Monday, 2 January 2017

Nepal's own zero emission pump

A Barsha pump runs without fuel or electricity. Photo by Ganesh R Sinkemana. Used with permission.

'Barsha' means rain in Nepali and a pump recently introduced here is pumping water to a height of 82 feet at a maximum rate of 1 litre per second.

The interesting part is – it doesn’t require electricity or fuel to run. It simply uses the river’s kinetic energy to lift water to a higher altitude.

Pratap Thapa, co-founder of the company aQysta that is rolling out the pumps, got inspired to design the pump thinking of his farm on the slopes near a river. So, he named it Barsha.   

The pump, also known as a spiral or coil pump, comprises a water wheel with flexible hosepipe spiralling on it. The wheel is affixed to a platform that floats on the flowing river water.

As water enters through one end of the hosepipe, air gets compressed by the rotating wheel imparting kinetic energy to the water – enabling it to force out of the other end and reach to a distance of about two kilometres.

One of the users, Bhim Prasad Koirala from Jhapa in eastern Nepal, said that though the pump cannot cater to huge farms, it pumps enough to irrigate small paddy fields and vegetable farms.

Hailed by farmers in Nepal, the technology, however, is not totally new. The pump has been inspired by a similar technology adopted by Morton Reimer to pump water from the Nile River in South Sudan during the 1980s. The stream-driven coil pump was based on a principle developed in 1746 AD.

The Barsha pump beats the diesel and solar powered pumps in terms of sustainability and maintenance cost incurred. The zero emission pump has very low maintenance cost.

The pumps, imported from the Netherlands, have been installed in 17 districts of Nepal including Syangja, Lalitpur, Doti, Bajura, Jhapa and Salyan by aQysta and Practical Action. It costs around Nepali rupees 200,000 (around USD 2000). If assembled in Nepal itself, it will cost less than 100,000 rupees, according to reports.

Only about one third of the agricultural land in Nepal is irrigated because most of the farmers cannot easily access the irrigation facilities. Nepal, facing a chronic lack of fuel and electricity, will highly benefit from the pumps since there are more than 6,000 rivers flowing all the year round in the country.

And not to mention, the environment will benefit getting rid of the expensive diesel pumps that are being used throughout the country to irrigate the thirsty fields.

Read: Better irrigation co-authored by Ganesh R Sinkemana in The Kathmandu Post.

Thursday, 29 December 2016

A basket of nostalgia

Sikki baskets (c) CK Kalyan

As the Buddha Air plane soared off in the sky, I got ready with my camera to click the bird’s eye view Kathmandu Valley from above. And then suddenly I saw something familiar. It was a plot of sikki grass near the tarmac. The golden colour stem with purple-reddish stamen at the top is really easy to differentiate it from other grass.

And this was only a decade ago.

The sikki grass, not an ubiquitous species any more, was found in abundance in Kathmandu – before it started taking the shape of a concrete jungle.

You might wonder why I’m not talking about the basket I’m so nostalgic about and beating around the bush instead. Actually, this is how the basket was woven. 

Circa 1980, returning from school, throwing the bag in a corner and running away to play with my friends was a daily routine for me. But one day when I returned from school, I decided to stay back and help my mother. My mother had brought a bale of sikki grass that day and was busy with sorting out the best ones from the lot.

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

She had brought the sikki from Balkumari in adjacent Lalitpur. One day when I followed her to my relative’s house via Chyasal, I could see a jungle of sikki grass in the area – taller and stronger than its species found in the Terai.

Sikki grasses generally grow in marshy, wetlands and near water sources. The place I am talking about is near the convergence of Bagmati and Manahara Rivers. It was a perfect site for the grass’ healthy growth. Today, the marshy land to the south of a cantilever bridge has turned into a hardened piece of land and houses have mushroomed up just like in the rest of the Kathmandu Valley.  

In Terai too, these days, the sikki grass is a rare species – thanks to the use of pesticides, fertilisers and encroachment of public land, not to mention the lowering water tables. The bunds bordering the fields used to have sikki grass but nowadays it has been replaced by the lentils. The commercialisation and trying to get the maximum out of the remaining fragmented land pieces, people have almost pushed the grass to extinction which used to grow in abundance on the bunds, fallow land and near water sources. 

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

The bale of sikki grass was a thing of amusement for the onlookers – my neigbours. After sorting, my mother started tearing the sikki stems into two halves. I had done this before during my winter break and I had enjoyed my grandma’s challenge to split the sikki stems. So, I too started helping her. My neighbours also joined in out of their curiosity and soon the bale of grass was reduced to a bunch of golden splinters.

A sikki stem never breaks in between if you are a little cautious with pulling the two ends after cutting the tip into two with a blade – or with your nails.

