tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84849030763303678282024-02-19T05:25:24.037+05:45Yetaa UtaaMelange of musingssankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-46090274308095914502022-04-27T10:25:00.006+05:452022-04-27T10:32:20.412+05:45Shanidham – a new religious destination in Saptari<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMKRoD_4bLOv0-Tz0cyrsI3WJfJk5vP12nPlqT_dLK3TEq1ym9VDE2Cim8sPLlmC4TCU1sacRy6jFNCxgtLF2uCriHuJH63Qv_Ecj9vBPQlPYcL6N7_Xwkp2W9I2TgaZafyf0ev5U2YpnGuHd6dFEALWHUaFeql9Gu3jzMvKmiK123lObzcgB6rXuSA/s880/Shanidham.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="880" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMKRoD_4bLOv0-Tz0cyrsI3WJfJk5vP12nPlqT_dLK3TEq1ym9VDE2Cim8sPLlmC4TCU1sacRy6jFNCxgtLF2uCriHuJH63Qv_Ecj9vBPQlPYcL6N7_Xwkp2W9I2TgaZafyf0ev5U2YpnGuHd6dFEALWHUaFeql9Gu3jzMvKmiK123lObzcgB6rXuSA/w400-h269/Shanidham.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shanidham</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Every Saturday the Rupani-Birendra Bazar stretch of East-West Highway in Saptari District sees horde of visitors and auto-rikshaws queued up to get to Shanidham. The shrine, around three kilometres north from the highway, is nestled in the Churiya hills. </p><p>When Satya Narayan Shah of Saptari’s Terhauta Village dreamed of seeing Shani under a <i>shami</i> tree, he had no idea the place would turn into a crowd-puller religious destination. It took him more than three months to locate the tree of his dream. The tree had six other trees, called <i>bel, mirchaiya, gajahar, mehsan, fooldhap</i> and <i>koiraiya</i> in local language, entwined at its root. Luckily, it was Saturday, considered auspicious day for worshipping Shani. He performed the first pooja of Shani at the site on 18 March 2000, remembers Shah who has been worshipping the shrine as the main priest since then. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcAqiAMTJL8iURUyOeIyrXpQu6uuo_JhdDV9SjUxMjmWRFRcK03Uxf6rsQ_pFSgxyhxFOYiNSeqvvDeA-RVzr-UxFHJ-kScdZd1GRuZLDtosLlXLV7ewFPD22Q74dxlFs8fO1nNuzQ-iJ9Va8yYr0UQZgmjNS3UTKQHxOvUZEUs74kt4P1FLkMWdzDA/s1063/Shani.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="1063" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcAqiAMTJL8iURUyOeIyrXpQu6uuo_JhdDV9SjUxMjmWRFRcK03Uxf6rsQ_pFSgxyhxFOYiNSeqvvDeA-RVzr-UxFHJ-kScdZd1GRuZLDtosLlXLV7ewFPD22Q74dxlFs8fO1nNuzQ-iJ9Va8yYr0UQZgmjNS3UTKQHxOvUZEUs74kt4P1FLkMWdzDA/w400-h225/Shani.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lord Shani</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Shani, son of Surya (sun) and Chhaya (shadow), is considered as harbinger of bad luck and Hindus worship him to ward off the evil and obstacles in their lives. ‘Shanibar’ or Saturday in Hindu calendar derives its name from Shani and Saturday is considered to be the best day to perform Shani pooja. “<i>Worshipping Shani for seven consecutive Saturdays with seven set of ingredients – seven areca nuts, seven betel leaves, seven laddoos and seven set of any other materials have fulfilled wishes of many pilgrims</i>,” said Satya Narayan Shah. “<i>Even the children born being blessed by Shani have turned teenagers by now</i>.”</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkvnNo3shFkY-hu2zulZyMSEmCKAXjo6eSUIpPZedMUeARj4IlASmhW3alvOOc3maShRKG0IgtdDKwoyUEI4F52GwBdImumYXr9gXzb_E_C9xVjpnSKlCbIgwAXKv_eFJ16yIAzh9O_NBG46sHxQHOq93b8Op3IgTCXoUIgNS4QKKoQumum239fyifw/s1063/Shivalingas.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="1063" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkvnNo3shFkY-hu2zulZyMSEmCKAXjo6eSUIpPZedMUeARj4IlASmhW3alvOOc3maShRKG0IgtdDKwoyUEI4F52GwBdImumYXr9gXzb_E_C9xVjpnSKlCbIgwAXKv_eFJ16yIAzh9O_NBG46sHxQHOq93b8Op3IgTCXoUIgNS4QKKoQumum239fyifw/w400-h225/Shivalingas.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">108 Shivalingas</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Lately, many idols have been added to the site. In the east of the tree is an idol of Shani followed by an idol of Ganesha and an idol of Garuri Shankar in the west of the tree. To the west of the tree 108 Shiva lingas have been added and idols of Radha Krishna, Vaishno Devi and Hanuman have been added to the site. However, priest Shah considers the shami tree to be the main adobe of Shani. </p><p>“<i>Pandavas hid their weapons in a shami tree before going incognito and retrieved them on the day of Vijaya Dashami</i>,” said priest Shah recollecting the Pandava’s Agyaat Vaas (living incognito) in Mahabharat. “<i>That’s why it is auspicious to see and worship a shami tree on the day of Dashami. It brings good fortune to the worshipper</i>.” Shah found peace and solace after finding the shami tree and started studying religious texts. He is now a known astrologer and claims that shami tree is actually a ficus tree and not the thorny tree claimed by many. </p><p>Lately, the shrine has turned into one of the major religious sites of Madhesh Province. Devotees from as far as bordering Indian districts and neighbouring districts of Nepal come here and worship Lord Shani for seven consecutive Saturdays to get their wishes fulfilled. </p><p>The journey to the shrine is exciting. One has to cross a river several times and walk through the Churiya forests. Though there are no bridges on the river, motorbikes and auto-rikshaws can easily wade through the shallow waters. Since the road is not gravelled it gets muddy during the rainy season. But it doesn’t dampen the pilgrims’ spirit. </p><p>With the increasing flow of visitors, petty traders have been earning incomes selling worshipping materials, snacks, toys and clothes every Saturday. However, this has also led to littering the area, particularly the stream with bottles, plastic plates, spoons and forks. The Shani Community Forest Users’ Committee comprising the erstwhile first four wards of Terhauta Village Development Committee, responsible for the caretaking of the site, needs to take this matter seriously.</p><p>“<i>The shami tree needs to be conserved and watered regularly so that it remains evergreen</i>,” added Shah. “<i>An all-weather accessible trail to the shrine is also necessary looking at the number of devotees visiting Shanidham. Above all, the conservation of the Churiya hills is a must to preserve this site</i>.” </p><p>Not only the religious importance but the natural beauty of the place also attracts the visitors. Despite the difficulties to reach the site, devotees flock to the site not only on Saturdays but also on the weekdays. And thanks to social media, the photos and videos shared by the visitors have been attracting more footfalls and making the site more popular. The shrine, if conserved and promoted well, will help grow the local economy as well.</p><div><br /></div><div><i>Republished from ECS.</i></div>sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-15659212904084411602021-03-30T21:53:00.004+05:452021-03-30T22:00:27.294+05:45Memories<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoHpoXLm0OajeYP1NRRaeag1K3vsSulUxkersvh27scSBAD5oBGcySX6v93U34t3pDEApWJ9H4wWLMjWY3hMXjVu4mtcY-7e1PqYEPDt8x3iwSjGJzG5j68DSu1S3k54LdLBCO8SCFlnn/s883/tree.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="871" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoHpoXLm0OajeYP1NRRaeag1K3vsSulUxkersvh27scSBAD5oBGcySX6v93U34t3pDEApWJ9H4wWLMjWY3hMXjVu4mtcY-7e1PqYEPDt8x3iwSjGJzG5j68DSu1S3k54LdLBCO8SCFlnn/w395-h400/tree.jpg" width="395" /></a></div><br />It's neither the tree,<p></p><p>Nor its rustling leaves,</p><p>But the moments</p><p>That I spent</p><p>Together with my friends.</p><p>It's neither the tree's branches,</p><p>Nor the chirping brood in the nest,</p><p>But the songs</p><p>That I sang with my friends.</p><p>It's neither the tree's platform,</p><p>Nor the loitering dogs,</p><p>But the candid conversations</p><p>That I had with my friends.</p><p><br /></p><p>When I returned here</p><p>After decades,</p><p>The only thing</p><p>That I missed</p><p>Were my friends,</p><p>The moments,</p><p>The songs,</p><p>And the conversations,</p><p>That have made</p><p>This tree indelible</p><p>In my heart.</p><p><i><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CNAdqmihENz/">Republished from my Instagram post.</a></i></p>sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-92012687899197863192020-12-24T13:28:00.005+05:452020-12-24T13:28:46.765+05:45When we meet again<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXjXSXsNiXSpEB7IPti7h7oitg050tQWn3hIiFgwDXXzcwp2q5nDAzM-7Dvs0mjYqH8a-_6F6QHwypbcb9v8LnOMujmtwEOXdKM6A8IzUXGo3t-DmL-sGanRvGxqX9XWB4Uh79A6FZ_ZNO/s890/FrozenWaterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXjXSXsNiXSpEB7IPti7h7oitg050tQWn3hIiFgwDXXzcwp2q5nDAzM-7Dvs0mjYqH8a-_6F6QHwypbcb9v8LnOMujmtwEOXdKM6A8IzUXGo3t-DmL-sGanRvGxqX9XWB4Uh79A6FZ_ZNO/s320/FrozenWaterfall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />When we first met<p></p><p>You were whiter than snow</p><p>And colder than ice.</p><p><br /></p><p>I reminisce about</p><p>Hiking to your source --</p><p>A lake placid ---</p><p>And descending</p><p>Along the rocky slope</p><p>Hand in hand with you</p><p>Flowing incessantly.</p><p><br /></p><p>I remember</p><p>Meeting a young man</p><p>Who got healed</p><p>Of snake venom</p><p>Plunging into your laps.</p><p><br /></p><p>I have been witness</p><p>To your beauty eternal</p><p>And heard stories countless</p><p>Of you quenching</p><p>Travellers' thirst.</p><p><br /></p><p>But</p><p>What did you get in return?</p><p>I can see</p><p>You have toned down</p><p>And turned brownish.</p><p><br /></p><p>Somebody told me</p><p>The lake</p><p>Now is a happening spot</p><p>With boats ferrying</p><p>People making merry.</p><p>And</p><p>No longer</p><p>The migratory birds</p><p>Call it their home.</p><p><br /></p><p>I am worried</p><p>How will you look like</p><p>When we meet again?</p><p><i><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BriBlA1BiQ-/">Republished from my Instagram post.</a></i></p>sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-22234622178456549922020-12-23T13:19:00.001+05:452020-12-23T13:19:24.296+05:45Climate of change<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bh6nrPwSb2_p0SUojy_HZK1CHqJzWVE0Oi8Rq4y4O940haLfOG0JQcDS8iIRkCDgZ-RO6XVcq8q-FYz8nsIppHyzggYuaX5kIHx_c9QMlK9MrJHM-YLNgMHH1fTDxvVr42x3HAoMs7B1/s886/SnowcappedPeak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="886" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bh6nrPwSb2_p0SUojy_HZK1CHqJzWVE0Oi8Rq4y4O940haLfOG0JQcDS8iIRkCDgZ-RO6XVcq8q-FYz8nsIppHyzggYuaX5kIHx_c9QMlK9MrJHM-YLNgMHH1fTDxvVr42x3HAoMs7B1/s320/SnowcappedPeak.