Of Marriage and Men

Candid Verses: Of Marriage and Men 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness!”

I must confess the first few months after the break-up were pretty hard, as I brooded and sulked like a sick chicken. But then, like most adult resilient Nepalis, I blamed her for everything. Walla! It made me feel a whole lot better. As winter turned to spring, all the relationship experts in my family, friends, and relatives joined in to turn around my life with a solution –the panacea to all Nepali’s problems- MARRIAGE. Reluctantly, unwillingly, and hesitantly – I agreed to the norms of such an arrangement, because according to the experts, I had now reached the age of no reasoning.

Thus, the first step of my healing process didn’t begin with a self-reflection but rather with a well-orchestrated selfie, just enough to hide my receding hairline, taken from my newly minted smart phone, and sent all over the world (to Nepali families that I had no idea existed), and affixed also with my overhyped resume. Slowly at first, then steadier, a deluge of prospects came reckoning, each with a disclaimer along the lines of “If you don’t agree to this, you’re losing a chance of a lifetime!” It is surprising how everyone else knows exactly what I want in life, except me. Anyways, I went along with the circus.

“She’s a social worker – she works with children. It will be much easier for you in a few years.” Well, of course! It was not the idea of the social worker that appealed to me, but this insight that she may even earn less than my non-profit research job paved way to the romanticism of future struggles, especially when we’d have children. You see, I am a far-sighted guy.

“What are you doing?” she texted via G-Chat which I had just begun to learn on the smart phone. “I am cooking chicken - I like them crisp” I boasted typing like a teenager slid the phone into my pocket. A haunting silence ensued. Slightly irritated, I checked my phone and realized in horror what I had typed. Darn you “autocorrect!” My text read unapologetically “I am cooking children – I like them crisp” So that’s that!

Unfazed with this first fiasco, I was resolute to move on to the second- an accountant, a perfect family material according to the sources. Now that I had mastered the art of g-chat, things seemed to go smoothly until we decided to meet up – in an Afghan restaurant in Jackson Heights. After exchanging the pleasantries, she turned serious “You don’t laugh much during our conversations, do you?” I have to be honest here, but she wasn’t that funny and I wasn’t exactly cracking jokes. I managed a smile and ordered the lamb shank and motioned to her. “I already had dinner. And I have to leave soon. My cousins are waiting outside” Woah! Without much thought, I blurted out “So what do you want in life?” She answered back hurriedly but in a serious vein “I have two dogs now, and I want at least three more!” I would have wanted a more thorough explanation, but timing was inappropriate. She had to leave and the lamb-shank had arrived. I was in a dilemma. They say you always have to be at the right time at the right place, and this probably wasn’t!

The next date couldn’t be more fitting. She was on a business pitch in downtown Manhattan, and I had been unemployed for a month. An entrepreneur and the unemployed- a match made in Wall Street depression. We sat down in uncomfortable silence preoccupied by our thoughts – her probably in her business pitch the next day and me in my current wallet denting endeavor in the $$$$ restaurant. I should have YELP’d harder, but it was too late now. Trying to distract myself, I asked about her business pitch. She stood there with her hands crossed looking right at me – well right through me and uttered a few quiet words. I asked if she wanted some wine hoping she wouldn’t. She didn’t. Feeling better, I cracked a few spontaneous jokes to the silence that was prolonging to which she gave a wry smile. As we finished our meal quietly, I asked her “So, what kind of food do you like?” she shrugged. “I like all the east Asian food – Thai Vietnamese Indonesian” I continued. “What do you like”?She took her time, finished her meal, wiped her face, and crossed her arms again and blurted “GOOD FOOD!” Months later, I learned that Good Food meant French food- if only I had known!

After a few more unsatisfying and unrelenting dates, I told everyone that I needed a break. Things simply don’t work this way, do they?

“Listen! You’re not young anymore. You have to learn to compromise. Not everything will ever be perfect. We’re old now” My parents lamented with their usual emotional blackmail.

