One Day on Earth..11.11.11

It was early morning of 11.11.11. The very first morning in Biratnagar. Priti and I were picked up at 7:30 from the Swagatam hotel to go on filming trip for UNDP. It was nice warm November morning, unlike a Kathmandu one. Latif and Guna tagged along with us from UNDP office out there. Latif is head of UNIRP and Guna, ex-water system engineer, now works under Latif on various projects.
Wonderful road, empty road, no traffic jams like in Kathmandu, and speed of 80 kilometer per hour. Most prominent trespassers were bicycles, rickshaw-wallas, and tractors. It was rare and for-a-change kind of view for us.
UNDP hired us for “One Day on Earth Project , 11.11.11.”. This year’s theme was to film ex-combatants who are being supported by United Nations Interagency Rehabilitation Programme (UNIRP) to reestablish their life as civilians after being forced to leave Maoist Military camp. It is one of the missions headed under UNDP and under it, ex-combatants receive training like tailoring, cooking, or certain amount to open a retail shop, depending upon the interest and capability of the individual. 4008 combatants expelled from camp in 2010, fall under VMLR (Verified Minors and Late Recruits).
The day earlier, we went to UNIRP office to meet Latif and his team for next day’s project. This was my first encounter with everyone and even the notion of the project that I was going to film on 11.11.11. Everyone started to explain what they do. Related and unrelated, both. They kept using unfamiliar words/works they do for UNIRP. So, more than half of the things were flying over my head, due to delayed flight and hunger as well. At the end, or also I would rather say, at the 11th hour, I received handful of reading material. We had to check in hotel, read all those papers and prepare question and rush to field very early morning! Wallah!! What a fab job!! Thank you UNDP for not giving me all these materials in prior for study, although I kept asking about it for weeks. They also warned that the ex-combatants we meet might go aggressive if asked sensitive questions. That is what we had to keep in mind while compiling questions.
Our first destination was Ramganj, Sunsari. A remote village of Musars. They are rat-eaters, or musa-eaters as we say in Nepali, hence termed Musars. A simple villagers, who work at somebody else’ land all day, to meet their two meals a day need. Interviewed a boy who owned a retail shop. He received financial help of 40,000 from UNIRP. He said he was doing well and his father seems to be happier with the support he received. Priti gelled very well with Tharu women and kids. She spoke to them in Hindi while they kept replying in Maithili. It was pretty hilarious situation. If Latif had to explain the situation he would say, “It was pretty hilarious Priti.” He immediately got fond of our names, Nikki-Priti. He used word “pretty” to describe every situation just to tease Priti.
After an hour of filming, we went to the Training center near Itahari. That too went good. We stopped by Gorkhali Departments for lunch. It was only famous store in Itahari. Not just for Itaharians, but also for its neighbor districts like Dharan, Biratnagar, and Inaruwa. Clean and healthy ambiance, grocery store, ice cream parlor, nice food court, etc. There Latif asked our drive to take photos of him, Priti and me together. He asked us to stand on either side. C’mon!! How would 4 feet 9 inches tall girls look on either side of 6 feet Afgan man? Not to forget bulky too. Photo looked pretty hilarious and odd.
Third destination was another remote place called Dangighat. It is on the way to Jhapa pass Khursane from Itahari. We interviewed a very polite mother of two kids. I think she was as young as 22. Her husband is still in camp as combatant in Bharatpur. She received 7 weeks tailoring training from UNIRP. And now she has one-man tailor shop of her own at her bamboo house.
In route to different destination, we would talk about several issues that these ex-combatants had faced after they were expelled. They were promised a fairy tale life by whoever, which of course never came true. But yet their hopes for it are still alive.
Latif never missed a chance to flaunt his new Ipad. Sometimes to check mail, to take our photos and once in a while to interview us and himself. We recorded a nice video on it. Hopefully he will send us the photos and videos when he returns from Nepalgunj next week.
Finally, we went to Inaruwa, to catch a last interview with a young cook, one of the VM (Verified Minors). He was quite interesting and confident. He was recruited by best hotels in Biratnagar and Morang immediately on completion of training. Even his recent owner confirmed, his business rose after this boy took command in his kitchen. He had tons of stories to share and my camera battery was dying. Bummer.
I had checked out of hotel morning so that I could stay with Nikki Chaudhary’s family after that shoot. We all came back to our respective places. Refreshed. Relaxed. Had dinner. Then I downloaded all the films on my computer. I reviewed them in tit-a-bit and started panicking. Priti freaked out. We had some major problems in filming. Darn, I am so dead. I immediately called Latif in middle of his dinner. I told him I had this stupid problem and I need to re-shoot all of them. Tomorrow, I need to do it Tomorrow. He asked to come see him next morning. I was too impatient and worried. I rang him again and asked if I could go see him right then. In 10 minutes, I was there. He could immediately figure out I was worried. And worried beyond extent. I showed him footages on my camera. I thought I would outburst. But he was quite, calm and experienced guy. He has gone through all kind of problems, he said. He told me stories on the worst thing has happened to him and he managed to come out of them with cool head. And he would take care of everything and easily get permission if I had to reshoot. Also, I could cry or scream then and there, to tone down my panic. I went back home with all his kind words and console.
Priti was tired and asleep. I couldn’t sleep, so, I turned on computer watched all the footages. And as I kept watching my mood started lifting up. Because I saw less and less flaw. At the end of the footage, I knew only the first part, the Ramganj one, had problem. I texted Latif late night explaining the situation, and went to bed happily. I carefully ran my fingers into Priti’s hair and said, everything is all right, we have done our best. Of course she didn’t hear that because she was under sound sleep. Inside my mind, I planned few things on how to start movies and what the flow should be.
Saturday, we went on tour to Dharan with Nitesh and aunty. It was a pleasure to see the places, where we had never been to.
And I am back home today, after quick re-shoot at Ramganj.