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />The snow-capped peak<p></p><p>Sneered at the change.</p><p><br /></p><p>The wooden rooftops</p><p>Replaced by iron sheets</p><p>And the stone walls</p><p>Replaced by kiln bricks.</p><p>The beauty in uniformity</p><p>Had given way to modernity.</p><p>The landscape looked</p><p>Like tattered patches.</p><p>A scarred face,</p><p>Like shadows on the moon.</p><p><br /></p><p>The village strove for change,</p><p>Stoked ambitions</p><p>To turn into a town.</p><p>But the silly peak</p><p>Wanted the time to stop,</p><p>Freeze in the past.</p><p>The villagers built roads,</p><p>brought vehicles.</p><p>And the vehicles</p><p>Brought everything.</p><p><br /></p><p>With amenities galore</p><p>The village jeered at the peak</p><p>Scoffed at its wrinkles,</p><p>The dwindling snowline.</p><p><br /></p><p>The peak decided to keep mum</p><p>And watch karma take over.</p><p><i><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BrQSbWABFgn/">Republished from my Instagram post.</a></i></p>sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-34528654595017586462019-06-13T10:14:00.000+05:452019-06-13T10:22:37.077+05:45Walking along the Bagmati River - from Thapathali to Teku Dovan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://ecs.com.np/features/walking-along-the-bagmati-river-from-thapathali-to-teku-dovan" target="_blank">Republished from ECS. </a><br />
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Most of my friends look with shock when I talk about swimming in the Bagmati River during school lunch-breaks in my early years. It used to be a clean river; we picnicked on its banks and fished in the river. But, within a few decades, the river has turned into a stinky, lifeless gutter of garbage. However, not all has been lost. Many organisations are working to clean the river and restore the beauty of its banks and surrounding areas. Especially, the newly-built parks along the banks at Sankhamul offer a pleasant experience. However, if you are interested in history, art, and architecture, the heritage sites along the banks of Bagmati on the Thapathali–Teku Dovan stretch are a must-visit.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chess park is a calm and quite junction in Thapathali.</td></tr>
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The bridge connecting Lalitpur and Kathmandu districts at Thapathali sees snarling traffic throughout the day, and not many passers-by notice a small park adjacent to the bridge at its north-west corner. Known as Chess Park, it attracts chess lovers from early morning till late evening, and regular tournaments are organized here. The bridge, built by Prime Minister Chandra Shumsher, is also known as <i>Rato Pul</i>, or ‘red bridge’, due to its colour.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bagmati River bank at Thapathali</td></tr>
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As you pass through the chess park and walk along the river banks, you will come across <i>akhadas</i> (rest houses built for saints and sadhus)—Dasnami, or Sanyasi, Akhada, Udasi Akhada, and Bairagi Akhada. The akhadas were built to offer accommodation and food to saints from respective sects visiting Kathmandu on pilgrimage. You can still see the sadhus staying in these akhadas, especially during Shivaratri, when they visit Pashupatinath Temple.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheleku90amHtYzmpY5Jc_NitKepMHAvyzfSwarQJnITsA11q1rFmdvRpjeBHzTduTrBM7-tMFOH2sjmCYmX9khQXEHfJRpiv8tyHs5X3RSC7XWztK3wdidrsB0y_GfQr-Cl8urmArPl9RZ/s1600/PushpaDas_AkhadaCaretaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheleku90amHtYzmpY5Jc_NitKepMHAvyzfSwarQJnITsA11q1rFmdvRpjeBHzTduTrBM7-tMFOH2sjmCYmX9khQXEHfJRpiv8tyHs5X3RSC7XWztK3wdidrsB0y_GfQr-Cl8urmArPl9RZ/s400/PushpaDas_AkhadaCaretaker.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pushpa Das, a caretaker sadhu at an akhada in Thapathali</td></tr>
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“<i>Akhada is an open university for sadhus, where they’ve been getting trained since the Malla and Lichchhavi eras. People coming to Kathmandu for different work used to stay in dharmashalas and sattals (a resting/ gathering place) while the sadhus stayed in akhadas</i>,” said Pushpa Das, the caretaker priest of one of the akhadas, who hails from Okhaldunga, but studied in Benares.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumnPeR3LLr4wk-NSlpQrhARr5-pwO8GO0t2BwbJkS_0XTAhIxuXYLsZV_lZdEdA76Wf6tFtlCazx3cG60gIFMHf2ICViK7MLEWarPD5AtA6kCJYthyphenhyphen5pjsQpY46kiTooFHXH8SzyXcEdL/s1600/JungHiranyaHemNarayanTempleBeingRebuilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumnPeR3LLr4wk-NSlpQrhARr5-pwO8GO0t2BwbJkS_0XTAhIxuXYLsZV_lZdEdA76Wf6tFtlCazx3cG60gIFMHf2ICViK7MLEWarPD5AtA6kCJYthyphenhyphen5pjsQpY46kiTooFHXH8SzyXcEdL/s400/JungHiranyaHemNarayanTempleBeingRebuilt.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jung Hiranya Hem Narayan Temple (as in March 2019). Most of it has been rebuilt now.</td></tr>
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Nearby, you’ll see the Jung Hiranya Hem Narayan Temple being reconstructed with traditional materials like mortar, bricks, wood, and surki, containing brick dust and limestone. The temple was brought down by the 2015 earthquake. One of the most beautiful temples in Kathmandu, it derives its name from then Prime Minister Jung Bahadur Rana and his queens Hiranya and Hem, followed by Lord Narayan, or Vishnu. Interestingly, Jung Bahadur and his queens’ names precede the god's name. To the east of temple is a statue of <i>Garuda</i>, Lord Vishnu’s mount, and next to it is Jung’s statue on a pillar taller than the Garuda! It is said that he built this temple to seek penance for the killings at <i>Kot Parva</i>, where he killed many high ranking officials.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPT4ybvULozcXnRamzk76P-BTCrEP3B0scoxkuLxZAR4OfL3KW1OSP6I4w2Fv1-Rh0dvLF8ChFiKAhyphenhyphenjr4fMvF6i3J11A3v_KJzrzrC0EP1jBZwMt02d_MG1ojz1kgGW0BFqN2vAFYQx2c/s1600/VaidhyaChowk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPT4ybvULozcXnRamzk76P-BTCrEP3B0scoxkuLxZAR4OfL3KW1OSP6I4w2Fv1-Rh0dvLF8ChFiKAhyphenhyphenjr4fMvF6i3J11A3v_KJzrzrC0EP1jBZwMt02d_MG1ojz1kgGW0BFqN2vAFYQx2c/s400/VaidhyaChowk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vaidhya Chowk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As you walk westwards, you’ll come across Tukucha Khola, also called Ichhumati. The river originates from Maharajgunj in the valley and meets the Bagmati at Kalmochan Ghat. Sadly, the river looks like an open drain. As you walk towards the main road, you’ll see a small door with a sign, Vaidhya Chowk, to the north of the road. The Vaidhyas came from Bhaktapur and started living here when one of them was summoned to cure an eye ailment of the queen of a Rana. This chowk is so-named because of Hutaram Vaidhya, an agricultural engineer turned activist, who dedicated his life to saving the Bagmati River. He is also called ‘<i>Bagmati Ba</i>’ out of respect for his commitment.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPkhqxcVBAEPhjxehJdzZtV1aGnwu_HC9U3Zt2_SsxDJn3xYHbcK7Z9acy-n_gfFfdkpfRUk_3ttMSGTT39zkHwrwDg3-h48p0ILavX_1A4zyjvwBiGQOpazeHtXJsb8vHcDpAN9iMptI/s1600/TwoShivalingasInstalledOntheRoad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIPkhqxcVBAEPhjxehJdzZtV1aGnwu_HC9U3Zt2_SsxDJn3xYHbcK7Z9acy-n_gfFfdkpfRUk_3ttMSGTT39zkHwrwDg3-h48p0ILavX_1A4zyjvwBiGQOpazeHtXJsb8vHcDpAN9iMptI/s400/TwoShivalingasInstalledOntheRoad.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shivalingas by the roadside</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Walking for a few minutes westwards along the road, you’ll come across two 300-year-old Shivalingas established on the entrance to a road leading to the banks of the Bagmati. This road will lead you to Tripureshwar’s Mahadev Temple, built by King Rana Bahadur Shah’s wife Queen Lalit Tripura Sundari. The largest temple complex in the Bagmati area is being renovated, but when we enquired, the wood pieces were being carved by carpenters from Assam, and were not as detailed as the old ones. However, the gajur of the temple was being renovated by local artisans, led by Shailendra Tamrakar.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhJboRHdJnFGWzt5V3IbAwsBGs4xMwcTPHaSc60e344nPK9J-g0XqxNk1FMgTCT6JTVMZQWo0KpB9AgN6S-DTdMXvP6fVWpgpCGp_LW3ZlrlpkQZNWr1vhup6DU1Pqz8hKMwbcj2aBwhf/s1600/TripureshworMahadevTemple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhJboRHdJnFGWzt5V3IbAwsBGs4xMwcTPHaSc60e344nPK9J-g0XqxNk1FMgTCT6JTVMZQWo0KpB9AgN6S-DTdMXvP6fVWpgpCGp_LW3ZlrlpkQZNWr1vhup6DU1Pqz8hKMwbcj2aBwhf/s400/TripureshworMahadevTemple.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tripureshwar Mahadev Temple (as of March 2019)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Further to the south is Hanumansthan, with a huge Hanuman statue. Nearby are Shivalingas, a statue of Uma Maheshwar, and a Chaitya belonging to either the later Lichhavi period or early Malla period.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLV9IdJeVbSqsQ0H9Bl7V-PcHTqc0YhDezvkFMvk0kWWxxqr1LL7xbbGjVnF6Ujss8GC2hEN0wZNPFn-3L7cML_AaShm0i-Sk9iyAo-7BVG3zol61JYYFREVgqdMg1l-bBOvmKCGk44WC9/s1600/Hanumansthan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLV9IdJeVbSqsQ0H9Bl7V-PcHTqc0YhDezvkFMvk0kWWxxqr1LL7xbbGjVnF6Ujss8GC2hEN0wZNPFn-3L7cML_AaShm0i-Sk9iyAo-7BVG3zol61JYYFREVgqdMg1l-bBOvmKCGk44WC9/s400/Hanumansthan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanumansthan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAyaUK1lPFzNkzXdJSiazLNG2uTaX_WCPqN5JZ-AWJtBHZLcyVkbHiVFn-_6WVPP2xN19uHMIixGbFVolKXu5-TWMAlvAO4w5xrDknMgwJapOqwxJ6R6tdk-mYhbEwmr9EDUwV-e69tLz6/s1600/UmaMaheshwarAtHanumanGhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAyaUK1lPFzNkzXdJSiazLNG2uTaX_WCPqN5JZ-AWJtBHZLcyVkbHiVFn-_6WVPP2xN19uHMIixGbFVolKXu5-TWMAlvAO4w5xrDknMgwJapOqwxJ6R6tdk-mYhbEwmr9EDUwV-e69tLz6/s400/UmaMaheshwarAtHanumanGhat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancient sculpture of Uma Maheshwar at Hanumansthan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As you head westwards, you’ll come to Chandra Ghat, named after then Prime Minister Chandra Shumsher. It houses a guest house meant for royal guests, now occupied partly by the District Police Office and partly by the eye hospital.