“Listen! You’re still young. Do not compromise. Everything will end up being perfect” suggested my newly married cousin, who seemed a little lost.

“Listen! You need to change. Change your hairstyle. Fashion. Be asshole to the gals” suggested my younger cousins.

“Listen! You’re a great catch. Do not change anything. Be nice to gals” suggested my married friends.

There was no letting up. It was only a matter of time the deluge started again-

“We’ve found a perfect gal for you in the US. Infact, the mother called us and pleaded that you add her in FB. All you need to say is yes!” my father conveyed the prospect beaming with smile

 “If it all works, we should start planning marriage dates to give your siblings enough time to take holidays” My mother joined in the skype, of the certainty of the latest prospect.
Hold on a minute – I protested “I don’t even know who u r talking about!”
“You will – she’s the only daughter. You don’t want to lose out on this one” echoed my sister from the back.

It was the super-full moon night in August. We chatted frivolously. We exchanged numbers. We called and talked through the night – about family, career, childhood, and everything in between that may lay in the future. It seemed natural. There seemed a connection. The stars seemed to be aligning in my favor in a long time. Or so it seemed.

The next day, she sent me a note that she was going to be away and may not respond for a while. A mere three weeks into this note, I saw pictures of her engagement in FB. Rather perplexed and slightly angered, I sent her a note on why she had not told me as adults?  She responded by unfriending me. Next, I took my anger onto my parents, who also seemed equally perplexed.
“Poor Mom. She had no idea her daughter had a BF in USA. She called this morning and apologized” A familiar theme of disconnect of parents from their children in the foreign land. It really was nobody’s fault. Well, except the Gal’s!

My parents may have stopped bothering me for a while, but the calls about someone’s “amazing daughter, niece, friend, sister, colleague, and acquaintances who is a perfect fit for me” continued on. Sometimes I’d just get CVs of random girls and asked if this is the right fit. All I could say is relationship- especially meant for life has to be gauzed through more than the piece of stellar paper right?

Still I talked and learned a lot. About women who wanted to travel around the world. About women who didn’t want to be tied to family. About women who wanted to climb Kilimanjaro and do all the trekking. About women who wanted to go on safaris. About women who wanted to run a big business. Or even become a singer and/or an actress. All noble dreams indeed – yet no one wanted seemed to have given the thought of settling down. And most were only talking to me as they were coerced by their families, just like me.

“How come you haven’t done any travels?” “How come you just started working?” “You don’t have Instagram?” “Why haven’t you updated anything on FB?” “Why didn’t you go to Adele’s concert – it was there” Came their quizzical replies. It seems to me that, as we grow older, the expectations from our potential partner exceeds those of the very potential partners. We live in a world where no one wants to compromise, perhaps the reflection of spike in divorce we see more regularly among our friends and families.

“Maybe you can also check out the girls while you’re in Nepal? After all they are all educated these days and much beautiful than the ones in US!” My mom suggested a solution one day trying to make up for her failed attempt earlier in the year. Why not? I shrugged.

“Love at the time of fuel crisis” I weaved romantic notions once more when I landed in KTM. It was only a matter of time I met a doctor in electric pagoda in Thamel, a place I loathed once but a quiet sojourn amid the crisis. Sipping hot rum punch, the doctor conveyed with a smile “You see, my seniors suggest, if I marry someone like you, my career will stall. I am already giving my USMLEs, and I don’t want to wait here for years.” If for nothing, I enjoyed her candidness, and for that matter paying the bill than in Manhattan.

