सम्झनामा गाउँको एसएलसी (पूर्ण पाठ)

सम्झनामा गाउँको एसएलसी

२०५७ साल असार । एसएलसीको रिजल्ट भएको तेस्रो वा चौथो दिनमा गाउँमा गोरखापत्र पुगेको थियो । रेडियोबाट यति र उति अंक लिएर विद्यार्थीहरु बोर्डमा परे वा टप गरे भन्ने सुन्दा सुन्दा मनमा हुटहुटी चलिरहेको थियो तर आफ्नो नतिजा थाहा पाउने उपाय थिएन ।

 गोरखापत्र आएसंगै घरबाट बुवाले बोलाउँदा म बारीमा थिएँ, घाँस काट्दै हो या मकैका पात लुछ्दै, अहिले याद छैन । दौडँदै आएर हेर्दा हजारौं सिम्बोल नम्बरले भरिएको गोरखापत्र पिंढीमा थियो । कथं कदाचित् आफ्नो सिम्बोल नं भएन भने? वा पहिलो डिभिजनमा भएन भने?

भाग्यवश पहिलो डिभिजनकै सुचीमा कक्षा प्रथम म र दोस्रो साथी इन्द्र ढुंगानाको सिम्बोल नंबर थियो । कक्षाका २६ मध्ये १३ वा १४ जना पास भएका थियौं । हामीले कथित फलामे ढोका पार गरेका थियौं । अब जित्नका लागि हाम्रा अगाडि सिंगो संसार थियोः शहर जाऊ, क्याम्पस पढ, जागिर खाऊ, पैसा कमाऊ, बाआमालाई सुख देऊ, हाम्रो असीमित कार्यसुचीका प्रारम्भिक चरण तिनै थिए ।

...........................

Rangkhani Ma. Vi. Rangkhani, from where I passed my SLC

टाकुरामा स्कुल, खोंचमा घर । खाना खाएपछि सवा घण्टा हस्याङफस्याङ गर्दै उकालो नचढे समयमा स्कुल नपुगिने ।

 स्कुल पुग्नासाथ फेरि कसैले खाना टक्र्याइदियो भने हामीले सजिलै अर्को एक भाग खान सक्थ्यौं तर दिनभरको पढाइपछि चार बजेसमेत नियमित खाजा खाने पैसा हुँदैनथ्यो । आँट भएका साथीहरुले वर्षौं बाँकी रहने गरी उधारोमा बिस्कुट, चिउरा र चाउचाउ खाइदिन्थे तर आफू त परियो पूरा मितव्ययिताको प्रतिमुर्ति । अरुले खाएको मंग बसाउने चनाको तरकारीको वास्ना सुँघेर घुटुक्क थुक त कति निलियो कति । साथीहरुले दिएका केही पापा बिस्कुट र एक फाँक चिउराले पेटलाई जिस्काइयो पनि कतिचोटि हो कतिचोटि ।

अनि त्यही भोको पेटमा जमेर भलिबल पनि कति खेलियो कति । फर्कंदा भोक र धपडीले खुट्टा लगलग काँप्थे तर खेल्न छोडिएन ।

Posing with 'Tikhe', our buffalo which fed us for 15 years

बिहान उठेर सिजनअनुसारको काम नगरी खाना खाने सोच्न पनि सकिंदैनथ्यो । वर्षायाममा भुईंघाँस काट्ने, बारी खन्ने वा कोदो रोप्ने, कार्तिकतिर धान र कोदो वा नल काट्ने, हिउँदका अरु महिना खन्ने, डल्ला फोर्ने, डाले घाँस काट्ने, यी थिए बिहान बेलुका हामीले गर्ने काम । त्यसबाहेक बर्खामा कोदो वा धान गोड्ने, सोत्तर काट्ने, अनि हिउँदमा स्याउला सोहोर्ने काम पनि हाम्रै थिए । असार र साउनको बिदाको बेला भने दिनभर लगाएर रोपाइँ गर्नुपथ्र्यो । आफ्नै घर धेरै दिन रोपाइँ चल्दैनथ्यो तर अर्मपर्म गरेर रोपाइँ गर्दा बोलाएका खेतालाको पर्म तिर्न जाँदा जाँदा महिना जान्थ्यो । मंसीरमा धान थन्काउँदा खेतबाट बिटा बोक्नुपथ्र्यो दिनभर अनि राती दश एघार बजेसम्म धान छाँट्दा ज्यान थकान र निद्राले काम नलाग्ने हुन्थ्यो । तर अलि पहिले थन्क्याइएका नयाँ जर्नेली चामलको घ्यूमा लतक्क भिजेको भात खाएपछि दिनको सारा दुख बिर्सिन्थ्यो ।