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcgjCVoNqv162HREV9yeWI9vHbSJiEM5kDoVD5VOUtUI7e2IXSJNQdaajBjnX9FQSR0tP3UO3eMisOuOrC-ZnpWdbT1MbM0hyphenhyphenmsumDN1c-MmHm2FDPDxtgaLL_CMKU0JVTNUoDesSA-uN/s1600/GuestHouseChandraGhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcgjCVoNqv162HREV9yeWI9vHbSJiEM5kDoVD5VOUtUI7e2IXSJNQdaajBjnX9FQSR0tP3UO3eMisOuOrC-ZnpWdbT1MbM0hyphenhyphenmsumDN1c-MmHm2FDPDxtgaLL_CMKU0JVTNUoDesSA-uN/s400/GuestHouseChandraGhat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guest House at Chandra Ghat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDs4VgenieYIF4xNJ5VqXAMVh7P4ppLFgeGGAfFV-3H6FGdyC6dORnfsTDNUcWG7SJ6-prNZYbkv-ZL6Kx8CfgNHHcNFISzwRW2sCPE2eqX_oVs3Lmb3eGDKQL-eL-oCR7_B8IR3HkbnIZ/s1600/SattalAtPurohitGhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDs4VgenieYIF4xNJ5VqXAMVh7P4ppLFgeGGAfFV-3H6FGdyC6dORnfsTDNUcWG7SJ6-prNZYbkv-ZL6Kx8CfgNHHcNFISzwRW2sCPE2eqX_oVs3Lmb3eGDKQL-eL-oCR7_B8IR3HkbnIZ/s320/SattalAtPurohitGhat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sattal at Purohit Ghat with graffiti on its walls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Further to the west is Juddha Ghat, followed by Purohit Ghat. If you carefully look at the bottom of the entrance of the <i>sattal</i>, you’ll see two conjoined lions having a single head. If you look at them sideways, you'll think that it's the statue of a single lion, the same from the other side! A French artist, Seb Toussaint, and Spag from the Outside Krew, painted graffiti on the walls of the sattal before the 2015 earthquake, and it created a huge uproar among the Kathmanduites. Everybody thought that the artist had defaced the ancient structure, but he said that he painted it after being requested to do so by the temple priest!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nD3uoC1vwKmt4fLzsHWYjxhcWZvttOJsHNXGZDaKT_PG2ndcdaDgEPIjJNwP3f_NWFrW4UmEftt6_KCVSMI4601JAGrwNbOvHEDQ_OCqDBXqu9Ch-lLWOxSYU6hesLpkrcyFTQrkGv-p/s1600/ConjoinedLion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nD3uoC1vwKmt4fLzsHWYjxhcWZvttOJsHNXGZDaKT_PG2ndcdaDgEPIjJNwP3f_NWFrW4UmEftt6_KCVSMI4601JAGrwNbOvHEDQ_OCqDBXqu9Ch-lLWOxSYU6hesLpkrcyFTQrkGv-p/s400/ConjoinedLion.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A conjoined lion at the Purohit Ghat sattal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As you walk west, you’ll come across the main sattal, which has beautifully carved windows. Then, further west is Kaji Ghat, with a sattal and a Krishna Temple, followed by Hanuman Ghat, which houses a Ram Temple and another sattal. It’s a hub spot for old people to hang out in the early morning.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYSlGXuuPTVSqPa0jbvU5CijTKvZTyYIstWjAeY4ms7_57w52OsGg1N0m4h6itT-G3E5igrEPHOupuK-WDumoGJ9wsiUaeAthOosWhJ9NN8iRoBddjScS95YgC6qZscFWSU_d-7DUl31k/s1600/HanumanGhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYSlGXuuPTVSqPa0jbvU5CijTKvZTyYIstWjAeY4ms7_57w52OsGg1N0m4h6itT-G3E5igrEPHOupuK-WDumoGJ9wsiUaeAthOosWhJ9NN8iRoBddjScS95YgC6qZscFWSU_d-7DUl31k/s400/HanumanGhat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanuman Ghat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On the way to Teku Dovan is Pachali Ghat, and this stretch houses many beautiful temples like Bombikateshwar Mahadev Temple and Lakshmishwar Mahadev Temple at Pachali, and Jagannath Temple and Radhakrishna Temple at Teku. At Pachali Ghat, you’ll see sculptures of Buddha, ten incarnations of Lord Vishnu, Shivalingas, and <i>Ashtamatrikas</i>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNMV_v2SKqdeif4m2B2zS1y4dgMy5Z63fgGnXn0qZbyWDSWkKDchraDbd-A5D4RRIJBZoLD4xgMS00f5D_9aW413drRKK6-nrgfotu7ZFAQwTwByJm5yjw8yiY-TIYx8AdarIQnPN8qZP/s1600/CremationSiteTekuDovan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNMV_v2SKqdeif4m2B2zS1y4dgMy5Z63fgGnXn0qZbyWDSWkKDchraDbd-A5D4RRIJBZoLD4xgMS00f5D_9aW413drRKK6-nrgfotu7ZFAQwTwByJm5yjw8yiY-TIYx8AdarIQnPN8qZP/s400/CremationSiteTekuDovan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cremation site at Teku Dovan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwl69ZPXv1nTa2LkAPg1goT4dMr8mnd8eMaLzKq318ZP-ZDqB8ao313S9LfkXDbJ09dexZrbWavAHMmjRVNUxkcI7sNCpdpeOjdAcs1xlEs60FEcEk93_kjrT7SuafTTw5oho5NoS9f1lo/s1600/RadhakrishnaTemple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwl69ZPXv1nTa2LkAPg1goT4dMr8mnd8eMaLzKq318ZP-ZDqB8ao313S9LfkXDbJ09dexZrbWavAHMmjRVNUxkcI7sNCpdpeOjdAcs1xlEs60FEcEk93_kjrT7SuafTTw5oho5NoS9f1lo/s400/RadhakrishnaTemple.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radha Krishna Temple</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Teku Dovan is the confluence of two sacred rivers, Bagmati and Bishnumati. The confluence houses the <i>shikhara</i>-style terracotta Radhakrishna Temple and other stone sculptures of Hindu deities, along with Buddhist chaityas. The place is also called Chintamani Tirtha by the Buddhists. While you’re being awed by all these temples and sattals, don’t miss visiting <a href="http://ecs.com.np/features/history-and-mythology-of-pachali-bhairav" target="_blank">Pachali Bhairav</a>, one of the most revered shrines of Kathmandu Valley. To learn in detail about the shrines in the Bagmati Heritage Walkway, read ‘The Bagmati: Between Teku and Thapathali – a Monument Guide’ written by Shaphalya Amatya, and follow the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BagmatiHangout/" target="_blank">Bagmati Hangout group</a> on Facebook.</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-22989850335784708352019-02-05T16:06:00.002+05:452019-02-05T16:06:41.508+05:45The conservationist and the woodcutter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSenvOwG7lQjBvpQGYwOJygJvwSILErJ78TWBpSmL5qs6ysf-0lbw1tMpbEdZkXUjyCVsS90FsHqbwS-v1LDSDJdCQq7XSSp00L9AQ4sQinHrlXIGKOLEI189TIWigT82BeC82WW8zTsv/s1600/Firewood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="1024" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOSenvOwG7lQjBvpQGYwOJygJvwSILErJ78TWBpSmL5qs6ysf-0lbw1tMpbEdZkXUjyCVsS90FsHqbwS-v1LDSDJdCQq7XSSp00L9AQ4sQinHrlXIGKOLEI189TIWigT82BeC82WW8zTsv/s400/Firewood.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The conservationist sighed his frustration<br />And rebuked the woodcutter:<br />"Because of you people<br />We're losing the forests precious<br />And environment pristine."<br />
<br />
***<br /><br />
The layman put down the firewood<br />And heaved a sigh of relief:<br />"Because of our forefathers<br />You're seeing the forest conserved<br />And the wildlife preserved."<br />
<br />
***<br /><br />
The man from the city went closer<br />And proposed:<br />"Leave the forests alone<br />And we'll make sure<br />You people are food secure."<br /><br />
***<br /><br />
The man from the village sat down<br />And replied:<br />"Leave us as we are<br />And we'll make sure<br />You'll get everything pure."<br />
<br />
Republished from my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BrVVIZjBFxp/" target="_blank">Instagram account</a>.</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-4770731707081390202019-01-25T09:18:00.001+05:452020-03-06T12:02:02.155+05:45Chhedingmo was my name<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jE8k_TpjBYHz6vy8dSHqhU_YQ4oeB7yxnaGSdAge3MMSrkAxKYatCp8wTMLu_vFAbx7KoE1j6if9NulLNVU2rzQIU4DAELm5AK6ePjqUiZkbUwHioTtIbKF0Q_b_DzA3cYbFVb0wOame/s1600/ParvatiKunda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jE8k_TpjBYHz6vy8dSHqhU_YQ4oeB7yxnaGSdAge3MMSrkAxKYatCp8wTMLu_vFAbx7KoE1j6if9NulLNVU2rzQIU4DAELm5AK6ePjqUiZkbUwHioTtIbKF0Q_b_DzA3cYbFVb0wOame/s400/ParvatiKunda.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I used to wear<br />
A strange dress<br />
Called <i>ghalek</i> and <i>lungi</i>.<br />
I looked strange<br />
While others around me<br />
Flaunted their <i>gunyu choli</i><br />
I always thought<br />
Why only me?<br />
Why do I look so alien?<br />
<br />
My vernacular words<br />
Seemed tongue twisters<br />
To my new neighbours<br />
So I thought of<br />
Learning their language<br />
And ended up<br />
Speaking their tongue.<br />
<br />
My culture and tradition<br />
Started looking ages-old<br />
And I don't know<br />
How I started following<br />
New customs and traditions.<br />
It all happened<br />
Gradually and gradually<br />
Till I lost<br />
My own identity.<br />
<br />
So,<br />
One day I decided<br />
To get rid of<br />
My old fashioned name<br />
Chhedingmo<br />
And started callling myself<br />
Parvati. <br />
<br />
***<br />
Parvati Kunda is a religious high altitude wetland in Rasuwa district of Nepal bordering China. It's called Chhedingmo by Tamangs, the indigenous people of that region.<br />
<br />
Republished from my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/sankuchy/" target="_blank">Instagram account</a>. </div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-15307311913722926742019-01-24T10:14:00.003+05:452019-01-24T10:17:07.543+05:45The rice fields and the wells<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW68N4HOs8I_ncwZfiwCdPJPskkYXFZHFhY4wYrfL6ObHW7XiiKumgJh-mpGb0GZA5HDzwtnxi1HdKECmWUdQOGzmxMMC-p9JepbjiRrOGUepbLZFvEc4BgZRZBcc1jseqFbvWqPJVIlmI/s1600/Goljung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW68N4HOs8I_ncwZfiwCdPJPskkYXFZHFhY4wYrfL6ObHW7XiiKumgJh-mpGb0GZA5HDzwtnxi1HdKECmWUdQOGzmxMMC-p9JepbjiRrOGUepbLZFvEc4BgZRZBcc1jseqFbvWqPJVIlmI/s400/Goljung.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
During the cold winter days<br />
Whenever I talked<br />
About the vibrant market<br />
And the facilities in the city,<br />
My grandma would say:<br />
Child, a market is temporary<br />
But the rice fields are permanent.<br />
A spring is interim<br />
But the wells are everlasting.<br />
<br />
The job,<br />
That pays for your bag of rice<br />
That you're so proud of,<br />
Will offer you pink slip someday.<br />
The spring,<br />
The source of bottled water<br />
That you're so proud of,<br />