You never ‘get over it,’ you ‘get on with it,’ and you never ‘move on,’ but you ‘move forward.’”

When I read "Understanding Grief, by Jane E. Brody", I thought I should also write about how I have grieved when I lost my father. It was so sudden, within a period of 5 days, my father was no more. Relatively a healthy man suffered a brain stroke. It was Sunday, midday, I was ready Sherlock Holmes book by Ted Ricardi. There was humdrum upstairs, someone fell down, when I ran upstairs, I saw few people holding my father by arms. He had already lost sense on his right side of the body. I didn't know it was brain stroke, I immediately called a taxi with my brother, don't ask why I didn't call for an ambulance. Took him to Teaching Hospital, emergency ward, no doctors or nurses, everyone had gone out for lunch. An intern doctor attended my father, she was unsure of the situation. Later, a lot lot later, doctors arrive, they studied MRI report and told me I was very very late in rushing my father to the hospital. When I said, within half an hour of attack I brought him here, they started nervously dispersing away from me and my father. Then and there I decided I will never go back to Teaching Hospital, because of the carelessness all the doctors and nurses have had. The same lady intern quickly made reports and advised me I take him to Neuro Hospital. We took an ambulance to there, all the doctors there quickly attended my father. This time doctors were not reckless but fully arrogant. Who would not be? After all, they are super doctors of this world-class hospital of Nepal. Few hours long surgery, 48 hours of waiting and much patience, Dr. Devkota broke the news, that dad would never wake up. It was Thursday, 13th of Aug, 8:30 PM (28th of Shrawan), the day we lost our dad and he lost all his sufferings.

I still remember my mom and we four siblings grieving his death. The sound of wailing still reverberates in my ear after two and a half years.

We talk about him all the time, include him in our conversation. Enact how he would react to different situations but my mom can't look at dad's photo yet and my sister never see his videos.

He was one active person. Always talking, always walking. He could never sit idle. All of us were relieved when his sufferings ended with his demise. I think he lost the sense of suffering as soon as he went for surgery. I somewhere knew he would not wake up and if he woke up he would be incurably speechless and bedridden for all his life. A talkative person like him, at loss of speech and the person who walked everywhere a bedridden one, would kill him even more. That would be 100 times more sufferings than death. 

 

You never ‘get over it,’ you ‘get on with it,’ and you never ‘move on,’ but you ‘move forward.’