बिहान उठेर भकारा सोहोर्नु, गाइभैंसीलाई घाँस र कुँडो ख्वाउनु, साँझ–बिहान दुध दुहुनु अनि केही दिन बिराएर मोही पार्नु, यी काम त काममै गनिंदैनथे जसरी बिहानको नित्य कर्मलाई काम गनिंदैन । वास्तवमा ती सबै काम हाम्रा नित्यकर्म नै बनिसकेका थिए ।

The house where we were born and raised

गाउँको जीवन र गाउँको पढाइबारे धेरै जानकारी नराख्नेहरुका लागि यो पृष्ठभुमि दिनुपरेको हो एसएलसीको याद गर्दा ।

एसएलसीलाई फलामे गेट भनिए पनि हामीलाई त्यो सुनको गेटजस्तो थियोः दैनिक पन्ध्र घण्टा श्रम गर्नुपर्ने गाउँको जीवनबाट सदाका लागि बिदा दिने सुनको गेट । गेटको यतापट्टि विरक्त लाग्दो दुखी जिन्दगी थियो जहाँ कुर्कुच्चा पट्पटी फाटेका हुन्थे भने औंलाका काप हिलोले खाएर रक्ताम्य हुन्थे, उतापट्टि शहरको हेर्दै लोभ लाग्दो जिन्दगी हुन्थ्यो जसमा हिलो र झरीबाट टाढै रहन सकिन्थ्यो, तिघ्रा बाउँडिने गरी उकालोमा हिंड्नुको सट्टा बसमा सरर हावा खाँदै यात्रा गर्न सकिन्थ्यो । त्यसबाहेक कहिलेकाहीं घर टप्किने सुनको गेट कटेर गइसकेका दाइदिदीहरुको भावभंगिमा, लवाइखवाइ, बोलीको लवज र तिनले घरमा पाउने पाहुनाको मनितो देख्दा अनि तिनले हेरेका फिल्मको नाम सुन्दा त......... । इष्र्याले जलेर अधीरतापूर्वक सुनको गेट पार गर्ने मुहुर्त पर्खनुको कुनै विकल्प थिएन ।

सम्झनामा एसएलसी: त्यो सुनको गेट

सम्झनामा एसएलसी-१

 हाम्रा  लागि  SLC फलामको हैन  सुनको गेट थियो। 
टाकुरामा स्कुल, खोंचमा घर । खाना खाएपछि सवा घण्टा हस्याङफस्याङ गर्दै नहिंडे समयमा स्कुल नपुगिने ।

स्कुल पुग्नासाथ फेरि कसैले खाना टक्र्याइदियो भने हामीले सजिलै अर्को एक भाग खान सक्थ्यौं तर दिनभरको पढाइपछि चार बजेसमेत नियमित खाजा खाने पैसा हुँदैनथ्यो । आँट भएका साथीहरुले वर्षौं बाँकी रहने गरी उधारोमा बिस्कुट, चिउरा र चाउचाउ खाइदिन्थे तर आफू त परियो पूरा मितव्ययिताको प्रतिमुर्ति । अरुले खाएको मंग बसाउने चनाको तरकारीको वास्ना सुँघेर घुटुक्क थुक त कति निलियो कति । साथीहरुले दिएका केही पापा बिस्कुट र एक फाँक चिउराले पेटलाई जिस्काइयो पनि कतिचोटि हो कतिचोटि ।

Photo Credit: Vuban Acharya

अनि त्यही भोको पेटमा जमेर भलिबल पनि कति खेलियो कति । फर्कंदा भोक र धपडीले खुट्टा लगलग काँप्थे तर खेल्न छोडिएन ।