Will run dry someday.<br />
<br />
Then you'll<br />
Return to your native place<br />
In search of<br />
Food and water,<br />
Friends and relatives.<br />
You'll then realize<br />
The importance of<br />
The rice fields and the wells.<br />
<br />
Republished from my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Bs8UF9TB7xM/" target="_blank">Instagram account</a>.</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-83257603157628043912018-12-21T10:50:00.000+05:452018-12-21T10:50:21.099+05:45Beyond bird-watching in Koshi Tappu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXKQT4rDZLEnCdxhuWpsoJgVv7BqjTMALh9DqTrN2DLYtuQAgmjDdi8OFArCRlJKMtylnUcr71TfUImN-TZYP4L-2RLOLshoqxGse0S5bTFhbjYFbMEzWjwZ9ZwG7WZgEROaoOvImxIca/s1600/BirdsOfKoshiTappu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXKQT4rDZLEnCdxhuWpsoJgVv7BqjTMALh9DqTrN2DLYtuQAgmjDdi8OFArCRlJKMtylnUcr71TfUImN-TZYP4L-2RLOLshoqxGse0S5bTFhbjYFbMEzWjwZ9ZwG7WZgEROaoOvImxIca/s400/BirdsOfKoshiTappu.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birds of Koshi Tappu</td></tr>
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<a href="http://ecs.com.np/experience/beyond-bird-watching-in-koshi-tappu" target="_blank">Republished from ECS</a><br /><br />
Are you a bird-watching enthusiast? Then, Koshi Tappu Wildlife Reserve in eastern Nepal is the must-go destination for you. However, when I was there with my friends recently, we ended up discovering more than the birds.<br /><br />
<b>Home to migratory birds and wild water buffaloes</b><br />
Famous for bird watching, the reserve boasts of being home to more than 485 bird species, especially migratory birds flying from as far away as Siberia. Since we were there in the second week of April, the migratory birds had already left, but we were welcomed by the resident birds. Early in the morning, an Asian koel woke us up with its sweet cuckooing, chorused by coots. Then, as we roamed around the reserve, we spotted black-hooded orioles, swamphen, moorhen, white-rumped vultures, jungle babblers, drongos, flycatchers, doves, rufous treepies, open billed storks, lesser adjutant storks, and a greater adjutant stork, not to mention the different types of wild ducks and so many birds that we couldn't identify. I was simply amazed! Had we had more time, we'd have easily seen the precious Bengal florican in the grassland. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfi_ZK8AL25azPWVij22JaVSKRWxq_gemc5AiAyLRRoIQes24PwHIrsIFBrYGSwBWPYPs1BxfM9lXXyDRfrxtarxhudteEOWJpMFHz4VVdMWeewkqnn0ETNCok5s-0jjbInrpDL3BvuHed/s1600/Arna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfi_ZK8AL25azPWVij22JaVSKRWxq_gemc5AiAyLRRoIQes24PwHIrsIFBrYGSwBWPYPs1BxfM9lXXyDRfrxtarxhudteEOWJpMFHz4VVdMWeewkqnn0ETNCok5s-0jjbInrpDL3BvuHed/s400/Arna.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arna, the wild water buffalo</td></tr>
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The reserve is also known for its herd of wild water buffaloes, called 'arna' locally. They are famous for their long and sharp horns. When we were there, the arna count had begun and the reserve was closed for domestic tourists. However, after requesting the park authority and the army, we managed to get inside and observe the arna counting process. But, we were saddened by the presence of domestic cattle in the reserve. They were everywhere. The sad thing is, the wild buffaloes might turn into a breed of hybrid buffaloes due to breeding with domestic buffaloes that get inside the reserve for grazing.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZcftKpgxHFmXq1wBnDw7yCa1GXUtSGzVfn6E-KuRSiLtvtdAdyTAIOsGnKMPFuc31ojgwa8Y74Czbz4vTFZy3VKrBnecEQdVvxUOiXEQnincdxZGR6NDUsjernwonbzB7deSzLx6Qp6_/s1600/ArnaHorns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZcftKpgxHFmXq1wBnDw7yCa1GXUtSGzVfn6E-KuRSiLtvtdAdyTAIOsGnKMPFuc31ojgwa8Y74Czbz4vTFZy3VKrBnecEQdVvxUOiXEQnincdxZGR6NDUsjernwonbzB7deSzLx6Qp6_/s400/ArnaHorns.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arna horns</td></tr>
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<b>Noisy construction in the heart of the reserve</b><br />
As we moved further, we were disheartened by the loud noise coming from a construction site within the core area of the reserve. A part of the reserve had been encroached by scores of construction workers, mixer machines, and tractors, and polluted by construction materials, the high volume of music played by them, and the sound of machines, motors, and vehicles. The reserve authorities could have allocated a piece of land away from the wetland to make the concrete pillars for the biodykes being installed at the banks of the Koshi River, and could have spared the precious habitat of so many birds! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMmqf0qeIYWoYUtOrU0RyVer8Y2_BOF1W9aANHeGDqe_ZvEhElSKHDBPOpG0zExpsC96POQXliP4dqRkCIJ72u_TU0m1pBu33rh7uRJ9DVUniyakfuAA0NboaaSoGWa7RJ648Efno1DSC/s1600/ConstructionWorkersInKoshiTappu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMmqf0qeIYWoYUtOrU0RyVer8Y2_BOF1W9aANHeGDqe_ZvEhElSKHDBPOpG0zExpsC96POQXliP4dqRkCIJ72u_TU0m1pBu33rh7uRJ9DVUniyakfuAA0NboaaSoGWa7RJ648Efno1DSC/s400/ConstructionWorkersInKoshiTappu.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noisy construction inside the reserve</td></tr>
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Seeing the sad scene, we asked our guide to take us to the site where the dykes were installed. Driving to the north of the reserve, we came across embankments and dykes on the banks of Koshi River near Prakashpur. This section was breached by the swelling floods in August 2008 that displaced more than 50,000 in Nepal and more than 3 million people in India. According to tourism entrepreneur Chakra Timsina, learning from the experiences of the People's Republic of China, the Koshi Barrage Management Authority (Government of India) started installing these dykes along with gabion wire embankment and spurs in between. And it has worked! But Timsina mentioned that a few greedy locals had been stealing the poles and selling them at Rs 700 (around 7 USD) apiece in the local market. They're used to manufacturing low-cost houses. They've still learnt nothing from the bank-breaching which happened as the embankment could not hold the waters. The fierce floods swept away the embankment, since a few locals had cut and stolen the gabion wires holding the boulders. The greed of a handful caused such great disaster in 2008, and we can't rest assured that it might not happen in the future, if people keep stealing these poles. God forbid!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95zSmm9tz2xmAy7asTVwr6D7ZG-j-kAea3XiuphqtBThOQ4m5snqHTyIMzTNFviEEJheVMLZ7zu3fIYclS9ZYbPyF9DHghk-RseOdh0k7F61AFPpBb3NCvzbxklfbQeJGWCXH9tSvzr-E/s1600/FloodBlockers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95zSmm9tz2xmAy7asTVwr6D7ZG-j-kAea3XiuphqtBThOQ4m5snqHTyIMzTNFviEEJheVMLZ7zu3fIYclS9ZYbPyF9DHghk-RseOdh0k7F61AFPpBb3NCvzbxklfbQeJGWCXH9tSvzr-E/s400/FloodBlockers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dykes at the banks of Koshi River</td></tr>
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<b>Sad fate of dolphins</b><br />
Once we were done with the bird-watching and moving around the reserve, we set out to meet the reserve officers to inform them of the noisy construction going on inside the reserve. But, when I saw a dead baby dolphin displayed at the reserve's visitor centre-cum-museum, it made me cry. The dolphin was caught in a gillnet in the Koshi River few months ago. It finally died after struggling to survive. And, it's only the tip of the iceberg. Several other dolphins and rare fishes had had similar fates. Sadly, a recent dolphin count in Koshi in 2016 came up with just nine dolphins. Due to over-fishing and destruction of their habitat, their numbers are declining, not to mention the dangerous gillnets that wound them and finally kill them.<br /> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Udb3B6ZmFrpUY93vqHIgICVn9WTuEt61ny-cRMd5DwJwVyW-tHUaFnAZ4KhPQN2AZV1tfQmqMBFF2W8BFnncvuPEsuPuFof-NLMzZHf8hQkaiTFe0JRVrHlNZPY4IYfCqI7-1zQvwzRi/s1600/Dolphin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Udb3B6ZmFrpUY93vqHIgICVn9WTuEt61ny-cRMd5DwJwVyW-tHUaFnAZ4KhPQN2AZV1tfQmqMBFF2W8BFnncvuPEsuPuFof-NLMzZHf8hQkaiTFe0JRVrHlNZPY4IYfCqI7-1zQvwzRi/s400/Dolphin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dolphin that died after getting caught in gillnet</td></tr>
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We complained about the construction with the officer who had arrived from Kathmandu to monitor the arna count. He assured us they would take the issue seriously. I was saddened by the dolphin’s fate, but once we came out of the reserve, I was happy again to see the fields of sunflowers on the way out. Once planted by gardeners, sunflowers are being preferred by farmers over other cash crops in Prakashpur and Koshi Barrage area. They've started planting them commercially. If you're a photographer, you won't be able to contain yourself from clicking loads of pictures of these sunflower farms!<br /><b> </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRghyphenhyphen34-3IZpSh1aui2FI_EwxElxyQJT27x1bMjjfh5iQF3mU8F4-HDy_tD6EeHSaeeki5Ieaj_OZj-5vrmmcKRIDiDWyT-IWpTPzfC9kA6h2JLHm6lUaZFKXxqQEa-MRmcliC88vqcqS/s1600/SunflowerFarming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLRghyphenhyphen34-3IZpSh1aui2FI_EwxElxyQJT27x1bMjjfh5iQF3mU8F4-HDy_tD6EeHSaeeki5Ieaj_OZj-5vrmmcKRIDiDWyT-IWpTPzfC9kA6h2JLHm6lUaZFKXxqQEa-MRmcliC88vqcqS/s400/SunflowerFarming.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunflower farming is on the rise in Koshi Barrage area</td></tr>
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<b>Delicious fishes of Koshi River</b><br />