There is nothing in this world I miss except for my father. At the age of 57, he had to leave us all behind with the empty spot in our lives. We are getting on with your absence with you in our heart and moving forward with you in our lives.

 

Miss you Dad! Here is wishing that you are in Baikuntha and blessing us always.

Jobless but not Workless

 On my 35th Birthday today I am jobless but certainly not workless. 22nd of December was my last day at work after 12.8 years. No, it was in fact after 16.1 years and 3 organizations. Darn, its half of my life what I have lived so far. I literally feel that every day is a Saturday-Sunday and again a Saturday-Sunday, go on!! All the days after last Friday have been busy ones. Cousin’s function, photographing it, editing photos and sending them out to everyone. I have not had chance to miss my work yet i.e. desk job, as I have a long to-do list for 2 weeks already. Started with vacuum-cleaning and scrubbing floors, next is cleaning bathroom tiles, windows, doors, followed by painting walls. I wouldn’t do the painting I have hired a professional for that. Oh and a New Year 2018!! What after two weeks, maybe I go to Biratnagar to see other Nikki blessed with her first born. A boy or a girl, we shall see that on Jan 13th. I opened my laptop to write the whole blog, but I guess words don’t come easy, so there goes my “Jobless but not workless” in nutshell.

Meeting JP Cross or John Paul Cross. I would like to call him more Nepali than me.

My sister and I met him on an interview assignment. It was 10 in morning, we finally landed at Pokhara airport after much delayed 8:30 am flight. Although I go to Pokhara every 3 or 4 years this was the first time I saw reputed mountains. The flight itself was a visual treat as if I was on a Mountain flight instead of Pokhara. My mom couldn't keep eye off of the window. She loves mountain she loves hills. And there I saw Machapucchera for the first time and I took photos with it as soon as we landed.

Checked into Hotel Snowland. Fairly good, because although the room was nice and clean with attached bathroom, which is must, there was constant annoying construction sound right outisde the hotel compound.

Up until now I had received plenty "kaa pugnu vayo" (where have you reached) call from Buddhiman ji, adopted son of JP Cross. What I love about Mr. Cross is he is so full of life, healthy, very routined and always smiling. So Welcoming.

We took taxi to his place, unfortunately I cannot recall the name of of place after 5 months of my visit. Yes I should have wrote this blog in April when I met him. There, two elderly handsome men raised hands to wave at us. They came out of house, waited for us on road, lest we got lost. Greeting us three with namaste and they led us in to his domain. He has this huge house, and huge dogs. Mind you Pokhara is much more expensive than Kathmandu, real estate wise.

Buddhiman ji had to leave because of his upcoming election campaign. Mr. Cross told us his history tale, he losing his eyes and hearing ability and so on and so fourth. Between his humours tale and stories, I was worried about his my size German Shephard (I think) which was lying just next to my feet. If I moved my feet and hit him, I could be his food in one gulp.

I tell you, Mr. Cross is one mesmerizing and pure soul, we all were smiling ear to ear, during his interview be that in Nepali or English. One could listen to him on and on. Like I said earlier, he is more Nepali than me. He spoke perfect Nepali without inserting any English words in his dialogue. The one word I caught that my grandfather uses and I never use is "sitimiti" which means rarely. Anyway I can go on and on praising him. After few more chats and quick round of fruits we had to say good-bye.

He got up as we packed our bags and said, I can give you nothing but ashirwad (blessings) and cupped his hands on my head. That was the most beautiful moment for me. I had tears in my eyes and I choked with happiness. Same happened to my mom and sister.

Splendid day with Mr. Cross ended there. Left with happy and heavy heart. Happy because we could meet him. Heavy because it was short. Had it not been for British Council Nepal's assignment, we would have never met Mr. Cross. So, Thank you BC.

Gai Jatra Procession in loving Memory of my Dad

                                           

                                    (Pralad Thapa (2014-Mangshir-4 - 2072-Shrawan-28) 

When I pitched "Gai Jatra " reportage to Hinduism Today on the 27th of July,  I never envisaged that my house will be one of the many to conduct the Gai Jatra procession this year.