बिहान उठेर सिजनअनुसारको काम नगरी खाना खाने सोच्न पनि सकिंदैनथ्यो । वर्षायाममा भुईंघाँस काट्ने, बारी खन्ने वा कोदो रोप्ने, कार्तिकतिर धान र कोदो वा नल काट्ने, हिउँदका अरु महिना खन्ने, डल्ला फोर्ने, डाले घाँस काट्ने, यी थिए बिहान बेलुका हामीले गर्ने काम । त्यसबाहेक बर्खामा कोदो वा धान गोड्ने, सोत्तर काट्ने, अनि हिउँदमा स्याउला सोहोर्ने काम पनि हाम्रै थिए । असार र साउनको बिदाको बेला भने दिनभर लगाएर रोपाइँ गर्नुपथ्र्यो । आफ्नै घर धेरै दिन रोपाइँ चल्दैनथ्यो तर अर्मपर्म गरेर रोपाइँ गर्दा बोलाएका खेतालाको पर्म तिर्न जाँदा जाँदा महिना जान्थ्यो । मंसीरमा धान थन्काउँदा खेतबाट बिटा बोक्नुपथ्र्यो दिनभर अनि राती दश एघार बजेसम्म धान छाँट्दा ज्यान थकान र निद्राले काम नलाग्ने हुन्थ्यो । तर अलि पहिले थन्क्याइएका नयाँ जर्नेली चामलको घ्यूमा लतक्क भिजेको भात खाएपछि दिनको सारा दुख बिर्सिन्थ्यो ।

बिहान उठेर भकारा सोहोर्नु, गाइभैंसीलाई घाँस र कुँडो ख्वाउनु, साँझ–बिहान दुध दुहुनु अनि केही दिन बिराएर मोही पार्नु, यी काम त काममै गनिंदैनथे जसरी बिहानको नित्य कर्मलाई काम गनिंदैन । वास्तवमा ती सबै काम हाम्रा नित्यकर्म नै बनिसकेका थिए ।

गाउँको जीवन र गाउँको पढाइबारे धेरै जानकारी नराख्नेहरुका लागि यो पृष्ठभुमि दिनुपरेको हो एसएलसीको याद गर्दा ।

एसएलसीलाई फलामे गेट भनिए पनि हामीलाई त्यो सुनको गेटजस्तो थियोः दैनिक पन्ध्र घण्टा श्रम गर्नुपर्ने गाउँको जीवनबाट सदाका लागि बिदा दिने सुनको गेट । गेटको यतापट्टि विरक्त लाग्दो दुखी जिन्दगी थियो जहाँ कुर्कुच्चा पट्पटी फाटेका हुन्थे भने औंलाका काप हिलोले खाएर रक्ताम्य हुन्थे, उतापट्टि शहरको हेर्दै लोभ लाग्दो जिन्दगी हुन्थ्यो जसमा हिलो र झरीबाट टाढै रहन सकिन्थ्यो, तिघ्रा बाउँडिने गरी उकालोमा हिंड्नुको सट्टा बसमा सरर हावा खाँदै यात्रा गर्न सकिन्थ्यो । त्यसबाहेक कहिलेकाहीं घर टप्किने सुनको गेट कटेर गइसकेका दाइदिदीहरुको भागभंगिमा, लवाइखवाइ, बोलीको लवज र तिनले घरमा पाउने पाहुनाको मनितो देख्दा अनि तिनले हेरेका फिल्मको नाम सुन्दा त......... । इष्र्याले जलेर अधीरतापूर्वक सुनको गेट पार गर्ने मुहुर्त पर्खनुको कुनै विकल्प थिएन ।

Life and death-2

Tale of a devastated father

When I first met, the middle-aged father looked weary and exhausted. It was hard to guess when he had taken his last bath and the wrinkles in the face had deepened further with the strain. He had heard about my imminent arrival in the hospital from my father and was eagerly waiting for me. After a customary introduction, he opened the bundle of documents related to his daughter's illness and started to explain me what had happened.

His 25 years old daughter, married and with two children, had been diagnosed as having a cancer of unidentified site within the abdomen. After multiple hospital visits including the Cancer Hospital, they had concluded that the patient was in terminal stage and nothing could be done. She had been discharged with the advice for the attendants to 'serve' her last wishes. But as the pain became intolerable over weeks, they had brought her back rushing to the hospital again. Doubting the Cancer Hospital would admit her again, they had turned to a nearby private medical college teaching hospital where she was now being treated.

None had the idea at the time that the fateful decision to choose the private hospital over the government-owned Cancer Hospital that day would change the lives of two families forever.

My own mother was in ICU recovering from a bout of acute pancreatitis and I had come rushing back from the high Himalayas, abandoning the Annapurna Circuit trek midway through, and remained in the teaching hospital for at least a week afterwards.