Next, at the posh Le Trio in Jhamel, amid the who’s who of the bygone era sipping their lattes and cappuccinos, we ordered jhol momos. Two hours later, we were already finished with our talks. “You see, I really don’t want to go to the US. I don’t want an apartment life like yours. I don’t want to work so hard that we have to eat lunch at our desks. I don’t want to work weekends. I have a decent job in the INGO here and I have a lot of fun, and I get to travel. I think I want to marry someone from here. I have heard enough from friends about the hardship in the US” The theme resonated on the next two set-ups, be it in trendy café in Baluwatar or the Jazzmandu in Lazimpat. Things may seem like a lost cause in Nepal, but among certain circles of Kathmandu, life is beautiful!

“No one can marry without the right lagan” My mom tried to cheer me up, on a cold November evening, wrapped in the blanket watching me pack. “Just ask Shankar. He saw at least 50 girls. And when it happened, it took a mere three days!” I stared her down, packed my suitcase, and headed back.

For the first time in years, I felt a tinge of loneliness in my apartment. We do have an apartment life here. I mostly have to eat at my desk. I haven’t traveled anywhere in years. I don’t see my friends regularly. Family seem so distant.

I lied in the rug in the floor and longed for a life back home – at least the social life. My phone pinged. An email from an old friend-
“It’s been ages. How are you? Did you marry your gf?”
“No. we broke up. How about you? Are you married with kids?”
“No. we broke up a while ago.”
“Why are we emailing like this? Don’t you use g-chat?”
“No – common this is fun. I don’t have g-chat”
“I didn’t know you were single. Maybe I can flirt with you?”
“Yes sure– but do you know how to?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll try!”
“You’re so stupid- you know. I have always known that”
“Indeed – I have been very foolish. I have the wisdom to prove it”

I remained in the floor that night emailing back and forth, charging and recharging my phone- hoping, wishing, and contemplating the unknown future with my fingers crossed.

You see friends, it has been the best of times. And the worst of times!

An Expert in Anything and Everything!

Candid Verses: An expert in anything and everything!

*************************************************************

The mammoth twin earthquakes that shook Nepal only a few months ago seems like a distant blur of the past.It seems like Nepal has already recovered - without even allocating a single penny from the raised $4 billion dollars that sits precariously in the mouths of a handful of crocodiles. But those things barely concern us because we are, as the darling medias around the world has portrayed us - a nation of "resilient" citizens. We move on!

And what better timing to move on from a tragedy so morbid to a fodder that unites all of us in Nepal (I mean Kathmandu)- bashing India without any inhibition. What is pretty laughable is our political dimwits who couldn't take a dump in the morning without the blessing from Delhi are suddenly patriotic, unwavering leaders taking a strong stance against India protecting our sovereignty and constitution. In retrospect, we've gone back to the status quo - where we're not only bashing India, but giving legitimacy to the thousands of "Tharus" and "Other Madhesis" whom we've deliberately assigned as Indians and kept in servitude in the capital. Yes - we can now do that in the open. Congratulations!

I am quite befuddled which "expert" in the social media should I defer to for a candid analysis of our newly written, coveted constitution. If I read on my own, I might actually learn the truth - so  should I believe the black flag bearers of FB and twitter, who claim the constitution is the most oppressive in the world that victimizes rights of women and minorities? Or should I believe the patriots who say this is the most liberal of constitutions that has even included LGBT community and stretching further would make Nepal another Fiji. To the latter experts, no one in Nepal really knows where's Fiji - i think most of them think its a mountain in Japan - so please stop using that analogy.

Anyways, in all honesty, this is a futile debate about constitution.The bitter truth is we, the people of Nepal, just cannot live in harmony. The false sense of unison the earthquake provided has fast dissipated with incidents in Kailali and rest of the Terai and shown how quickly we revert back to our "real" selves and fighting tooth and nails to prove each other as being beneath (darker) from one another. Have you seen two Nepalis in Nepal or elsewhere form a formidable partnership? Yes  - I thought so too. Sorry Nepal, we just don't have a harmony gene, or else we wouldn't see the most educated leader of the country leave the sinking ship, brilliantly washing all the blood in his hands and expertly transferring to his ex-guru- the feared one!  I love how one conman ups the ante on the other!