The next day of Janai Purnima (Raksha Bandhan in India) is celebrated in Kathmandu Valley as Gai Jatra, 'the procession of cows'. This year it was on 30th of August. Kathmandu valley locals believe that this is the day when Yama, the God of Death opens the gates of judgement.  The soul of anybody who died after the previous year's Gai Jatra, wanders a perilous journey until this day and it is best assisted on its way by holding on to the tail of a holy cow.  Also, on this day, the cow will push the gates of Yama's realm open, so that the soul can enter for judgement. If a cow is unavailable then a young boy dressed as a cow is considered a fair substitute, parade through the streets, thereby helping the deceased to find their niche in the afterlife. People, who, for any reason fail to lead procession, distribute food and drink to the cows parading in neighborhood.

                    

With the devastating earthquake that took thousands of peoples' life alone in Kathmandu Valley, there had to be outrageous number of participants, parading Kathmandu streets, in guise of cow and saints in pair, in loving memory of their deceased ones. That is what happened. Unending lines of families walked from Kathmandu Durbar Square, through Naradevi chok, Ason and to Thaiti, and some circumambulated in reversed order locations as well. Families seemed shortage of boys to walk as cow, for even infants, still feeding on bottle milk, mounted on father's lap were parading. Some of the families carried huge posters of their beloved ones. Photos of two pretty teenager on banners caught my eye, I believe they were sisters, I couldn't fathom what their family must be going through to lose both their precious daughters in one disaster.

When a medieval period King, Pratap Malla, after failing in many ways to console his queen grieving over the loss of their son, announced a large reward for anybody who could bring a smile to the queen's  face. Droves of people turned out in front of the palace dressed in outlandish costumes, lampooning all aspects of Nepalese society on the Gai Jatra day.  The queen laughed when the social injustices and other evils were highlighted and attacked mercilessly, and thus the jokes, satire, mockery also became a tradition.

                         

My relatives came to house early in morning for the Gai Jatra preparation. It was the 18th day of my father's demise. We lost him within 5 days of brain attack at the Neuro Hospital. He was only 57 years and 8 months old. All the 13 day last rites were performed according to Hindu Sashtra. Those 13 days were multi-tasking days for me and my sister, as my brothers and mom remained in whites, isolated in a room and forbidden even to touch one another. We were mourning, listening to Garuda purana (a Hindu myth on how a deceased journeys to the other world), receiving and feeding visitors, shopping for the final day rites and also crying our heart out, when we had time apart all the necessities that needed immediate attention.
We had two boys aged 11. My cousin helped one of them deck as a cow and other as a sadhu. This ritual were new for the boys hence much excited. My mom and then everyone put each of them tika and gave money and food, before sending them out to roam city in guise of cow and sadhu in hopes that they help lead my father's soul to baikuntha (heaven). They paraded my neighborhood for a while and rode car to Hanuman Dhoka Durbar Square. My brothers and uncles accompanied them carrying big bags to collect the daaan, food and money alms, boys receive while they parade through the ancient alleys of Malla regime, along with many other cows and sadhus. Poor boys were exhausted, so we made stops whenever they needed restrings. Within an hour and a half, we were done with circumambulation, which marked the end of ceremony.

There were mixed emotions; we were happy that we performed all the rituals that could help my father reach baikuntha and the same time very devastated that we now have to continue living with this empty space in our heart, mind and house.

I survived this historic earthquake only to lose my father within few months.

                        

Dinesh Chandra Panthy ( दीप ): A letter to Indian People & Intellectuals

Dinesh Chandra Panthy ( दीप ): A letter to Indian People & Intellectuals

Kalpana, As I Imagine Her (longer version)

Me and My Kalpana.

Kalpana and I go way back. Way-way back to when we were not even teens. She now is an organic agriculture entrepreneur, beloved daughter in law, a lovely wife and a mother of two, who, believe it or not are 5th and 3rd graders, and here I am still working on how to eat without spilling food on my shirt. My sense of nonsense humor.