On our way back home, we decided to taste the local fishes from the Koshi River. When asked, everybody suggested us to visit Sambhu Hotel by the river. The eatery, established during the East-West Highway construction era, is in a narrow street to the south of the river's eastern banks. You'll never get lost getting here, as everybody in the vicinity knows about it and will happily tell you the directions to the hotel. Once you reach here, you can choose the fish of your choice, which are then cooked by an old man and garnished by the lady who runs the shop with her sons. The fish are sourced from the local fishermen who earn their living by fishing in the river. I bet you'll love the taste and decide to return again and again!<br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpDhUcjCddhewfEtjDvl6CP0HrTIyi3ZI8OD2obRCJoeteCgDcwVk0d1JDso6oR-4JWZ1CDZxxbESuq7NE56WnAAJ-i0iwUQd0bUcC6USZUxZ__hvDykdTl2xn2WrAw-2AkOtB225jwV1/s1600/FishingInKoshi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpDhUcjCddhewfEtjDvl6CP0HrTIyi3ZI8OD2obRCJoeteCgDcwVk0d1JDso6oR-4JWZ1CDZxxbESuq7NE56WnAAJ-i0iwUQd0bUcC6USZUxZ__hvDykdTl2xn2WrAw-2AkOtB225jwV1/s400/FishingInKoshi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishing in the Koshi River</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqm59xoBzQ_LHHVaq8eCgDD3orJxslgG5ZgkD77-60bh903tApGUZEiLOvd0LfsqmeZD601gCzGDSWYpwzitJCDmgDE9-WZYpF3za-7W9_74kh1YxBpAVtcJma75BVA3tWrJ0nrEFCd_R/s1600/FishfromKoshi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqm59xoBzQ_LHHVaq8eCgDD3orJxslgG5ZgkD77-60bh903tApGUZEiLOvd0LfsqmeZD601gCzGDSWYpwzitJCDmgDE9-WZYpF3za-7W9_74kh1YxBpAVtcJma75BVA3tWrJ0nrEFCd_R/s400/FishfromKoshi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fishes from Koshi River</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZq0sD-IPY3qj7SQfZhqd1Lzge9Cl322y71p_gjcHpL0hvg4-U2yogMDWH6uBmtkrtlVIzCMt75RhZs-iLPLtcbUwwF29kMsw9bvOCw1C-QbwOXKB_maQUgJecyDKkbOBoFJ47AS8xVWU/s1600/ShambhuHotelKitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZq0sD-IPY3qj7SQfZhqd1Lzge9Cl322y71p_gjcHpL0hvg4-U2yogMDWH6uBmtkrtlVIzCMt75RhZs-iLPLtcbUwwF29kMsw9bvOCw1C-QbwOXKB_maQUgJecyDKkbOBoFJ47AS8xVWU/s400/ShambhuHotelKitchen.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shambhu Hotel</td></tr>
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After filling our empty stomachs, we decided to watch dolphins in the Koshi River. We waited for half an hour focussing on the river waters, but I could not see even a single dolphin, though my friends claimed to see a dolphin’s back. Rather than looking for dolphins, I was interested in a fisherman scouring the fierce waters with a hand net. Standing on the edge of the barrage foundation, on a sweltering day, looking for fish – life is so difficult for the locals!<br /><br />
Crossing the barrage, we came across small shanties put up by fishmongers. There were fishes everywhere. The barrage and the surrounding have some special kind of smell wafting around and if you're a fish lover, you'll love it. The fishmongers sell all kinds of fish, including <i>buari, chitalpeti, kanti, tengra, bam</i>, shrimps, and many other local varieties. Among them you can find small fishes growing one-three inches long, called <i>koshia</i>. They taste amazing!<br /><br />
And, finally we waited for the sunset, to capture the silhouettes of cattle on the dam, returning home after grazing in the reserve. It was an out of this world feeling!<br /><b> </b><br />
<b>Barmajhiyako peda, one of the most delicious sweets produced in eastern Nepal</b><br />
It was already dark when we left the Koshi Barrage. However, we decided to indulge in a local sweet peda, made from pure milk. You'll find scores of shops selling peda in Barmajhiya, a small town on the way back from Koshi River. They sell the same product and have similar names. And all claim that they're the original shop established by an old man, Baidhyanath Sah. As suggested by the locals, we easily located the '<i>Budho Baba Peda Pasal</i>', meaning old man's peda shop, adjacent to the Armed Police Force beat. And it happened to be the original one! The shop owner said, "Just look for this banyan tree next to our shop and you'll never fail to recognise our shop." The old man, who left this world a few years ago, started making peda and it became an instant hit among the locals and people visiting eastern Nepal, thanks to the quality of the product. Since then, scores of other shopkeepers have started selling peda, making this place a hub of peda business. But the peda from this original shop has something special about it. It tastes amazing!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp4qwqNK6OMegnDK8cGLFqW2RoqWNqBkkoPhNTocX4aZuT7hiRrF1P10tmgXBkJAD8JOGSmOYs6wbujSN3mH-xfjz3czz5jkrTANFnCbkrHYhaFME5kpM7C78NLVNDjo5H-5QoPSzayUAs/s1600/BudhoBajekoPeda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp4qwqNK6OMegnDK8cGLFqW2RoqWNqBkkoPhNTocX4aZuT7hiRrF1P10tmgXBkJAD8JOGSmOYs6wbujSN3mH-xfjz3czz5jkrTANFnCbkrHYhaFME5kpM7C78NLVNDjo5H-5QoPSzayUAs/s400/BudhoBajekoPeda.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peda, a delicious sweet made from milk</td></tr>
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We sped towards Lahan, a small town on the East-West Highway, to find rooms for the night’s rest, with the smell and taste of fish and peda still lingering in our memories.<br /><br /></div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-25770043972944497112018-12-20T13:53:00.000+05:452018-12-20T13:56:21.563+05:45Chepang Heritage Trail – a less travelled trekking route <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Chepang Village on the way to Shaktikhor</td></tr>
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<a href="http://ecs.com.np/destination/a-less-traveled-trekking-route" target="_blank">Republished from ECS</a><br />
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I had been on the lookout for a short but challenging trek. Since I had been to almost all the hiking routes around Kathmandu Valley and didn’t want to go very far from Kathmandu district, I couldn’t think of any appropriate trekking routes. Then, one of my friends suggested going for the Chepang Heritage Trail. As usual, I searched the internet and looked for information, but most of the sites suggested a trek of four-six days, starting from Kathmandu and ending in Chitwan’s Shaktikhor. And, even the names differed—some called it Chepang Hill Trek, while others called it Chitwan Chepang Hill Trail. But the mention of Chepangs, the once hunter-gatherer tribe, and Shaktikhor, was enough for me to pack my bags and jump at the proposition.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hugdi Khola bridge</td></tr>
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We started our trek from the Hugdi Khola bridge on the Kathmandu-Mugling highway, which is around an hour-and-half drive from Thankot. The trek, promoted by Tourism for Rural Poverty Alleviation Programme (TRPAP), takes you through Chepang villages to Hattibang and Siraichuli, one of the highest hills of the more than ten adjacent districts, and then to Shaktikhor of Chitwan. We had a sumptuous meal at Mauwa Khola nearby, since the eateries at Hugdi said they would take at least an hour to prepare the food. It was almost noon as we started ascending the steps from Hugdi Khola. There’s a big signage showing you the directions to Kathmandu, Mugling, and Siraichuli. We headed straight towards Siraichuli and followed the signages on the way. The trail passes through villages and is scenic. You’ll never feel tired or bored. Most of the villagers we met on the way asked us where we were heading to. I guess not many trekkers opt for this trail, that’s why they were so curious.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dilapidated primary school at Jogimara.</td></tr>
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As we climbed uphill and passed some villages, we came across a primary school, Shree Chitrakala Prathamik Vidhyalaya, established twenty-five years ago. It should have been celebrating its silver jubilee, but instead, it was in shambles. While Jogimara village isn't too far away from Kathmandu, the villages in the surrounding and the school haven't benefitted from the development drive going on everywhere. It was recess time when we reached there; the students were playing, and a lone teacher was out in the sun talking with two students. We should have taken at least few notebooks and pens for the students, that’s what came to my mind when I met them!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful village on the way to Hattibang.</td></tr>
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The trek sometimes gets strenuous, and you’ll need to munch something to keep yourself going. Fortunately, we had plenty of dry fruits and bottles of water with us; the trek doesn’t have many shops on the way. However, the landscapes are stunning. We found a few decent shops as we reached Kot. It was a perfect stop for a cup of hot lemon tea. The tea and biscuits tasted heavenly after the long walk. Then, we resumed our trek to Hattibang.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hattibang derives its name from this huge stone.</td></tr>
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It took us almost four and half hours to reach Hattibang from Hugdi Khola. Hattibang derives its name from a big stone on the premises of a school. As per the locals, in Chepang language 'bang' means a stone, and since the stone resembles an elephant (at least like its head, to me), the area is called Hattibang. It takes around five hours to reach here from Hugdi Khola for trekkers. However, the locals can get here in less than three hours. There are several homestays, the biggest one is run by a ‘Ramji’, and anybody in the village will show you the way to his lodge.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lodge at Hattibang</td></tr>
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We had booked rooms at his place by phone from our starting point at Hugdi Khola. After arriving at his lodge, we dumped our bags, had tea, and went for a village tour. As you move farther from the marketplace, you’ll come across more traditional houses. And in fact, they look more beautiful. The Chepang houses were farther from the main bazaar, smaller than the other houses, and far from each other. However, the village looked vibrant, and people were talking in groups, laughing and making merry, which is hard to see in the city!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A traditional house at Hattibang.</td></tr>