My first impression after hearing the tragic story of the father was that, they should be sent back to home after prescribing enough painkillers for the patient. Keeping the patient in hospital made no sense when the chances of recovery were nil and relatives had already understood that fact. Seeing the exasperation and sense of resignation in the face of the poor father, I hastily offered to prescribe them a combination of opiate analgesic and antihistaminic. But soon I realized that it had been three years since I had last prescribed a medicine in a card or slip and even forgotten the dose. Moreover, it was not easy to convince the pharmacists to sell the abuse-prone opiate analgesics, that too in large amounts, without a proper prescription slip with hospital's name.

Eventually I decided not to prescribe the medicine immediately. Then my enthusiasm dissipated slowly and I left the father at the mercy of hospital doctors.

After initial disappointment, the father came closer to me again slowly and I was introduced to his son-in-law, the husband of the patient who had directly flown to the hospital from foreign employment in Malaysia. His face was even more pathetic and stony-looking and it was impossible to read it further. He was tormented to the core by the wife's illness as well its financial implications as he had to leave his job in Malaysia and had two children at home to take care of. He was at the brink and it appeared that he just came to see the face of his wife before she died because the prognosis had been explained to the father that way during the previous hospital visits.

Slowly both the in-laws started sharing their grief with me.

Eventually, the treating doctors came up with a fateful 'magical' idea for her treatment. Suddenly they counseled the duo that the disease crippling their loved one may not be cancer at all. The patient was now all bone and skin with round and hugely distended abdomen, but they told them it could easily turn out to be tuberculosis. All that was done for diagnosis so far was imaging and in the absence of tissue diagnosis, it was impossible to theoretically refute the possibility of tuberculosis. Rational reading of the imaging reports, though, left no doubt with the diagnosis of a cancer; beside the bulky main lesion in the abdomen, other mass lesions had appeared in multiple vital organs like liver and kidney impairing their functions.

Twenty-nine years of insignificance

Monologue

Modesty, frugality, adaptability and abstention from violence: these were the values that our family inculcated in us very strongly from very early on. Even though I could have grown, over time, much more arrogant than I earlier was, the other three virtues still have a significant presence within me. An eleven years old shirt remains my favorite and at one time, I was happy to have spent three or four winters without a proper jacket. On adapting to new circumstances, soon after passing SLC from a government school in a mountainous terrain, I was there in a premium +2 college in plains amid all those urban pupils from private schools. After two more years, I was in a medical school in one of the warmest place in Nepal. (And eventually, I spent one whole year in Bhairahawa without using a fan at night!!)

A Good Bye to first innings

Swimming is all that easy but not crossing the river!!

Declaring an interlude


To me writing is fun (getting repeated rejections from publishers is not all that fun, though).

In two years of active writing and quasi-journalism, I have seen a lot and written a lot but I have really no clue how relevant part or whole of that has been.

Writing online has many plus points, one of them being the fact that number of my readers in US is nearly equal to those in Nepal and for every pageview from Nepal, there are three from abroad.

Why I write...

And why you should write too ................

I do not know why I often tend to view people rather grimly: they usually are not as benevolent, well-intentioned and capable or strong as they appear to be. This assumption is founded on my own self-assessment, though I don’t have a clue as to whether it is justifiable to generalize an observation made in one individual. This being the fact, my views of writers as ‘capable’ people are not that encouraging: I tend to see them as people who intend to create really great and world-changing writings but most of the times end up producing parochial pieces. Also, given the fact that the society where we grow and learn is full of dishonesty, treachery, deceit and above else, mundanity, it is rather unrealistic to expect an entirely reinvigorating work of writing from every other person who scribbles words in paper. 

This said, I am harshly self-critical in matter of writing and I often pose some unpalatable questions to myself: what if I had never written a word? Would the world be a better place or worse without my writing? Have I deluded myself into believing that my writings do affect the world while the reality being it is as meaningless for the world as the chatters of a kid? Given the fact that billions of words and millions of works of writing are already there in the world, what exactly are my writings adding to them and is that addition meaningful in any sense? Is satisfying my ego the only real purpose of my writing, and if that is the case, why does my ego need so profligate use of words to be satisfied? Am I simply playing with the words all along or does real meaning generate from such use of words? With my writings, am I bearing some of the responsibilities as a citizen or have I used the words to precisely avoid bearing such a responsibility? 

This again brings me to the rather awkward position: should I write at all? Well, I do not know why I wrote a decade back and if/why I will write a decade from now. But for now, there is no escaping from the question: why do I write after all? 