Then for the next few days I could see my mother busy with keeping the sikki stems on the sun to dry and collecting them in the evening.

After few days, the sikki stems had turned into glossy and flexible but sturdy splinters.

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

Then my mother started weaving small baskets out of the sikki stems. The weaving is a cumbersome process – putting a fistful of kans grass and coiling them with sikki splinters by using a needle like equipment called takuwa

She wove two small baskets out and handed me one to eat my daily breakfast. We call these small baskets pauti and it is common to eat beaten rice and other non-sticky items as snacks in the rural villages. However, with the availability of steel and plastic containers the pauti is no more a common item.

Read: Weave your own basket from kans and sikki grasses

Another basket was for my little sister. Though she was just a toddler, my mother made sure that both of us never fought for one basket.

Then for the next fortnight she kept herself aloof. She wove a very beautiful basket and then she started covering it with colourful threads, creating comprehensive geometric patterns. The final product was – in one word a ‘wow’!

She carefully hid it inside the cupboard and then when I returned from school, she took me to a corner and said, “Bauwa, this beautiful basket is for your would-be wife.”

She continued, “Even if I die, make sure you ask your father to gift it to my daughter-in-law.” Then she started sobbing. I was moved by her gesture and then I started crying too.

And then after a year and half, she left us. For ever. To be with the gods and angels.

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

After my mother’s demise, I took that basket to my grandmother who lived in the village, almost 500 kilometres far from Kathmandu where I used to stay with my father.

She gently wrapped the basket in a piece of cloth and put it inside a cupboard my mother had brought along with her as a dowry.

And the basket stayed there for more than two decades.

My grandmother would remind me to marry and ask me to open the cupboard and check whether the basket was intact. I refrained from doing so since every time I saw that basket tears rolled down from my eyes.

I could never forget my mother’s love for me. I don’t think there is any individual who doesn’t long for a mother’s love. 

Then the D-Day arrived, just a day after my 30th birthday. My grandmother didn’t’ forget to gift my would-be wife the jewellery in the sikki basket woven by my mother.

And that was the last day I saw the beautiful gift. I never enquire again about it. I have handed it over to the rightful owner!

Till this day, the beautifully woven sikki basket holds a special place in my heart. It’s nostalgic. And to keep away the nostalgia, I have planted a handful of sikki grass near a pond in my village!

Friday, 5 August 2016

कला र प्रतिबद्धता

कोइलीको कंठ सुरिलो थियो, उसलाई स्वरहरूको ज्ञान थियो र रागहरूको अलि अलि ज्ञान थियो। उनले संगीतमा नै आफ्नो करियर बनाउने निश्चय गरिन्।

कोइलीले अप्लाइ (आवेदन दिइन्) गरिन्। अर्को दिन नै उनलाई अडिशनका लागि बोलाइयो। त्यो इमर्जेन्सीको बेला थियो र सरकारी कामकाजको गति तीब्र भएको थियो।

कोइली आकाशवाणी (भारतीय रेडियो) पुगिन्। स्वर परिक्षाका लागि त्यहाँ तीन गिद्धहरू बसिरहेका थिए।

"के गाँउ," कोइलीले सोधिन्।

गिद्धहरूले हाँस्दै भने, "यो पनि सोध्नुपर्ने कुरा हो र। बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा लोकगीत सुनाउ। हामीलाई त्यही मात्र सुन्न सुनाउने आदेश छ।"

"बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा लोकगीत? त्यो त मलाई आउँदैन। तपाईं भजन वा गजल सुन्न सक्नुहुन्छ," कोइलीले भनिन्।

गिद्धहरू फेरि हाँसे। "गजल वा भजन? बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा छ भने अवश्य सुनाउनुस्।"

"बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा त छैन," कोइलीले भनिन्।

"त्यसो भए क्षमा गर्नुस्, कोकिलाजी। हामीसँग तपाईंका लागि कुनै स्थान छैन," गिद्धहरूले भने।

कोइली फर्केर आइन्। फर्किदा उनले म्युजिक रूममा (संगीत कक्षमा) कागहरूको टोलीले बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा  कोरस रेकर्ड गर्दै गरेको देखिन्।

त्यसपछि कोइलीले संगीतमा आफ्नो करियर बनाउने सोंच त्यागिदिइन् र विवाह गरेर आफ्नो घरतर्फ लागिन्।
 