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If you manage to get to Hattibang earlier, you can go around the village and talk to locals about their way of life. Since it was getting darker and colder outside, we returned to the lodge and spent the evening in the dining room. We had local free range chicken, rum, and honey before dinner. It took away all the fatigue and pain, and we slept like babies! Next day, we started our climb to Siraichuli early in the morning. As advised by Ramji, we carried enough water and snacks, since there are no eateries and water sources till you get to Shaktikhor. On the way, we came across many wild flowers and fruits. If you’re an Instagrammer, I’m sure you’ll end up clicking hundreds of pictures on this route.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWClD6cNfJ2MMh026Ly1AHgbx6k_sf4MEvUkfC86slhFb_gpse35F3mvQ_N5UN5WRaojKnTvOyR3D6fwdhGkFup1acc1lb-UkeoHHFKzbZ8Dam7_CcQXOgKxgYlWFWsUxJ_5x4iHzXyIu/s1600/Wildberries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWClD6cNfJ2MMh026Ly1AHgbx6k_sf4MEvUkfC86slhFb_gpse35F3mvQ_N5UN5WRaojKnTvOyR3D6fwdhGkFup1acc1lb-UkeoHHFKzbZ8Dam7_CcQXOgKxgYlWFWsUxJ_5x4iHzXyIu/s400/Wildberries.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild berries</td></tr>
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Finally, after one and a half hours’ uphill trek from Hattibang, we reached Siraichuli, the tallest peak in the adjacent twelve districts, as told by locals. There's a temple, a building, and a platform with railings from where you can see the Himalayan range, Chitwan bazaar, and even Kathmandu. But, since it was a hazy day, we could only see the mountain range and the surrounding hills. So sad! However, getting there was the ultimate achievement for us. The cool gusts of wind blowing past our faces refreshed us, and we were off for another leg of the journey—descending down to Shaktikhor.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siraichuli view point</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siraichuli peak</td></tr>
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We had an option to get to Gadhi, but it would take us another five-six hours to get there from Siraichuli, and then again more than four hours from there to get to Shaktikhor, so we decided to skip Gadhi. We came across a Chepang house as we descended from Siraichuli. Two babies were playing on the premises with a goat kid. The mud and bamboo house with its thatched roof looked beautiful, but the babies had minimal clothing, even though it was still a cold day. Sadly, we had only one chocolate with us, so we asked the elder kid to share it with his sibling. I wished we had taken some baby clothes with us! But the house had a solar panel on the roof, and it brought a smile to my face.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jyandala, a Chepang village on the way.</td></tr>
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As we descended further, we reached Jyandala, a beautiful village on the way to Shaktikhor. The houses there looked modern in comparison to the traditional Chepang houses. Talking with a farmer ploughing his field, we came to know that they also have homestay facilities in the village. But we didn't stop, we kept moving, as we had to reach Shaktikhor.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siraichuli School</td></tr>
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It was 9:54 a.m. when we reached Shree Siraichuli Rashtriya Prathamik Vidhyalaya, a primary school in Jyandala. It was neither a Saturday nor a public holiday. However, neither a single student nor a teacher had arrived. It was only six minutes for the school to start its regular classes, but there was pin-drop silence. This shows why people in this area are lagging behind. They've other priorities before education; rather than sending their children to school, they're compelled to make them work in farms, factories, and eateries. When will the little children be able to study without having the burden of earning daily bread for their families?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful landscape on the way to Shaktikhor</td></tr>
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The trek route was full of scenic landscape, but it was sad to see wrappers of noodles and plastic bottles of locally produced spirits everywhere along the Chepang Trail, and at chautaris, the stop-overs with shady trees, there were scores of alcohol bottles. That’s the harsh reality of growing industrialization, too much packaging of products, so that the consumers find it easy to carry, and because of that single benefit you find litter everywhere. Can't we get back to the olden days of less packaging and do away with the polluting plastic bottles and wrappers?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTj6BhCsca1sn_FNMXbSA3lHYJuZTC-8ruP_9YNili1QHpi32QKoDLpA-Xa9XImJVqOquWKUftQ6BgYsDzyvcTqSHYdo_c-fg2rU9NUnNQx6jvV8H39wbpXcjovZYgHBeweSklzd8UHXU/s1600/HouseOntheEdgeOfCliff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTj6BhCsca1sn_FNMXbSA3lHYJuZTC-8ruP_9YNili1QHpi32QKoDLpA-Xa9XImJVqOquWKUftQ6BgYsDzyvcTqSHYdo_c-fg2rU9NUnNQx6jvV8H39wbpXcjovZYgHBeweSklzd8UHXU/s400/HouseOntheEdgeOfCliff.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful landscape on the way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The last stop before the vertical descent to Shaktikhor was a flat piece of hill. From here, we could see the town below clearly, and I thought it would take just half an hour to reach the foot of the hill, but it turned out to be much more than that, and exhausting it was! On the route we saw beautiful houses on the edge of cliffs painted with the red clay found abundantly in the area. The laborious people living there have turned the barren land into agricultural plots and terrace fields for growing crops. While we enjoyed the calm and peace of the walk in the less frequented trail, it was a soothing experience for our ears to listen to the music played on high volume in one of those houses!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKwwZ9IBR2LEI7eWQpA9JtCZEuMCamcW-GyW6O04DBCTjHXu0P6daRO_9CL8-aHrjJ9z3FZ7otj9u-wkRbbUoRvGTP6e5wEKPzNkx4viPB7n7IbXoIsJoHD74yiPjoPUXDIUU8e5k0Hpz/s1600/Fodder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKwwZ9IBR2LEI7eWQpA9JtCZEuMCamcW-GyW6O04DBCTjHXu0P6daRO_9CL8-aHrjJ9z3FZ7otj9u-wkRbbUoRvGTP6e5wEKPzNkx4viPB7n7IbXoIsJoHD74yiPjoPUXDIUU8e5k0Hpz/s400/Fodder.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grass promoted by a non government organisation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we continued our trek, we came across a hill full of dried fodder grass. Only when we asked a local, we came to know about its existence. The fodder grass was introduced to the Chepang village (on the way to Shaktikor) with the expectation that it would help lessen the deforestation. However, the villagers never used this grass as fodder; they continued lopping off tree branches, since their goats and cattle preferred the leaves. While the non-government organization promoting this grass spent a fortune on implementing the 'best practice' from somewhere else, its strategic advisors forgot that only 'best fit' activities work in a local context. While we talk about going global, we undermine the fact that every little strategy needs to be contextualized according to the local requirements.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChZn0cAjLF7JfTm0xC89XFmLu7ulktTUhMcwbbtbDC6-vMbR-Oky_akj6TiGu-mJQ1zaXpianhat_nhe2WLmepdXGPJWwbkWw2HOGwHu5IGR9K0kvZZPZtsYpjCvIhthB8Lh-VxD0nXiz/s1600/Home-made+alcohol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiChZn0cAjLF7JfTm0xC89XFmLu7ulktTUhMcwbbtbDC6-vMbR-Oky_akj6TiGu-mJQ1zaXpianhat_nhe2WLmepdXGPJWwbkWw2HOGwHu5IGR9K0kvZZPZtsYpjCvIhthB8Lh-VxD0nXiz/s400/Home-made+alcohol.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home-made alcohol</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Once again, we came across a beautiful Chepang village at the end of the Chepang Hill Trek. The village has transformed into a modern settlement, thanks to its proximity to Shaktikhor, a fast growing town, and a bridge linking Shaktikhor with the villages. However, we were saddened to know the source of prosperity—home-made alcohol business. Almost all the houses were distilling alcohol from the rice brought from Shaktikhor. They not only made money, but were quarrelling with each other under the stupor. And that's a real bad sign!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHlpMi46v0OOTcQBhUdS_LbACJvD68jvYG1NttFV5e7qyBFsZNADELkARq153OcecGY7-1PN08eduycgs-skE633wCAgNAcHDc4vc8A78Vm8Y2EnaE72_x_tjy-gJ1TwELP6L-Fn3HtbV/s1600/ChiuriTree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHlpMi46v0OOTcQBhUdS_LbACJvD68jvYG1NttFV5e7qyBFsZNADELkARq153OcecGY7-1PN08eduycgs-skE633wCAgNAcHDc4vc8A78Vm8Y2EnaE72_x_tjy-gJ1TwELP6L-Fn3HtbV/s400/ChiuriTree.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A chiuri tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As we descended, we came across many Chiuri trees. Also known as Indian butter, the trees are culturally significant for the Chepangs. According to development worker Rishi Adhikari, Chepangs give chiuri trees as dowry to their daughters during marriage, and along with the tree, the bride and groom also get the land occupied by the tree. But, apart from this tradition, one can extract oil and butter that goes into herbal soap making. The honey collected during the chiuri flowering season has something special about it. So, why not promote this multipurpose tree?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rBe6LBgsil3peSqYe4UGKe1QFctoeT5yOxDjrjI7XD2D5O4ahosellYGrlfe_uWzhT1fRQZvkHAulqT1VbD4Kdy1Xi6QyLSu_k7v3mo149aoQaF09KVPQvOzRQ9vQX3_iBl7iGYgUCnA/s1600/EateryShaktikhor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4rBe6LBgsil3peSqYe4UGKe1QFctoeT5yOxDjrjI7XD2D5O4ahosellYGrlfe_uWzhT1fRQZvkHAulqT1VbD4Kdy1Xi6QyLSu_k7v3mo149aoQaF09KVPQvOzRQ9vQX3_iBl7iGYgUCnA/s400/EateryShaktikhor.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An eatery at Shaktikhor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally, we reached Shaktikhor after around six hours’ of continuous trek from Hattibang. We were tired, thirsty, and hungry, and back to the noisy city, but memories from the trek took away all the fatigue and pain!<br />