What irks me most about this whole situation is that now I'll have to read a dozen op-eds everyday from the so called "experts" in the media outlets. And equally annoying status updates from my family, friends, and relatives in Facebook, who will all proclaim how just and progressive they are by bashing either India, Indian-looking Nepalis, or simply any Nepalis and provide an apt solution that will make Nepal prosperous. I am already nauseated!

And Nepal, as we know, is the country of experts. So, the journalists (celebrities) who are to report the incidents in unbiased fashion from the field will sit in a panel of political experts in the capital. Political pundits will be busy giving homeopathic solutions to cancer and diabetes in the social media. Politicians will be busy striking against medical institutions to save their investment just in case there's an impartial investigation. Doctors will be busy giving USMLEs. And social media will be busy forming the #hashtags.

But not to worry folks - there's a respite ahead: Dashain is around the corner. And by the time the festival ends, I am sure we'll have found a new tinder to light the jungle. Perhaps, there'll be a popular singer from SIKKIM who doesn't want to be called a Nepali. Or North Korea will proclaim Buddha as its own. Or even better, maybe Paras will have quit his marijuanic obsessions and come back as a yoga guru. 

How do I know all this?

I am a Nepali: An expert in anything and everything.

Aging not-so-gracefully!

Every morning, I stand in front of the mirror for a few minutes: examining myself hoping for my youthful vigor to return magically.

As soon as I switch on the lights, that first darn sign is revealing: my "Khappar" with the receding hairline -- C'mon Now! Onset this early? Some say it’s genetic, some say its stress, and some say it’s the Shampoo. Nepali doctors (aka friends, family and relatives who are experts in everything) have offered hundreds of homeopathic-solutions over the last few years to this inevitable fate, but to no avail. As the light from the energy-saving bulb illuminates, so do my two parallel streaks of wrinkles right across my forehead. I swear they were not there yesterday!

I quickly remember the facial cream my girlfriend bought me a few days ago that is supposed to revitalize my skin or whatever. Or at least it did to the celebrities flaunting on TV. How did she manage to put it on top of the shelf? I stretch with all my might barely able to reach it --the next frustration sets in. You see, I stopped growing vertically as soon as I hit puberty. I can't blame my parents for this because they tried multiple alternate therapies: they encouraged me to hang out with my "Tarzan" mama climbing trees, stealing fruits, and running away from dogs. My mom spoon-fed me tons of contraband calcium pills & Dabur Chyawanprash. And my Dad, just like my teachers, resorted to old-fashioned treatment every now and then: stretching my ears with all his might with the false promise of imaginary "MamaGhar."

I console myself thinking what the great-to-be philosopher (me) once copied "You only need to be tall enough to reach the ground." Ironically, there are other unwanted growths, in all tangents, secant and innumerable geometric shaped in both accessible and inaccessible of places: Hair protruding out from nose, ears and chest alike in most inopportune time as if they are going to sting someone you're having conversation with; the two lonely, thick eye brows aching for a reunion in the middle; the beard that is not satisfied with its territory and wants to take over the neck and make friends with the Adam's apple. But my gut feeling tells me there is a bigger concern in the gut itself: The horizontal ever-growing stomach!

It’s not like I don't eat healthy.  Slowly at first, and faster it seems every month now, it is continuously protruding out defying all odds to accomplish its mission: hide my own "manhood" from my normal range of view. When my girlfriend first scoffed at this beast, I got scared. I did the unthinkable. I spent hours (mostly minutes) doing the Ramdev exercises: breathing in and out in our living room. Then I quickly realized that this exercise only works on Ramdev himself. After constant nagging, I did the unimaginable. I started running (actually lazy walking) every evening. However, when she noticed that I began eating thrice as much as other dinners previously, she concluded perhaps it’s genetic as well and deemed it OK. Thus, I resorted to my old exercise routine: sinking in the chair, meditating (sleeping most of the time), and immersing myself in knowledge (TV) :)
I closed my eyes for a second to get a respite from the mirror. I hear her voice echo, "Why do you care about what others think? I like the way you are. I wouldn't have you any other way!" This brings smile to my face. I am geared up for rest of the day. I am one lucky SOB. It could have been much worse. "Much much worse" I mutter to myself as I reach for my glasses, whose power has been compounding every year. I glance back at the mirror.