सत्याग्रहमा प्रकाशित शरद जोशीको लघु कथाको नेपाली अनुवाद 

Monday, 25 July 2016

लक्ष्यको रक्षा

एउटा कछुवा थियो, अनि सबैलाई थाहा भएझै एउटा खरायो। खरायोले कछुवालाई संसद, राजनीतिक मंच र प्रेसवार्तामा चुनौती दियो, "यदि अगाडि बढ्ने यतिकै तागत छ भने मभन्दा पहिले लक्ष्यमा पुगेर देखाउ।"

दौड शुरु भयो। खरायो दौड्यो, कछुवा पनि आफ्नै तालमा सुस्तरी दौड्न थाल्यो।

सबैलाई थाहा भएझै खरायो रूखमुनि आराम गर्न थाल्यो। उसले पत्रकारहरूलाई भन्यो, "म राष्ट्रका समस्याहरूप्रति गम्भीर चिन्तन गर्दैछु, किनकि मलाई चाडै लक्ष्य भेट्नु छ।" यति भनेर ऊ निदायो।

कछुवा चाहि बिस्तारै बिस्तारै आफ्नो लक्ष्यनिर पुग्नथाल्यो।

जब खरायो बिउँझियो, उसले खरायो अगाडि पुगिसकेको देख्यो। उसले हार्ने पक्का थियो। बदनाम हुने डर त छँदै थियो। खरायोले तुरुन्तै आपातकाल घोषणा गर्यो।

उसले आफ्नो बयानमा भन्यो, "प्रतिगामी पिछडिएका तथा कंजरभेटिभ (रुढिवादी) ताकतहरू अगाडि बढिरहेका छन्। यिनीहरूबाट देशलाई बचाउनु जरुरी छ।"

अनि लक्ष्य भेट्नु अघि नै कछुवालाई समातेर जेलमा हालियो।

सत्याग्रहमा प्रकाशित शरद जोशीको लघु कथाको नेपाली अनुवाद 

अवसर र आरक्षण


एउटा घोडा र गधाबीच चर्काचर्की चलिरहेको थियो । घोडा भन्दैथियो, “त कुद्न सक्दैनस् भनेर मालिकसँग मेरो नि गोडा बाँधिदिन भन्न गइस् हैन ?” 

“गजब छ, बाँदरले आफ्नो घर नि नबनाउने अरुलाई नि घर बनाउन नदिने । कस्तो अचम्म ? आफू पनि त केही गर, कति अरुको आरिस गर्छस् ।”

गधाले भन्यो , “त्यसो कहाँ हो र, मलाई चाहिं सधैं भारीमात्र बोकाउने अनि तिमीलाई चाहिं सधैं मिठोमसिनो खुवाउँने ?”

“आखिर परिश्रम त म धेरै गर्छु नि तिमी भन्दा। मैले मलाई नि मेरो श्रम अनुसार न्याय पाउँनुपर्छ भनेको मात्र हो ।”



दूई गधाबीच चर्काचर्की चलिरहेको थियो । अगाडिका दूवै खुट्टा बाँधिएको गधा तन्दुरुस्त थियो । अनि लुते गधा चाहिं फुकेको गोरु झै अट्टहास गर्दै, जेलिएको, बन्धनमा जकडिएको गधालाई चिढाउँदै थियो,“हेर्न, म त घोडा पो हो त, सामथ्र्यमा कहाँ सक्छस् त मसँग ।”

अनि आफू उच्च नस्ल भएको दम्भमा रमाउँदै अर्को लुते तर फुकेको गधासँग भलाकुसारी गर्दै भन्दै थियो, “हेर्न, हामी घोडासँग त्यस गधाले नसकेपछि मालिकसँग हाम्रा नि गोडा बाँधिदिन भन्छु पो भन्छ बा ।”

“गजब छ , बाँदरले आफ्नो घर नि नबनाउने अरुलाई नि घर बनाउन नदिने । कस्तो अचम्म ?”

अर्को दिन मालिककहाँ बधुँवा गधाले पुगी बिन्ति बिसाएछ , “मालिक, मेरो पनि गोडा फुकाईपाउँ, यी दुई गोडा कुजिँन आटिसके, यिनको उपयोग नगरे म कसरी अगाडि बढ्न सक्छु र ?”

केहि दिन पश्चात् , फेरि आमने सामने भएछन् ती तीन गधा । यसपालि आफूलाई घोडा र उच्च नस्लका ठान्ने, सदा फुकेका गधाले यसो भनेछन् , “खै प्रतिस्पर्धा त बराबरबीच पो हुन्छ । कहाँ हामी लुते, कहाँ त्यो अजंगको सांढे ।”
“हामीलाई त अलिक बढि खाना चाहिन्छ , अनि पो हामी नि त्यो सांढेझै हुन्छौ त ।”

Monday, 20 June 2016

Why can’t we do away with the black dots and superstitions?