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sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-29632864679850907482018-08-22T11:41:00.002+05:452018-08-22T11:49:38.322+05:45Mangmalung – here I come!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Jv16gbqw3IHQFhuyRgfhHlw7NpzYyBEWtMg42JgHEKv3RH4F38ZBNyiZDAelCsYje05pIUsWQfa0R10b7LwqNqjMCVWswRXUB9CMuunh9mQLTki4Et80XK4hotmKlWRlaIXklOxj4HZN/s1600/Sunset_as_seen_from_Mangmalung.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Jv16gbqw3IHQFhuyRgfhHlw7NpzYyBEWtMg42JgHEKv3RH4F38ZBNyiZDAelCsYje05pIUsWQfa0R10b7LwqNqjMCVWswRXUB9CMuunh9mQLTki4Et80XK4hotmKlWRlaIXklOxj4HZN/s400/Sunset_as_seen_from_Mangmalung.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset, as seen from Mangmalung.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It would turn out to be a lazy day. I was
mumbling on my bed as the clock stroke 4:30 am. However, I had to catch an
early night bus from Itahari that would take just one hour to reach Damak – our
starting point of the unplanned trek. Generally, the local buses take up to two
hours to cross the same distance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was raining cats and dogs and I
unwillingly packed my laptop, diary, pen, toiletries and sets of clothes for
the week-long trip. As I waded through the water-clogged streets, the street
dogs barked at me and hadn’t it been so early in the morning, I would have
howled back! Funny, isn’t it?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Finally, I jumped on a bus heading to
Kakarvitta. Since it was coming from Kathmandu, all seats were packed and I had
to stand while everybody was sleeping without any worries. And exactly in an
hour I was at Damak!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I met with my friend and trek companion
Dilli Rai at the bus stop and went to his house to have some breakfast before
starting the journey. His sister-in-law fed us well and handed us a comb of
bananas and a kilo apples which we tucked inside our bags. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Since it started raining again, we thought
of buying raincoats. However, while buying biscuits and other tidbits in a
grocery, the shopkeeper suggested an ingenious idea. We bought one and half
metres of plastic sheets and he helped us tie them around our bodies as
makeshift raincoats. It would, at least, save our laptops and cameras! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then it was the turn to buy shoes and
sandals. Since it was raining and we would need to walk through flooded rivers,
I bought a sturdy pair of sandals and my friend bought a pair of Goldstar shoes
for the stretch of trek following the crossing of the infamous river on the
way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd2fcYxl75DjVpPeB_mBvqPhDCngPdaVu3hSTzueJiy0xao1RzcWlewaGSqSiMjbZcr11VSOYlwr0CS63CYperuA-x6Y-mJRdvcWQ7IFJWDV-thDSocoskkenuW7Hxof30S1s6SeeBOEG/s1600/Beldangi_refugee_Camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd2fcYxl75DjVpPeB_mBvqPhDCngPdaVu3hSTzueJiy0xao1RzcWlewaGSqSiMjbZcr11VSOYlwr0CS63CYperuA-x6Y-mJRdvcWQ7IFJWDV-thDSocoskkenuW7Hxof30S1s6SeeBOEG/s400/Beldangi_refugee_Camp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beldangi Refugee Camp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">From <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLgC2pmBRCi/" target="_blank">Damak to Beldangi</a>, the Bhutanese
refugee camp, was the easiest part of the journey since we rode a city safari,
a battery powered <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tuktuk</i>. From there
we started on foot and walked the whole day braving the rain, landslides and
flash floods on the way. It took us an hour to reach <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLgDmKXBNcL/" target="_blank">Chapeti</a> where we crossed
the Ratuwa Khola. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wild flower, clicked on the way to Chapeti.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">After three hours of continuous walk in the
incessant rain we arrived at <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLhglFygwCm/" target="_blank">an eatery in Singphere</a> run by a Limbu lady from
Kurumba. She offered us hot coffee and noodles soup and while parting <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLkR3bZA5xC/" target="_blank">refusedto take the payment</a>. The kind gesture is rare in the cities these days,
however, it is still common in rural areas. The Limbu women treat visitors from
their maternal place as special guests and my trek mate hails from the same
place as the lady’s maternal house.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwoQvhlQ55U73jmCJUaQ8nXVhksph6wDqOG1v9JI8BoASdRsFMLnVfwqaKJGUoOXKgVa-K-hwMq3UvsRIaN6Etn5KgYkmh2R-IblLj9DRb1-D8rsQXViQ7LRm0AMbjmE_SN-kPbdAihG0/s1600/River_and_the_gorge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwoQvhlQ55U73jmCJUaQ8nXVhksph6wDqOG1v9JI8BoASdRsFMLnVfwqaKJGUoOXKgVa-K-hwMq3UvsRIaN6Etn5KgYkmh2R-IblLj9DRb1-D8rsQXViQ7LRm0AMbjmE_SN-kPbdAihG0/s400/River_and_the_gorge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The river and the gorge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We then <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLkUtWIAew6/" target="_blank">passed through gorges</a>, with hills
on both sides covered with moss and water dropping from the top. It felt like
some rain forest adventure. After crossing the same river more than hundred
times, we started climbing a hillock. Trekking uphill for almost an hour we
reached Larumba and a scenic landscape was before our eyes. Larumba is
dominantly inhabited by the Limbus and the area is famous for its black gram,
called '<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mas</i>' in Nepali.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdsML_NZoffdi59eaTxOTa9tBSqtnExie5ru2PNCu4NbqLQqW17XmetucdDTHMeM0hblqC9Fust7HuAL2yFnw1WdcbgAZuriUdHac0RFcnsfnBC5lg1tSI9Hzl-VE-mKibvkCUcT8Y9Sq/s1600/Larumba1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdsML_NZoffdi59eaTxOTa9tBSqtnExie5ru2PNCu4NbqLQqW17XmetucdDTHMeM0hblqC9Fust7HuAL2yFnw1WdcbgAZuriUdHac0RFcnsfnBC5lg1tSI9Hzl-VE-mKibvkCUcT8Y9Sq/s400/Larumba1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenic view of Larumba</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Then we came across <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLm3TW8gp1O/" target="_blank">a fresh landslide</a> on
the way. The mud and stones were still flowing down with the landslide. We were
afraid of the sight but when we saw two girls crossing the section, we followed
them. They were busy washing their feet in a stream after the crossing the
section but asked us where we were headed to. We said, "<i>Panchami.</i>"
"<i>Oh, it's still five hours away</i>," they said.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The clock stroke seven in the evening when
we reached Banjho. Only few minutes ago I had fallen asleep near a graveyard
and woke up only when my friend called me from uphill. I dragged myself up to
the main road. But I could not walk further. It had been 10 hours and we had
stopped only at some places for few minutes each. We decided to ask for shelter
and the house owners kindly offered us <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLm3mmTgtvL/" target="_blank">free food and free stay</a>. It was good
decision that we stayed – it rained cats and dogs just after we laid down on
our beds!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnrAiQ3-kdloFNSnsFAXqkzVejt3NQDAViV2JEoklSW1QYJmJCQ55r5EAP3yveTTDaXys4NN3bB-tL72gna7HjzIRdKcOJB0T0dGcV23OZ6_wgyoO9lLR2KHiJf575y7-76JrpYdQ8y0I7/s1600/Traditional_house_on_the_way_to_Mangmalung.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnrAiQ3-kdloFNSnsFAXqkzVejt3NQDAViV2JEoklSW1QYJmJCQ55r5EAP3yveTTDaXys4NN3bB-tL72gna7HjzIRdKcOJB0T0dGcV23OZ6_wgyoO9lLR2KHiJf575y7-76JrpYdQ8y0I7/s400/Traditional_house_on_the_way_to_Mangmalung.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A traditional house on the way to Panchami</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Next morning, we started early and passed
through traditional houses, small tea-shops and community forests. On the way
we came across fields of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">amriso</i>. Ilam
district in Eastern Nepal is <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BLnwHiYA4H0/" target="_blank">famous for five 'As'</a> -- <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aduwa</i> (ginger), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">alainchi</i>
(cardamom), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">amriso</i> (broom grass), <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aaloo</i> (potato), and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">akbare</i> (hot chilli). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Finally, after four hours’ walk we were at
Chitre, a small bazaar on the way to Panchami. We talked with local leaders who
would accompany us to Mangmalung the next day. We stayed at Panchami bazaar
which was again an hour’s walk from Chitre. It was a stop-over for people
travelling to Darjeeling, Sikkim and Bhutan in the earlier days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0mVBVb_rbvh-WhF5tl2vKQr7uvaaSBBgwy0vRBSOpiTNcMlGuZBvGB6zs5-2Oc-soPrk_86zoCFJlf1-udhfP6P9F7TXTSvy0-QhEhhebBhWXpZE4dpvrGqjkCTXxIeweVCp3UEzZ92_/s1600/Group_promoting_Mangmalung.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0mVBVb_rbvh-WhF5tl2vKQr7uvaaSBBgwy0vRBSOpiTNcMlGuZBvGB6zs5-2Oc-soPrk_86zoCFJlf1-udhfP6P9F7TXTSvy0-QhEhhebBhWXpZE4dpvrGqjkCTXxIeweVCp3UEzZ92_/s400/Group_promoting_Mangmalung.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Together with local leaders from Mangmalung</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Next day, along with the local leaders and
the main priest of Mangmalung religious site, we headed to explore the area. This
religious site spreading over 45 hectares comprises forest, caves and huge
stones of different shapes and forms. ‘<i>Mangma</i>’ means a lady shaman and ‘<i>lung</i>’
means a stone in Rai and Limbu languages. According to the caretaker priest
Yahanchang Bhavendra Mampahang Rai, Guru Jyotinanda discovered, excavated and
identified the huge stones scattered here and there throughout the forest.