Surely enough, it is much worse now: every little flaw amplified at least a hundred fold!

[Originally in sajha.com 05/09/12]

Stress of Going Home

One sleepless night, out of the blue, I decided to go home. Yes, just like that- barring any occasion or any agenda. So, I jumped out of the bed, surfed the internet, bookmarked few online deals and sent a few inquiries to Nepali Travel Sites.Having never made such impromptu decisions before, I felt liberated and empowered in the middle of the night.

 

Little did I know it was to be short-lived. Early next morning, a Nepali travel agent called me with an unbelievable fare "Dai, this is a great deal. But if you don't book it right away, we cannot guarantee this fare tomorrow!" He bluffed with a threatening tone. I readily obliged with my credit card. That evening I found an online fare $100 lower. And that's that!

 

The following evening I broke the homecoming news to my parents over our usual Skype conversation. Instead of the joyous surprise,  they showed signs of grimace. "Did you lose your job? Did you get laid off?  Why do you want to come home at this time? Do you know there's a  bird flu scare? Do you know the airport has potholes?" I breathed in a long sigh and told them i just wanted to come home for a change. "But what is the occasion?"

 

It took nearly a week of convincing that everything was fine. Finally, reluctant smiles returned to their faces. Next up: shopping for the family. Easier said than done!

 

"Don't bring anything for anyone here. Don't spend your money on useless stuff" My mom started her usual cliched lecture "Just bring chocolates. We'll distribute that to everyone. Maybe a couple of t-shirts for your uncles. Few lipsticks and nail polish for your aunts. You know they always expect. Don't bring shades of brown and black like you did previously. They'll laugh at me if you bring those" Right on! I'll try my best I said.

 

"Mama, can you bring a laptop for me? My 8 year old nephew confided me one evening "Everyone in school has one." The kid is good. I did not want to be un-Mama like. So, I said I'll bring one if he shares with his sister. "No! No! No! No!" my 6 year old niece shouted from behind "We need two." I can't bring two laptops for you guys I retorted. "Why can't you?" she inquired "If people can ring 2 I-phones, 2 tablets, why can't you bring two laptops?" I shut up for good!

 

"Coool bro. We'll hang out " My only remaining friend in KTM replies to my online message. "But what's the occasion. Getting married?" No!

 

"Looking for a girl?" No!

 

"Dating? No! 

 

"Not to worry boss. you know how it works here: First date, then set, then off with the jet, then you can mate..hahaha" He showed his prowess strengthened through the rap battles he's been involved recently.

 

"how about first mate, then everything else can follow?" I quipped.

 

"Damn bro. you've become so American" 

 

I enjoyed that. I was about to call it a night, when I got a call from one of my cousins here.

 

"Bhai, I heard you're going to Nepal. Can you take some things?" Sure Dai! What do you have?"

 

"Not much Bhai! few cell phones. a laptop. few pairs of shoes. And a couple of coats. I'll bring  them  first thing tomorrow morning."

I stopped using the words like "empowered" and "liberated" to describe myself. Never, not again!

To Stay or Not to Stay

In a seemingly theatrical Hamlet-like pose, I think aloud sometimes: To stay or not to stay!

It is a question that has plagued me from the very first night in the US of A. It does get forgotten often in the mundane mediocrity of everyday working life, but then it comes back vividly – through emotional story lines of Sajha threads (Darn you! Beehove_Me), inebriated conversations with high school friends, and even more so while Skyping with my aging parents back home.