My rather pessimistic premise before judging people, and myself, related to writing and otherwise; is this: by default, all of us are miserable, vulnerable, passive and pusillanimous beings. The virtues of strength, creativity, adaptability and excellence come only through a protracted process of learning that goes on from the moment of our birth. As expected, not everyone excels equally in the process of learning and those who do well often display their capabilities in one or more fields. 

Also, many of us, whose chronological accomplishments - measured in various ways - are below (often far below) the expectations, are afraid of a status in which we are 'nothing' or 'nobody' in the society or merely ordinary beings in the crowd. A peek into the lives of some 'successful' or 'famous' people makes the feeling all the more acute and we long to somehow distinguish us from the crowd. If not plan for or expect, we fancy a life where we would enjoy a distinction, a degree of deference and reverence from people and obviously the fame/prestige that accompany. 

गाउँमा बाल्यकालः केही स्मृतिहरु–१

अहिले हेर्दा लाग्छ, त्यतिखेरको समय वर्षभर चक्रमा घुमिरहेको थिएन, त्यो त एउटा स्पाइरल अथवा स्प्रिङजस्तो आकारमा हिंडिरहेको थियो । प्रत्येक वर्षको अन्तमा लाग्थ्यो हामी त्यही बिन्दुमा फेरि एउटा वैशाख १ गते मनाउन गइरहेका थियौं तर वास्तवमा त्यो अर्कै वैशाख १ गते हुने गथ्र्यो । हामी बढ्दै थियौं र कक्षा चढ्दै थियौं । हेर्दाहेर्दै सँगै घाँस काट्न जाने दाइ दिदीहरु गाउँलाई चटक्क छाडेर क्याम्पस पढ्न भनेर जान्थे र पाहुनाजस्तै कहिलेकाहीं झुल्किन थाल्थे । तिनका हातखुट्टा सफा हुन्थे अनि उहिले चिरिएका पैताला भरिएर रहरलाग्दा भएका हुन्थे, खुट्टाका औंलाका कापमा हिलोले खाएका घाउ निको भएका हुन्थे । उनीहरुको लवज केही फरक हुन्थ्यो, लुगाफाटा सफा र नटालिएका हुन्थे ।

हाम्रो बाल्यकालमा जुन ग्रामीण जीवन थियो, अब त्यो झण्डै लोप भैसकेको छ । नेपालमा अझै गाउँहरु धेरै छन् तर अब ती विगतमा झै शहरबाट, खाडीबाट अनि त्यहाँबाट आउने धनमाल र त्यहाँको प्रभावबाट अलग छैनन् । अझै त्यस्ता गाउँहरु पनि कतै कतै अस्तित्वमा होलान् तर ती शीघ्र लोप हुने प्रक्रियामा छन् । नेपालको शहरी क्षेत्र भुमण्डलीकृत विश्वसँग एकाकार हुँदै जाँदा गाउँहरुमा पनि शहरको प्रभाव बढ्दो छ ।

त्यही बितिसकेको र अस्तित्वबाट हराउँदै गरेको ग्रामीण जीवनका सम्झनाहरु अहिले निकै आत्मीयतापुर्वक मानसपटलमा घुमिरहन्छन्, त्यो किन पनि भने, एक त गाउँको वातावरण फेरिंदै गएको छ भने अर्कोतिर आफु र गाउँलाई जोड्ने केही पुलहरु पनि जीर्ण भएर भत्किने क्रममा छन् । चाहेर पनि भौतिक रुपमा गाउँमा विचरण गर्न नसक्ने अवस्थामा विगतका यादहरुलाई कोट्याएर भए पनि एक हदसम्म न्यास्रो मेट्ने इच्छा जाग्नु स्वभाविकै हो ।

त्यसको अर्थ के हैन भने म आफु शहरको जीवनमा अभ्यस्त भएर भौतिक अर्थमा प्रगति गर्दै गर्दा गाउँमा रहने मानिसहरुचाहिं पहिलेजस्तो कुटो कोदालो र मेलापातसहित सापेक्षतः अभावको जिन्दगी बाँचेर विगतको सामाजिक परिदृश्यलाई कायम राखुन् । निर्वाहमुखी अर्थतन्त्रबाट पुँजीवादी अर्थतन्त्रतिर जाँदै गर्दा बढ्न जाने शहरीकरण र गाउँहरुमा आउने परिवर्तनहरु दुवै अहिलेको विश्वका सबै विकासशील समाजहरुका साझा प्रक्रिया हुन्, तिनलाई रोक्नु न आवश्यक छ न त सम्भव नै ।

House and nostalgia: the castle where all four of us siblings were born and reared.  Life revolved around this house for much of our childhood. 

