Into the Bandwagon

Looking into the social media posts about Dilshova Shrestha, I am both amazed and annoyed at how quick we are at jumping into bandwagons. It is great to see that so many of us are able to access information so quickly, and are open to participating in ongoing social issues that matter. But for some of us, its more than just participating in the dialogue. The annoying part is that we are not only jumping into one bandwagon but frequently changing into whichever side seems to be winning at  the moment. Is it our childhood insecurity of being ignored or left out, that we are so intent in belonging to a certain group, and a group which has the power for that matter? The word "opportunist", and rats leaving sinking ships come to mind when I see the same people questioning Dilshova's integrity an hour ago, praise her like she is the Angel incarnate herself in another post.

When I come half way

When I make an effort to wake up early, because you are coming to give me a ride to my office, and I dont even think about it until late in the evening when I am paralyzed by yawns, then I know that I've come more than half way.

In the Shadow of Everest

Every year, since so many years before, people (male and female) from the villages beneath Everest go to the Namche area as porters, students, cooks, house workers, suppliers of crops, and small time vendors mostly during tourist season. But some stay throughout the year and some throughout their lives, waiting upon the houses of locals who now are in Kathmandu or overseas. The most expensive tourist destination in Nepal, the Everest region, has benefited the inhabitants in and around the base camp much in terms of economic growth. Apart from the peak tourist season, its no surprise that they do not stay much in their native place as they already have enough resources to move to Kathmandu or even New York for that matter. But those other people, those who come from villages beneath Everest, theirs is a different tale.

What it means to be a "Headquarter"

For my geography lessons in school, along with my classmates, I memorized headquarters of all 75 districts.

I knew pretty well what it meant to be a "capital" as I was studying in the "capital" city where my parents brought me while still young so that  I could have a "better education".

Capital meant having roads, vehicles, electricity, kerosene or gas stoves, lots of people in all sorts of clothes, shapes and sizes, having countless schools, and hospitals, having colleges, electricity and so many shops that it was impossible to count them.

The difference between my village and capital was that, it had none of these things - no hospital, no electricity, no vehicle, no roads, firewood instead of stoves, only one high school and no colleges, only one shop, neither such throngs of people but people who I knew who wore pretty much similar clothes with layers of chimney smokes and mud.

the Guilt of Being Alive

"It is incredibly lonely even among people"

My 88 year old Grandpa was bent over his 4 months old great grandson-son of my cousin who passed away 2 weeks ago. Grandpa asks the new one, with tears in his eyes, "your grandpa's father- I- am still alive, but where is your father, little one"?

Tears didnt come then. They didnt come even when I watched my cousin's 8 year old daughter wait half the night for the "Shaman" to bring her father back as someone had told her that the Shaman had the power to bring him back. She asked an uncle, "when will the Shaman bring my father back?"