But as Orwell often reminds me, not all parental emotions are the same. In fact, the emotions of my parents are quite tangent. No-No! don’t get me wrong. Like all parents, they love me to death. Or else why would they deny me an opportunity to talk with pretty prospects (buharis), shooting them down deeming not a good-fit for me without even consulting me. But hey! They probably know better. They stand as a testimony of the most unlikely of relationships themselves: an outspoken woman from the far-east and a balding quiet guy from the West. Who would have thought? I give props for forging such a lasting relationship spanning over 30 years. But that’s that. 

However, they have a good logic on why I should stay here. “You are too "Laato" (for this country) to return!” 

I had brushed aside this insult multiple times before. Common now! After all, I am educated in the USA. I am fairly intelligent with numerous half-baked ideas brewing in my head; passionate in both bed and beyond; and have callous Nepali nationalism fueled by friends working in world-bank, UN, and other international organizations. 

“How much does a packet of milk costs, do you know? Onion has become more expensive than the gold!” my dad uses his usual fear tactics.

So after dwelling for months, I make it to Kathmandu to test the waters. Fresh Off US (FOU), I use my networks wisely to contact my NGO friends and set up a meeting at Naxal’s Madison’s bar. They oblige after I insist the tab is on me. While fidgeting with his latest model of iphone, the first friend explains to me arrogantly, gulping down Carlsberg, on the frustrations of his job: his INGO team is in Europe and he has to work evenings to have meetings with them. He frowns on the tedious and boring nature of the job.

“Why don’t you quit then?” I ask. “Oh! But the pay is too good” he stares at my Nokia mobile I had borrowed from my dad to let my other NGO friend where we were. Perhaps he’d have a better insight. 

“Yah! Actually I make good money. The work is relaxing. I go and work as I please. I am the only guy that writes the proposals in English.” He laughs. They can’t even fire me. “What do you write proposals in?” I get interested. “Oh anything that brings in the money!” Last time the donors sent books”. That was a waste, he shrugs nonchalantly. And I scratched my head.

That night my Dad gave me a wry smile and asked “So, you think you can make it in the NGO here? I’m sure the pay is good and life is relaxing no?” I was honest and told him that I really didn’t know shit about how NGOs worked in Nepal. Perhaps, it isn't for me!

That evening, my mom also weighed in expertly “Bankaa kaam garr na ta!” while she served the delicious portion of kauli and quaati. My dad and I both gave her a stare to which she stared us back down. Perhaps I should try research institutions that work on fields that I actually graduated in?

Seated around a conference table, each of the faculty explained to me what they did (more like what they planned to do). Despite the international fund available, the projects hadn’t quite taken off the ground. Ah! lacking management. After listening long-winding individual anecdotes and stories, I finally weighed in the need of proper management. The leader of the pack known as “Sir” explained to me how the upstarts from US and Australia like me often returned and told them how they should do their job.”Unacceptable” I turned red as he went on the idealism of how we Nepalis should learn to use the resources available efficiently/sparingly. As he gave the sermon, the other faculty had turned red too. And I quietly slipped away.

A couple of days later, I attended my Dad’s college reunion at one of the hotels. Each of his college buddies gave speeches about their life, children, and nostalgia of their college youth making me smile. So, did my Dad. Then, suddenly he started recalling proudly the hardships my siblings and I had faced abroad and how we’d worked our way through to graduate and achieved unparalleled success in the US. He elaborated on our successes so vividly that he made himself break down in the podium and managed to break a few tears off his drinking buddies. I guess I kind of understood. I realized how important and difficult it must be for my parents to elaborate such successful stories of us to our relatives, neighbors, colleagues, and rest of the society. But for that sake of success, I probably need to stay here!

So to that dreaded question: to stay or not to stay? Hey! Why don’t I just visit often?

[Originally in sajha.com 03/11/14]

Election Impossible!

Election Impossible!

Ladies and Gentleman!
 