यद्यपि हाम्रो पुस्ताको बाल्यकालमा जुन सामाजिक परिस्थिति थियो, त्यसका आर्थिक र राजनीतिक पाटाहरु मात्र नभएर मनोवैज्ञानिक पाटाहरु पनि थिए । र हामीलाई खास मानिस बनाउनमा तिनको खास भुमिका थियो । हामीभन्दा अघिल्लो पुस्ताले बिताएको बाल्यकाललाई हाम्रो बाल्यकालसँग तुलना गर्दा केही आधारभुत भिन्नताहरु पाउँछु म । समाजभित्र अर्को व्यक्तिसँग गरिने व्यवहारमा मात्र हैन जीवन र विश्वलाई हेर्ने दृष्टिकोणमा पनि बाल्यकालमा विकसित हुन आउने खास मनोविज्ञानले विशेष भुमिका खेलेको हुन्छ । त्यसैले अहिले बाल्यकालमा रहेको पुस्ताले विकसित गर्न जाने विश्वदृष्टिलाई हाम्रोसँग तुलना गर्ने हो भने पनि हामीले आफ्नो बाल्यकाललाई खास गहिराइसम्म सम्झनै पर्ने हुन्छ ।

The orange tree that enticed us, so long as we were there

सारमा भन्नुपर्दा बाल्यकालका केही घटना विशेषमा डुबुल्की मार्दा मैले त्यसलाई भावुकताको एउटा अवस्था भन्दा पनि विगतको समाजलाई अध्ययन गर्ने र बुझ्ने एउटा माध्यमको रुपमा लिने गर्छु । त्यसमा नोस्टाल्जियाको पनि एउटा लेप हुन्छ, त्यो अलग्गै कुरा हो ।


***

गाउँका किसानको जीवन दुई कुराले धानेका हुन्छन्, खेतीपाती र चौपाया । खेतीपातीको मौसम हुन्छ, त्यसले वर्षका खास खास समयमा गाउँमा भनिने गरेझैं मुते आत्तुरी –पिसाब गर्न पनि नभ्याउने अवस्था, गराउँछ जतिखेर रातसाँझ नभनी काम गर्नुपर्ने हुन्छ । माघ फागुनतिरको मकै छराइपछि चैततिर कोदो र धानको बिउ राख्नु, वैशाख, जेठतिर मकै खन्नु, जेठ, असारमा कोदो र धान रोप्नु, साउनको अन्तिम र भदौमा धान र कोदो गोड्नु, भदौमा मकै भाँच्नु, अनि कार्तिकमा धान, कोदो थन्क्याउनु र हिउँदे खेती हुने ठाउँमा लगत्तै गहुँ छर्नु र त्यसलाई चैत वा वैशाखमा थन्क्याउनु । यसरी हेर्दा वर्षका लगभग सबै महिना खेतीपातीमा कुनै न कुनै काम भइरहेको हुन्छ तर गाउँको चलन के हुन्छ भने असारको रोपाइँ र कार्तिक मंसीरको खेती थन्क्याउने बेलाबाहेक अरु बेलाको कामलाई काम भन्ने चलन नै उस्तो हुँदैन किनकि अरुबेला लाग्ने मेहनत त्यो बेलाको मेहनतको तुलनामा नगण्यजस्तै हुन्छ ।

How many shades of green? Sun is about to set in a winter day

त्यसैले किसानलाई वर्षभर व्यस्त राख्ने कामचाहिं पशुवस्तुले गर्छन् । भिरालो पहाडमा रहेका बस्तीहरुमा डाँडाकाँडानजिक बाहेक चरनको व्यवस्था शुन्यप्रायः हुने भएकाले र उब्जने अन्न मानिसलाई नै अपुग भएर पशुलाई दानाको रुपमा ख्वाउन नपुग्ने भएकाले वर्षभर धर्ती चिथोरेर गाइवस्तुको पेट भर्नुको अर्को विकल्प हुँदैन । हिउँदमा डालेघाँस र परालको प्रयोगले मानिसलाई राहत दिन्छ भने वर्षायाममा चाहिं जत्रै झरी र बाढी भए पनि रुझ्दै घाँस काटेर नख्वाएसम्म पशुहरुको पेट भरिंदैन ।