This pot bearing evil eyes was hung to a sisoo tree to save the gourd climber from evil eyes.

The baby clinging to his mother was annoyed at seeing so many guests. He was trying to get away from his mother’s clutch, forcibly lunging away from her. I could see his feet dangling like a pendulum, swaying from left to right hurriedly to beat the pace of time.

Then I saw something uncommon. Two black dots under his feet – one on each foot!

For Nepalese and our Indian neighbours, it’s a common tradition to ward off the evil eyes. Everyone, whether traditional or modern, illiterate or educated, follows their parents’ footsteps. Almost blindly!

It’s the fear of the unknown evil, so far as I know. If you go by their saying, it keeps away all harmful and bad thought of the onlooker.

And don’t be amazed if you see people putting black dots even over a fruit-bearing tree or a pumpkin creeper. In the southern plains of Nepal, they generally put either a clay pot or a supa/nanglo (bamboo winnowing tray) painted with black and white dots (sometimes circle) representing evil eyes.

Read: Evil eyes 

So, how good is painting black dots over anything you think might be envy of by your neigbours? We blindly follow the traditions without even pondering why we are doing that.

When I saw the babies’ feet and the black dots, I remembered a popular Nepali adage “Kalo biralo badhera saraddhe garnu” meaning tying a black cat to do the yearly rituals of death anniversary.

There’s an interesting incident behind the origin of the adage. A family was doing the rituals of the death anniversary and a pet black cat was sneaking in to lap up the curd, milk and other edibles to be used in the ritual. Being perturbed by the feline’s advances, they tied it up to a pillar nearby and carried out the rituals.

As the years passed, the little boy who had seen his parents tying up the black cat during the rituals searched a similar cat and tied it to a pillar while carrying out the rituals. His son followed the same and tying a black cat became a part of the ritual. And when the black cat was unavailable, it had to be brought from the neighbourhood or even from other villages!

You can no compare the situations. Had not the tradition of putting black dots started in a similar way? You can imagine how one can harm just by gazing at something. It’s no more than a superstition.

Now let me get back to the little child with black dots under his feet. For your information, the mother putting the black dot is a medical doctor and the little boy’s grandmother and grandfather both are well-known doctors as well. In our society, since the doctors are considered the most intelligent people, how can we get rid of these silly traditions when even the ones considered the most intelligent keep on following them blindly?

It’s a point to ponder.

Thursday, 25 February 2016

I don't care about crabs any more

Two crabs. Image by Flickr user Mark Jones. (CC BY 2.0)

Seems [it’s] a scene from a movie, today. I was merely eight years of age at that time. I still remember the farmer leveling the field after ploughing – to ready it for planting rice. The soil was muddy and watery - and he was skidding like a frictionless, perpetual machine. It's hard to mention the exact scene, but you can imagine a pair of oxen running as fast as possible in the mud with the plough clung to their shoulders and in place of the tiller, a flat wooden plank attached to the end and a man riding on the plank as if he is surfing through the waves.

As I was a small boy, I kept running after the plough and caught the fish and crabs as they popped out of the mud occasionally. I hurled them in a small plastic bucket as and when they came out of the muddy soil. The crows and herons would look at me enviously while I enjoyed splashing through the mud. After one hour's running behind the man and his plough, I gathered half a bucket of fish and crabs. Walking towards home with my precious catch, many fish jumped out of the bucket and I had to put them back again and again. And in the process some fortunate ones slipped out in the muddy paddy fields.

I had caught more fish and only around 15 crabs. However, when I reached home, the crabs were still at the bottom of the bucket clinging to each others' feet while many fish had escaped. None of them had been able to jump out of the container. When I clutched one of the crabs, two others clung to its feet and similarly others clung to their feet, making a chain of crabs.

I had two things in mind: One, the unity among the crabs and their love for each other. Two, the Leg Pulling Syndrome that did not allow any of the crabs to jump out and seek freedom. However, when I put all the crabs on the floor, all of them started fighting with each other and I knew it was not a case of unity. It was a matter of leg pulling.

As I grew up, I found similar situation many times - many people clinging to each others' legs - restricting others to reach their goals. I wonder why people do it. Can’t we just push each other forward instead of pulling towards the bottom?

Seeing the leapfrogging neighbouring economies – China and India, I just could not help myself sharing this incident. We are like those crabs and they (Chinese and Indians) are like fish. They have leapt out of the bucket and we still are at the bottom. We must be aware that if we remain at the bottom for long we will be devoured by the consequences at the end of the day.

So, I don’t care about the crabs any more.

And my simple proposition – let’s get rid of this Leg Pulling Syndrome and start pushing forward each other. That will lead us to a brighter future. There’s no doubt!