The impossible has happened in Nepal. The evil has almost been defeated. The courageous people of Nepal, braving the roadside booby traps and threats of violence, marched out in great numbers (supposedly highest in its history) and voted for the "same change" we all have been advocating every election. If the Nepali celebrities (aka Journalists) in twitter are to be believed, we have just planted the seeds of peace again. Yes, seems like a deja vu but that is our model democracy at work - where we vote for the same people again and again!

Frankly, I haven't really followed Nepali politics since last year, when Nepal's own favorite son, Obama, crushed his opponent in all the swing states and caused a frenzy in the streets of Kathmandu and Facebook alike. But when I saw our native to-be-savior, Gagan Thapa (GT), come up with colorful political manifestos supplemented with the rap duo, Girish and Pranil, I knew it was the change I was craving for. Previously, I had grossly underestimated GT, for his loyalty to a party that required a minimum life expectancy of 200 years, seemed illogical. But then, GT pulled off a heist through his marriage. I had always thought him to come with a more pensive solution, where GT would join hands with the so-called disillusioned youth, like the ones from the KUKUR party and be a hit among the KTM bourgeois, zombified with their smart phones and I-pads. Oh well!

So, just like our politicians, who visit the rural villages and forgotten mountains during the last month of the election, I have been visiting several states of US of late, where a group of disillusioned young, Nepali absentee voters (nearly 12 million I am told by UN estimates) live in posh neighborhoods, programming like automated robots, and contemplating whether they should get US citizenship or not. This group is immensely concerned about Nepal - for any change in government might transform the law so as to claim rights to their ancestral wealth. The bigger disillusioned group are rotting behind the counters of the gas stations in Texas, dish-washing in restaurants in New York, or getting tanned in Ocean City every summer where they day-dream everyday that the "Dream-Act" is no more a dream. Thanx to Obamacare, the republicans have found a more delicious fodder. 

The enlightened scholars in some rich Universities strive to be different. They host events by and for Nepalis, inviting washed up personnel and politicians from the bygone era, in a desperate measure to prove that Nepal has as much to offer as India and China, beyond our usual libidos of Everest and Buddha. Let me out a secret, my friends : I hate this third group the most! (Hey! its "candid verses" for a reason). No, not because they host these events, because they always order Indian food to these events. 

At the helm of every free and fair election in Nepal, is one person: JIMMY CARTER - whom we've made a vanguard of our democracy.

Poor chap! he's made it a point to land in Nepal every election. Smeared in vermilion powder and 200 lbs of garland, he must think it is Holi every time he lands. He barely has adjusted to the time-zone; they usher him to myriad villages around Nepal in less than 24 hours, where five girls in each village have rehearsed to put 200lbs of more garlands on him. Imagine the parents of these girls, having to bribe the district CDO, to make sure they get to touch the white guy (secretly hoping he'll spare some pocket change, but to no avail).

What else can he do? He's opened a god darn Peace Center in Nepal, that provides employment to frustrated US returnees, who couldn't land a job despite doing an internship at the world-bank. These are the intelligent "donor darlings," who have extensive experience at the grass-root levels. These are young soldiers of peace that will ensure voter participation through their dollar-fueled  multimedia campaigns. Did you know, some of these damsels even made it as far as the neighboring KTM villages to preach about the importance of voting, despite difficulty walking in their office heels. And hear me out: They did all this by talking to the locals in Nepali! Darn - I'm impressed!

Poor Carter! It won't be long before he leaves proudly acclaiming victory on behalf of all Nepalis through the free and fair election that will ensure peace and prosperity. Little does he know, as soon as he leaves, the swords will be out on him. Journalists will deride his failure to prevent violence in the remote-far west. The political parties, who lose by a landslide, will cry foul and evoke conspiracy theory, probably tying Carter to be a RAW agent or something. The NGOs that didn't cash in will call him interfering with Nepal's internal issues. I might just blame him for spreading the rumors of canceling the DV lottery!