त्यसैले हामी गाउँमा वर्षालाई एउटा यातनाको रुपमा लिने गथ्र्यौं । दिन गनेर असार र साउनका महिना कटेपछि बिस्तारै तीज आउँथ्यो अनि दशैं र तिहारको प्रतिक्षा शुरु हुन्थ्यो । भुइँको घाँस काट्नु नपर्ने हिउँदका महिना राहत बनेर आइपुग्थे र धान पाकेसँगै हर्षोल्लासका साथ न्वाइँ र वन भात खाने चलन हुन्थ्यो । धान काटेर फुकेका खेतमा फूक्काफाल चरेका गाइगोरुहरु हेरेर हामी आफू पनि स्वतन्त्र भएको महसूस गथ्र्यौं ।

Combating stress and seeking happiness: A monologue

Life has its own mechanism for approximately balancing the desirable and undesirable virtues in life. While an everlasting bout of happiness is an impossibility, a period of agony with no end is equally impossible. The factor of approximation in the equation lends us a precious space to manipulate the balance in our favor: shrewd people do everything in their capacity to rationally multiply the moments of happiness in their lives and vice varsa.

Somebody has said: “I was born intelligent but education ruined me”. I was born a mere child, as everyone is, and grew up as an ordinary teenager eventually landing up in youth and then adulthood. The extent to which formal education helped me to learn about the world may be debatable but it definitely did not ruin me.
 

There were, however, things that nearly ruined me. There came moments when I contemplated some difficult choices. And there came and passed periods when I underwent through an apparently everlasting spell of agony. There came bends in life from which it was very tempting to move straight ahead instead of following the zigzag course.

Twenty-eight years of solitude

Some reflections on life

BP Koirala starts his Atma Brittanta with a peculiar statement that yet it was not time for him to write about himself. Of course, that is his greatness and great people are always more simple, straightforward and as BP himself says, emotional. That book is at par with Nehru's autobiographical works, particularly with respect to portraying the society and political upheavals of that time. Unfortunately, BP Koirala passed away too early and we are now deprived of more illustrious books in Nepali history.

The point now is, should I shun writing about myself citing BP's explanation; given that I am one of the thousands of self-advertizing people of our era and have done little to nil for larger society? This has always been the question before me whenever I sit down to write about myself. Should I burden the readers with my boring words about a parochial past that interests very few? Am I writing something really meaningful or am just writing for writing's sake? If I have sorrow, frustration and unfulfilled yearning in my life, should I share that with others who do not necessarily share parallel realities in life? If I have a miniature happiness every now and then, is that worth sharing with others? And finally, do my writings have any meaning in the longer term; say for the generation to come?

To me, every person beyond a certain level is a secluded entity. One may elaborate and express oneself to whatever lengths and depths but, at the end, there remains something that cannot be shared or expressed. Sometimes that seclusion becomes a prison, especially when one is going through tough times, and the person suffers. Other times, that becomes like the imagined world of paradise when the virtues of success and liberty abound in one's life. But the latter is a very infrequent happening in my experience. Over all, the secluded and solitary self of a person is a place where one is pretty vulnerable to recurrent to persistent bouts of ill-being.

Some of the geniuses of our times have adapted to that omnipresent solitude in a productive way. That way the seclusion results in a productive life. But even to them, sometimes it becomes unbearable and the whole episode ends in a tragedy; the monumental example being the tragic suicide of Bhairav Nath Aryal, the legendary satirist of Nepali literature. The tragic end of Michael Jackson's life could be another example when success, fame and money cannot even scratch the melancholy that tends to boil inside a person.

CELEBRATING BACHELORHOOD

(Posted in my non-public blog on April 7, 2009)

I must have written over a hundred of pages about the others. However, whenever I try to write something about myself, the journey does not last long. Whatever I write once, I find a degree of absurdity on the same thing after a certain period. I am not sure if it has something to do with my peculiar personality or others also share this problem. Surely, it is the most difficult task to be honest to oneself especially when producing a reproducible account of the events in the life. The fact that the concerns and interests of the other people are intricately entangled with that of mine makes writing about myself especially sensitive.

This must be why I have been unable to produce any significant account of my personal life over the years while I have explored so many things of interest to me other than myself. Sometimes I conclude myself to be a poor writer who tries to create an account of the personal events that are so close to him yet so distant that he cannot dare to document them objectively. On the other side, however, this might have been better than a reckless and irresponsible writing that could have potentially misguided the readers while making myself a dishonest writer.

