions when thulbau had many times forgotten to pay for the drink but had come back within minutes.
She knew him he will not forget. He was not like many of the other customers whom she had to remind with harsh words or to deny further trade before they apologized financially.
He looked at the house of Sita. She was the daughter in law of his friend – Tallare Thula.
Though a bahun he was not like other bahuns. They had spent quite a lot of time together in dilli where he had gone after running away from his home. Tallare Thula had helped him get a job in a house. He had stayed with him for three months in that small room behind the garage.
He remembered the days when both of them used to go to the mela. He smiled.
And so much time had passed. They were married. Children were grown. Married. And have children. He felt like a moving history of the town in himself. And then one day he was dead. He heard the news early in the morning when he heard the shankha blown he asked who was it?
THULA.
Life went on.
He did not remember it was the same day or the next day when he was going to the bhatti he had seen the daughters and sons of Thula.
They were going to the pandhero in their white clothes... to eat their meal of grief – meal without salt.
Rice cooked in lot of ghee and fruit and honey.
He did not know why he remembered him now… suddenly!
Then also he used to go to the house though the children did not receive him with the hospitality what he used to get from Thula.
But they are just like his own children – he thought.
And why – he had helped them so many times.
He looked at the house with the affection which he had not felt for years.
No body was there in the house.
Then he saw the healthy cabbage that was growing in the garden.
He stood for some time staring at the house.
Sita was like his own daughter in law. With such a love and care she offers him tea when ever he passes by. After all he was friend of their father. And he used to help them.
He remembered when he had given them the tree branch for only ten rupees when he could have sold it for fifty to any body else.
Now why will not they help me when I am in need?
He held the cabbage in both his hands; broke it free from the shrub and walked to the market.

The news spread like fire.

Thakuri Sanhila was the first one to know. Well may be Gursini Kanchhi was the first one to know but she preferred to keep quite. She was indifferent to such surrenders. It was a matter of now or later… but she knew every one surrendered. So she took the money from him and slid it under her blouse, in her breast. Indifferently.
Then she said – doesn’t matter bausaab! Who can have the courage not to trust you? - When he said he had the money in his pocket but had forgotten to give it that time. You know with time memory also is lost and see my hair is so grey now…. - he had smiled. She smiled back from out side – laughed inside. But she had seen many. And learnt to be indifferent. Her bent of lips straitened with another demand from Prem bahun.
But for Thakuri Sanhila it was a new experience. Rather it was a new opportunity.
When Thulbau had in front of the whole village slapped him for beating his wife when she was pregnant, ha wasn’t able to cry. It was his daughter who had died only one month old twenty years before.

When Sita came back to the house from the fields with some grass for her buffalo…her son told him about the cabbage.
She shouted at the highest of her voice-abused at the thief without knowing who had done that, thrashed her two children for leaving the house un-attended and kept ranting for almost half an hour. Gursini Kanchhi came out from her house; taking out time from her busy schedule- looked indifferently, judged something, shrugged her head and went inside.
Sita continued while milking the buffalo how all rascals lived around , could not see any body doing good, how she had to live among all enemies and survive and how nobody could see her happy.
Her children looked at the plant without the cabbage- the symbol of their lost happiness wiping the tears from their eyes and waiting for their mother to finish the milking so that they could get some happiness back. In some other symbol.
In the evening Thakuri Sanhila came to her house.
- So how are you Sita?
- Oh! I am fine.
It was normal for Sita to be intruded occasionally by the customers of the bhatti.
But suppose he means some business today. He stopped longer than usual.
- Where is that cabbage you were growing so well?
That was enough for Sita to start the crusade at the unknown enemy of her happiness and prosperity.
- Well… I had seen our Thulbau going to the market with a cabbage today. I wonder where he must have got that from.
She did not speak for quite some time.
- Well …I don’t want to say he picked up from your garden but just wondering … and now I see that your cabbage is stolen.
She remembered how Thakuri thulbau had refused to take that money for the bamboo he had given to her for the shed. She did not speak, just hoped Sanhila would leave. He left.
- Sita remembered just a few days before she had requested Thakuri Thulbau to bring her a branch which she will put as support for her simi after the cabbages are finished.
Thakuri Sanhila was speaking to the gathering in the bhatti moments later-
- I heard that somebody has stolen Sita’s cabbage.
Few heard him. Few understood and nodded and others were just too busy with the glasses and thinking how they will sneak for tomorrow’s drink.
- And somebody told me Thulbau had gone to the market with a big cabbage that he sold for fifteen rupees today?
He continued. Gursini Kanchhi was worried in the beginning but looking at the indifferent crowd drowning in the steel glasses she stopped worrying.
But the news spread like fire.
Next morning when Sita got up at five she saw a huge tree branch placed in front of her door.
After a few minutes a shankh blew from the hillside.
Somebody shouted –
THAKURI THULBAU!!!