But I'd like to give him a break! It is bad enough that he is recently voted as the worst president in US history. The dude is loyal to Nepal - more than Obama. At least he comes back every time to make sure the people have democracy here: where they get to vote at least once. At least he makes our seemingly democratic election impossible, possible! [originally in sajha.com]

Emotional High!

Emotional High

A few weeks ago, I read this article about Nepal being one of the least-emotional-countries in the world. As I read, my hands shook, my face winced, and my heart began to palpate --those emotional cells firing in all cylinders. I guess someone needs to invite these "Gallup" personnel to Nepal and get them the authentic taste of potpourri of emotions displayed in our streets everyday. Across all ages, gender, ethnic, and political groups, the emotional outbursts are so prevalent that it feels integral to our national unity--maybe the only thing that binds us together as Nepalis, dare-I-say! 

Well, you might argue that those are mere negative outbursts coerced by our poverty and political strife and not a true measure of tangible and intangible emotions in a society. I have to disagree. I think we're a country on an emotional-high!

 For starters, I am a very emotional person. This wasn't quite clear when I was in Nepal because I had to suppress my emotions throughout the school years in the hope of getting a good "Character Certificate." However, it was evident on my first night in US, when I cried my heart out. No--It was not because I had to leave Nepal for the very first time, but my family's acquaintance who picked me up at the airport dropped me in his empty apartment and went off to work for the night. Unsure whether I could drink water from the tap, food from the fridge or the cold milk lying around, I spent the night in extreme agony, a prelude to my undergraduate years. Thus, on my many future trips to the airport to pick up new Nepali guys (Girls? -wishful thinking!!), I made sure that they would not experience such a plight. So, if I had to leave them alone at home, I made sure a pack of Marlboro and a bottle of vodka was within their vicinity. :)

It is suffice to infer that I also have a very emotional family. My Mom, for instance, fears for my life in the east coast if she hears about a gunshot in the west coast. My dad might pretend to be stoic at times, but I remember how he sulked one whole Dashain cause I had forgotten to greet one of his far-distant-relatives. The neighborhood isn't any better. I remember an incident when my cross-eyed friend got beaten the shit out of him because the so-called Dada thought he was being stared at. It didn't help my friend's case when he pleaded truthfully that he was gawking at a girl, who also happened to be a crush of the Dada. Emotions flared further when the girl's family found about the secretive-romance between the two. Forget people for a while, the Nepali animals are equally emotional. My neighbor's feared "Alsation" has bit more than a dozen neighbors and innumerable fruit and vegetable vendors over the years for simply using the road.

But I have to admit not all "Nepali" emotions are equal. The emotions take a whole new meaning for Nepalis in US when confronted on Mount Everest and Buddha--the only things we are genuinely proud about. The issue of eating beef, returning to Nepal, and the progress of Indians/India also irks us a lot. While most of us also have an inherent emotions about our ethnic group and caste, we resist to display this in public and instead resort to frittering away these emotions with our keyboards. It is implicitly understood now that a Nepali party is not authentic unless there are a few punches thrown and our beautiful "national language" spoken. 

Then there are politicians, both at home and abroad, who give emotional and arousing speeches spontaneously. Jees! if only they were half as emotional while working for the public. The only politician, who I seriously doubt has any emotion is Prachanda. The feared one has made a habit of displaying public emotions once too often. That is a big, red flag. But then he is also a slithering con-man. I mean seriously! he's been able to con his own party cadres, the journalists, the nepali people, the monarchy, UN monitors, and foreign donors all at once. That almost makes Kaushal Niroula seem like a court-jester.

Now that I have made a strong case for our emotions, how can we change the view of the Gallup that CNN is so obsessed with. There's only one solution. Start a White house Petition today! I am sure there are more than 100,000 emotional Nepalis who can challenge the distorted emotional state of our country in the US media. [originally in sajha.com]