I have so many grandiose ideas about the destination that I will have to reach. (I had still more of them in the past!) That essentially demands a practice that I can barely afford in this world of realities so divergent from the rhetoric. My craving for the utopian world, though much diluted with my being accustomed to the stark realities of this real world has an ability to shake my emotions at fragile moments. I keep ruminating for hours on sad and serious days when the forgotten depth of the emotions are reached, often inadvertently. Then it feels like a raw wound neglected by a child for long by finding a company that could keep the mind engaged on something else. After all, the wound refuses to heal and the thin scab making it appear heal eventually peels off creating an agony that can be experienced only by the subject.

Revisiting the +2 years-2: Moments with brother and friends

A tale of struggling brothers


As implied before, the days in Orchid College were not that simple. My brother Indra, who had arrived to this land for education two years earlier, was in much more turbulent times then. Our father, sensing he could no longer bear the burden of higher education of all three of his sons, had made it clear that Bro should earn a living for two of us in Chitwan from the point of time I arrived there. Brother’s first job at a private school had become like the mythical fruit in the sky that would drop at its will but it was nearly impossible to pluck it. Salary was modest by the standard of those days but they would cruelly keep us waiting for the day of payment. When they paid, Bro would have eluded the shopkeeper for two weeks or so fearing that he would ask for money and stop lending us more goods. His part time tuitions were the welcome but insufficient solace. Remarkably, we never went to bed hungry but only Bro knows how hard and challenging it was to maintain that status.

Two brothers: One journey

Typically in winters, cooking would be done in the evening and over most of my first year days, Bro did it. Half of that food would remain for the following day. When I felt energetic enough I would warm that food in the morning, otherwise, the cold food was good enough. While I ate and got dressed for college, Bro would come rushing back from Birendra Campus to go to the school on time. I have fainter memories of summer time but surely we must have cooked food twice while everything else was the same. This way, my only job throughout the day over most of the first year was to study and sleep. Bro’s 18 hour-a-day rush was, I assume, the result of his determination to provide me the best circumstances for study as he had literally gambled to entertain me in a private colleges and all the hard work and investment would pay off only if I did well in studies.

Over the second year, the roles were reversed. While Bro was exhausted by the endless rush throughout the year, I had done some irrefutable progress with each terminal exams and the gains were unlikely to reverse. So I now took the responsibility of the kitchen while Bro concentrated in his endless and often futile drive to make ourselves wealthier. Things were relatively better but the third meal on a day remained always controversial. While there was no stated ban on buying and eating things like bread or biscuits, I remember instead making a mouthwatering recipe of rice (Chamal), tomato, salt and oil in the room in the afternoon when Bro was out, especially when we were staying at one Indreni Chowk.

Revisiting the +2 years-1

A tribute to teachers

One morning in early summer of year 2000, I woke to a new realization: I was to leave the village more or less permanently. I had just passed SLC in precious first division and was all set to start higher education in the city. The whole world that reared and nurtured me was now to be left behind and a totally new world was to be discovered. The known, accustomed, predictable and loving world was now to be abandoned in favor of unknown, unaccustomed, unpredictable and expectedly hostile world. 

Looking back, these 12 years have not been that disappointing. Not all dreams of those days and moments have come true but the journey so far has been commendable, to say the least. Of this period, the most crucial years for me have been the +2 years of transformation. Here I revisit some of the memories from those years. 

The village from where I dreamed of bright future

In the school I was a topper. In class 8, I had even topped the district itself. Teachers used to frankly present myself as a model to others. My performance in English and Mathematics was impeccable by those standards and everyone in the village watched with hope and awe how I would perform in the college. In Chitwan, however, I was suddenly among the brilliant minds from all over Chitwan, surrounding districts and of course, occasional students from remote areas like myself. Most of them had come from the prestigious private schools and had flawless English. 

On day one, I almost fainted with fear and anxiety when asked to introduce myself. While the teacher approvingly nodded and even praised those from famous private schools, the name of my school, ‘Rangkhani Ma. Vi. Rangkhani’ only drew blank stares but I was enormously relieved for having successfully uttered those words. I had passed the entrance in 52^nd position and was placed in section C. Gradually, I learned how my new friends were and how they studied. My written English was fare but spoken English was horrible. That factor was sufficient to make me nervous and feel inferior to most of my friends. 

However, I had come with enormous responsibilities. In fact, my family had gambled with expenditure of a private college that was beyond the means. Unlike the friends who were mostly from relatively wealthy families and an average performance was also alright, I had to anyway excel in studies and make way for a decent-paying career at the earliest. Also, all of my colleagues from the village had got admission in government colleges and were studying at far lower cost.