She has lived with her husband and family at Nepal Village in Taudaha, for twelve years, which is on the way to Dakchinkali temple. It was her twelfth marriage anniversary, almost a week before the brutal earthquake hit throughout Kathmandu Valley. The house that welcomed her as a 21 year old bride, the house that were filled with cries and laughter of both her babies when they were born, the house that served the entire Nepal family a place to rejoice for and the house that was a dream come true for her grandparents in law when they built it, was instantly turned into rubble, right in front of her eyes. I cannot fathom how her heart must have ripped apart as she tried to stand that ferocious shaking and also lose the home that had sheltered her family all their life. I couldn’t help myself cry when she told me about her loss on phone. But she did not. It was a week past earthquake, and her tears might have dried up already or may be she is still a strong woman as she was as a high school girl. I never remember her as a timid type. She was very tomboyish. She could beat up any taller guys in our class. Not that she has, but I know if she did, she could and she would.

We were inseparable during school days. However, we unknowingly drifted apart after passing SLC. She went her way to study Arts at Padma Kanya Campus in Dillibazar and I carried on to Tri-Chandra College to pursue my Science classes. Mobile phones or facebook didn’t exist back then, if they did, we could at least be a facebook-friend and text-gossip all day and night long, about our days, classmates and handsome teachers. I did attend her wedding though. Photographed the entire ceremony, spent hours doing her bridal make up, making henna design on her hands and making hair buns. Yet, she did not kill me for making her live a week with an atrocious henna designs. Thank god. It all appears like a dream of past life to me. We seldom get update about one another, what is going on with our lives is only communicated with ones respective friends and family circle. She doesn’t know anything about me nor I know much about her life post SLC because we only catch up once in a while. And that once in a while is sometimes once in two years, that is how much we are apart physically but I would say that teenage-girls-heart-strings are still fastened deep into both of our hearts.

I wanted to see her after she told me what she went through on that day. Her grandmother was in fact buried under rubble for more than an hour after that house collapsed on her while she was taking nap on first floor. Her husband with help of neighbors rescued the grandmother. She still has bruises all over the body and whose interview I heard at some FM station a day earlier of my visit. I was perplexed to learn that the interviewed elderly who was dug out of rubble was indeed Kalpana’s grandmother. Luckily her boy was not inside house, who, otherwise is always playing computer games. She and 6 other family members have now taken refuge under a long plastic nursery where she once farmed mushroom and tomatoes seasonally. Everyday they clean debris to scout out belongings. Pulling out clothes, washing them , drying them and folding them is now her day-to-day chores. They have managed to retrieve beddings, some clothes, utensils but all the electronic home appliances are gone. She tells, yo bhukampa le malai kangal banai diyo. (This earthquake looted me) as she posts temporary shelter photos over facebook.

I want to break a story continuation with a hilarious story she told me while I was there. There is a Newar village right across her field, that support Maoist Party of Nepal. Baburam Bhattarai and Prachanda visited that Newar village within a week of disaster with food, shelter and money relief. They were there for an hour while Nepal villagers were looking forward to greet them to in anticipation of aid. The next thing they see is both the political figure rode off their big cars completely overlooking all other neighboring village.

Anyhoo…

Kalpana is a trained ardent agriculturist and was chosen amongst one of the two trainees from Kathmandu to go to Janakpur for a month long farming class. She does organic farming and has hosted three lots of guests to farm with her through Worldwide Opportunity on Organic Farm Nepal (WWOOF). I followed her work on facebook. She regularly posted her farm work, her foreign friends assisting her at farm site, tomato grooves, rice planting, mushroom farming etc. I am proud friend, one thing I wish to see prosper in Nepal is agriculture. I proudly watch all agriculture entrepreneur programs on Nepal Television whenever I am home. I never visited her despite receiving several invitations. It was 6 or 7 years since I last saw her. And when I did, her world had tumbled upon her. She even had to let her cow go in fear that already dilapidated shed would collapse on that poor animal. That cow provided 7 liters milk to family everyday.

Not that she needs my help, but I want to tell her farming stories to people, to help her get back into feet. I want to encourage her to restart farming. I want her to see her rebuild her home so that can she can return the tomato nursery to its original state. 

Time heals all wounds, and I want hers to heal at earliest. I hope that time comes shortly when she recalls the earthquake and after success as a tale that she tells fondly to others. And like her name, “Kalpana”, may all her sufferings be limited to her kalpana/imagination and nothing get carried forward in her days to come.