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.

Fake Faces Toll Nepali Earthquake hits.........

"Death toll in Nepal Earthquake hits 4000, 5000, 6000.... 9,000 amid hunt for survivors" made headlines in top National and International media for 50 weeks. But how many times have we read "Fake Faces Toll Nepal Earthquake hits x' numbers"? Which organization or individual would ferociously compete to top the chart? Lets sit and contemplate about the all the relief works posted on Facebook. All the gofundme.com they have created to collect fund. Which organization are still active and who have cleverly managed to perish? But the most interesting one would be to see whose until-now-fine-faces turned into debris with massive earthquake that shook all of us. Don’t worry I have discovered two of them already. One is unmasked and other is on its way to reveal oneself. Let’s give him sometime. Sometime until he receives the fund he is promised for the project he proposed. Will he walk his talk or just drive a car? I am sure when and if he reads my blog he in no second will know that the stone that was released from my slingshot has hit him. Bull’s-eye. 

This blog is to resonate my facebook status this morning
~ “People who we are working with are nice on our faces and then next thing we discover is they have backstabbed us. OMG!! That too within a week.
प्रिती थापा, You and I have such sweet faces (wink) and we are short too compared to everyone we meet yet they are INTIMIDATED.
WHY WE GOD WHY WE????” 

Photo from, https://resonner.wordpress.com/2014/08/28/the-dying-flame/

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 humour.

She is 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 12^th anniversary, almost a week before the brutal earthquake hit throughout the 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 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 life. I cried when she told me about it on phone. But she did not. Her tears might have dried up already or may be she is still a strong woman as she was as 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.

 

House then and now

We were inseparable during school days. However, we unknowingly drifted apart after passing SLC. She went her way to study Arts and I carried on with 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/night long. I did attend her wedding though. Photographed the ceremony, spent hours doing her make up, putting henna and making hair buns. It all appears like a dream of past life to me. 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. That once in a while is sometimes once in two years.

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. 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 her photos of temporary shelter.

Pulling grandmother out of rubble.

Kalpana is a trained ardent agriculturist. 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 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.

Farmsite

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. 

Once a tomato nursery now serves as a shelter of Nepal family.

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.

Our Very Own Hanuman Dhoka Durbar

 It was the time and Uma visited Nepal in Fall 2014. We met in person for the first time after we have chatted and facebooked for 2 years and (point to be noted) she made me wait for at least 45 minutes in front of Fire and Ice restaurant on that day. On top of that she didn’t even care to offer me the famous Fire and Ice Pizza. I am going to tease her more when I meet her online next time. We ran around here and there to meet my friend without any success. We decided to take rickshaw to Kathmandu Durbar Square. It was a tough ride while people poured in in enormous number everywhere to shop for Dashain Festival. One festival you have to buy new dress no matter how many piles of dress you have at home. We sat on paati, a Nepali shelter, to exchange gifts. She brought me nail polishs, lipsticks, t-shirt and chocolates. I gave her silver earrings that she is ever fond of. Later she complained that she lost one of them. How Sad. Did I mention that we met through a Nepali Food portal and a common friend who de-friended both of us later. We still laugh as we ponder why did she feel need of doing that. Anyhoo, back to the tour of that day.

It was almost quarter to 4 in the evening then out of nowhere she decided to go see museum inside Hanuman Dhoka Palace. Although I have lived in Kathmandu for all my life, I never took chance to visit the museum. I said why not, sure I am a big fan of Monarchs and Royals. King Prithivi Narayan Shah is supreme, but do not ask me his birth date or when he annexed different mini kingdoms to finally unify it.

What a tour it was, re-visiting history. All the history classes in school kept haunting back to me in grandeur. We mocked miss-spellings and miss-translation every time we encountered one. But it’s a Nepali way, we have difficult time in discerning the words that are pronounced similarly but has different meaning and spelling altogether. (I don’t the term for that, hence explaining).

I had wonderful time, so amazed to see rare photos, first Nepali Newspaper Gorkhapatra, Royal Wedding attire and accouterment, Royal Ritual attire, Royal Thrones, what various King’s office and bedroom look like, their swords and hunting tools, Royal belongings, Royal library, political previews, you name it and it was there. So vast visual treat of 1000 years of history in an hour tour through the maze of tunnels, stairs, doors that interconnected all the buildings with the view of Nasal chowk, Mul Chowk, Taleju temple, freak market right across the street, and also the 9 storey Basantapur tower.

Very happy us took merry photos at one of the chowks, because taking photos were prohibited inside building.

 

And then it was time when we had the brutal earthquake on Spring 2015 of seven point nine. I heard Dharahara and Hanuman Dhoka Palace collapsed. I didn’t believe there was an iota of truth on such destruction news until the newspaper arrived next morning. So heartbreaking to see the fall and people buried under its rubble. I went to see around the palace on the 12^th day, lots of the places inside the vicinity were forbidden. Volunteers were clearing up the rubbles. There were few American journalists who flocked in to do piece on earthquake interweaving the Living Goddess Kumari. I wonder what they would extract from few year old Kumari.

The main concern remains about retrieving the valuables inside the dilapidated palace. Everyone is giving their own ideas on how to protect those are trapped behind fissured walls. I had thoughts that we would get rid of aftershocks in a month, but no it has not stopped yet and it could continue for longer than I have imagined, and it has only worsened the worse.

Local and International disaster assessment specialists have come together to set plans on how to fetch all the endangered valuables from the fragile historical Malla Palace, some parts of which are balanced precariously. Among the valuables the main problem are massive thrones, which needs at least 10 people to carry them in and out. Above all when monsoon hits this rescue mission might just not materialize and forces lose all our history, which are not only important but also precious for Nepalese.