Famed yogis and gurus like Falgunanda, Atmananda Lingden among others meditated
in the caves sprawling around in the forest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guru Bhavendra Rai</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“<i>The area was a dense forest and travellers
had to pass through it on their journey to Darjeeling, Sikkim and Bhutan</i>,” said
Kiran Rai, a local leader from Chitre. “<i>According to legends, there lived a
huge serpentine ghost in a pond and it used to devour the travellers, cattle
and the local people frequenting the area.</i>”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuwHywbGOpRc0XCV9qhO93P3DW7jc3AASTE0dfca_m6qt4ZMKEZm1fZ5U4Pe736g4BLjDJL0NUX2kiwd4KlwMBaOfj3heUIED8mCvjEd5epKaFYmasBLEAoYaAtDq1WiwdyNPdRRy1KXw/s1600/Bijuwani_stone_split_into_seven_parts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuwHywbGOpRc0XCV9qhO93P3DW7jc3AASTE0dfca_m6qt4ZMKEZm1fZ5U4Pe736g4BLjDJL0NUX2kiwd4KlwMBaOfj3heUIED8mCvjEd5epKaFYmasBLEAoYaAtDq1WiwdyNPdRRy1KXw/s400/Bijuwani_stone_split_into_seven_parts.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stone with seven cracks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">To get rid of the ghost, the locals called
a ‘<i>bijuwani</i>’, a lady shaman who used a brass plate to foretell the existence of
the ghost and while doing so, the stone nearby got seven cracks. She was
finally able to kill the serpentine ghost which slithered down a hole to the
current Ratuwa Khola before dying. People still believe the river got its name
after it turned red from the blood of the serpent. And Mangmalung got its name
after this incident!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqC3B_7R5_EFsgxI4yyqSAeLbujWF3443OOSQKoa2n5ruuVP2W1WRQcOMAFDCL8oXSEr2QhjQ-VvHdj2GZrRXgFTSPLVbmHPwXWSrG0TUc6LDNb3iYR0famfBXq-GIqFH9hS7KpR4sDoL/s1600/The_pond_where_the_serpent_stayed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqC3B_7R5_EFsgxI4yyqSAeLbujWF3443OOSQKoa2n5ruuVP2W1WRQcOMAFDCL8oXSEr2QhjQ-VvHdj2GZrRXgFTSPLVbmHPwXWSrG0TUc6LDNb3iYR0famfBXq-GIqFH9hS7KpR4sDoL/s400/The_pond_where_the_serpent_stayed.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pond where the serpent lived</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">It took us almost a day inside the forest
to visit each of the stone of different shape and form. Guru Bhavendra Rai was
generous to talk about the importance of each stone relating to the incidents
mentioned in Hindu scriptures. The most mysterious among them is a huge rock balanced
on another rock which moves easily even if you pressing its tip with your small
finger. I tried it and it started moving up and down. It has been there since
many years and nobody actually knows how it is balanced in such a way. People,
in the past, tried to move this rock to another place but none were successful
in doing so. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKO2dxl0Hhoyb7qr8oZz85q4L3nSWbEJUSmtur3DGoQLfYgTlldBcd6l9QLQCFOoKySe8ypicVRPEwUGXI0tG-hoKPIb5zkRHPQ9kGYDEAPwZQE0Z7LaMg4vENjXUXI7IUzjEQgNPpXLiw/s1600/The_mysterious_stone3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKO2dxl0Hhoyb7qr8oZz85q4L3nSWbEJUSmtur3DGoQLfYgTlldBcd6l9QLQCFOoKySe8ypicVRPEwUGXI0tG-hoKPIb5zkRHPQ9kGYDEAPwZQE0Z7LaMg4vENjXUXI7IUzjEQgNPpXLiw/s400/The_mysterious_stone3.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mysterious rock that can be easily moved by the tip of your small finger</td></tr>
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</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjwV3rHZff4TfFRjxoOaspMcjuwYrp9as6ZmTFbbhCUuC4Hwq-3toZO1scnl8y7T7KOZvCXEg65YsjI_nsWUPdnuTEyhrcfYMPyDtsIVO09-nJC_m6UHBro5vniZyiaFMcsKYejDc2QIX/s1600/Stones_at_Mangmalung2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjwV3rHZff4TfFRjxoOaspMcjuwYrp9as6ZmTFbbhCUuC4Hwq-3toZO1scnl8y7T7KOZvCXEg65YsjI_nsWUPdnuTEyhrcfYMPyDtsIVO09-nJC_m6UHBro5vniZyiaFMcsKYejDc2QIX/s400/Stones_at_Mangmalung2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rock at Mangmalung</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtwtLB1raExea_iUOW0WXU-0bYPrvPonJSejWl0L6ht8mFgqBDEctcoxZOhODVK1GiWpKUF7pQfz5fLYvD9oWJJCZNt_dJNsJ0QBJHJyvNA4koDqX64OM8GaGBLHVUvBGX6cSmZa3v7vL/s1600/Stones_at_Mangmalung3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtwtLB1raExea_iUOW0WXU-0bYPrvPonJSejWl0L6ht8mFgqBDEctcoxZOhODVK1GiWpKUF7pQfz5fLYvD9oWJJCZNt_dJNsJ0QBJHJyvNA4koDqX64OM8GaGBLHVUvBGX6cSmZa3v7vL/s400/Stones_at_Mangmalung3.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rock at Mangmalung</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We also ventured into two caves. At places
we had to crawl like crabs and it was dark throughout with only small openings
for light and air. However, one needs to be aware of bats and snakes in these
caves. Since there are numerous rocks bearing interesting structures resembling
animals, snakes, birds, gods and goddesses, you’ll need a local guide to learn
more about the structures and the area. </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Nob1G2WqqI6bkOzfYhPR9YbakMvjtytaKXqygLfjoYpkqjrpl9lq0vsyjx9N79YUxJNMKzcC_ZIMHkl5KVwOlnbSKp0-5rJFAYbciUQQSQTBesrgHfL7_r3Ba49kkHOGHxMLiX9dY8vw/s1600/Mangmalung_tea_estate1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Nob1G2WqqI6bkOzfYhPR9YbakMvjtytaKXqygLfjoYpkqjrpl9lq0vsyjx9N79YUxJNMKzcC_ZIMHkl5KVwOlnbSKp0-5rJFAYbciUQQSQTBesrgHfL7_r3Ba49kkHOGHxMLiX9dY8vw/s400/Mangmalung_tea_estate1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mangmalung Tea Estate</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB">In the evening we went to Mangmalung Tea
Estate. The tea gardens offer a spectacular sight and it’s different from other
tea gardens in Ilam. And if you stay till the sun sets, you’ll be able to see
the breathtaking view! </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">So when are you planning your trip to
Mangmalung? </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Read a <a href="http://ecs.com.np/features/trek-to-mystical-mangmalung" target="_blank">shorter version published in the ECS</a>. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Follow my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/sankuchy/" target="_blank">travel adventures on Instagram</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br />
</span></div>
</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-219357470291925382018-01-17T11:02:00.000+05:452018-01-17T11:02:45.076+05:45Ropeways and rural communities of Nepal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikKWoMxwFcrv-ZLIck78QDbEdmMvm23VxhJSwBozRiPxtLDEOwXB-ZLqQtXcDz18TXohI-1nMud-PL4gvwgH3IWSB5Nwp5zt1zkG5mkvlnAOPm4G9xjIAawP10EfAo_3HYG7odeUs7Wd0a/s1600/GravityGoodsRopeways.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikKWoMxwFcrv-ZLIck78QDbEdmMvm23VxhJSwBozRiPxtLDEOwXB-ZLqQtXcDz18TXohI-1nMud-PL4gvwgH3IWSB5Nwp5zt1zkG5mkvlnAOPm4G9xjIAawP10EfAo_3HYG7odeUs7Wd0a/s400/GravityGoodsRopeways.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A farmer at the upper station of a GGR. (C) Ganesh R Sinkemana</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>Ropeways, a neglected mode of transportation, can be life-saver for rural mountainous population</i><br />
<br />
<i>By Sanjib Chaudhary and Ganesh Ram Sinkemana</i><br />
<br />
We are obsessed with roads. Prior to the national planning process started in 1956, Nepal had only 626 km of roads and 59 km of railroads. Today, as per the 2015-16 data, we’ve built 12,493 km of strategic road network (SRN) though 50 per cent of the SRN is yet to be paved. However, we’ve turned a blind eye towards other modes of transport. <br />
<br />
<b>Suitable transportation for mountainous topography</b><br />
Considering Nepal’s topography, gravity goods ropeways have proved to be a life-saver for communities where road construction is very difficult. The aerial ropeways, built to connect communities living high up in the hills to road-heads, operate by gravitational force. Two trolleys, running on pulleys, go up and down simultaneously on parallel steel wires – while the one with heavier load gets down to the road-head due to gravity, the other with lighter weight goes up to the upper terminal . <br />
<br />
The first gravity goods ropeway was successfully run in Marpha, Mustang to transport apples from orchards to road-heads by Practical Action in association with International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD) in the year 2001. <br />
<br />
According to studies, aerial ropeways are three times cheaper than the equivalent road construction in Nepal and installing a gravity gods ropeway costs around Rs 25 lakh. While descending through the hilly tracks take two to three hours of walking to reach the road-head, the same load can get to the lower terminal in less than two minutes. This reduces the drudgery of the community people and saves a lot of time. The agricultural produce from the villages reaching market in no time means people are encouraged to produce more, eventually shifting to commercial farming. In a way, the ropeway acts like an enabler for inclusive business – integrating the smallholder farmers into national markets. <br />
<br />
The socioeconomic study of a gravity goods ropeway installed between Ghairang and Namtar Bazaar has reduced the transportation costs from Rs 5 to Rs 2 per kg and the agricultural produce are reaching bigger markets easily. This has also reduced the price of the products reaching Ghairang from Namtar. Since the gravity goods ropeway uses gravitational force, there is no extra cost involved to run the set-up. Two operators, one at each station can handle the process easily. <br />
<br />
<b>Apathy towards ropeways</b><br />
About 50 percent of Nepal’s population still lives at least four hours walk away from the nearest dry-season road. Looking at Nepal’s topography the importance of installing ropeways, at places inaccessible to build roads, is obvious. However, this technology has been neglected after the 3rd Plan. In the 1st Plan 1956-61, extensive survey for ropeway was planned but the first plan could not be achieved due to lack of finance, technical manpower and equipment. In the 3rd Plan 1965-70, National Transport Organization was established to coordinate the ropeway, railway and other means of transportation. <br />
<br />
While Adam Wybe, a Dutchman, constructed the first authenticated ropeway in 1644, for the city of Dantzig, Nepal’s first ropeway was constructed in 1924. The Halchowk to Lainchaur ropeway was 4 km long and was used to carry quarry stones to construct Rana palaces. The second was 22 km long Dhorsing – Bhimphedi to Matatirtha – Kathmandu ropeway constructed in 1927. Even the private sector has come forward constructing the Manakamana Cable Car and Chandragiri Cable Car. <br />
<br />
Nepalese experts have built gravity goods ropeways in Shamtse, Bhutan and have been invited to Myanmar and Nagaland, India to survey and help construct the ropeways. However, only around 20 gravity goods ropeways have been serving rural people in Nepal. The technology is taken as inferior to the new transport technologies and people still question why to go with this ages-old technology but forget their usefulness and environment friendly characteristics.<br />
<br />
Although the National Transport Policy (NTP), 2058 says that private sectors shall be encouraged to construct and operate ropeways in the areas where construction of road is dangerous in environmental and geographical view or where operating road transport is comparatively costly, it has never been practised in reality.<br />
<br />
We are in the transition times. While the NTP, 2058 talks nothing except roads, the government allocated Rs 800 million in the FY 2015/2016 for the feasibility study of metro and monorails. Our thinking should be futuristic but in the meantime let’s not forget the easier means of transportation available except the roads. </div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-5833745688972544502017-01-02T14:06:00.003+05:452020-12-09T21:54:09.660+05:45Nepal's own zero emission pump<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95NSQQT_Fyi1tmVySA-Y_x-5qjfZTOFUY8VXQdrzq4EsRgRnyAmfo6iusUEQJvcsoQ2soDvu7a205gtMgQN-XFT5bnyF4Kbi3w_rZ6JESRUfUbKY6vxcKOdBVXTwKFC1pymGMrgBg8DjW/s1600/IMG_1176.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95NSQQT_Fyi1tmVySA-Y_x-5qjfZTOFUY8VXQdrzq4EsRgRnyAmfo6iusUEQJvcsoQ2soDvu7a205gtMgQN-XFT5bnyF4Kbi3w_rZ6JESRUfUbKY6vxcKOdBVXTwKFC1pymGMrgBg8DjW/s400/IMG_1176.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Barsha pump runs without fuel or electricity. Photo by Ganesh R Sinkemana. Used with permission.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
'Barsha' means rain in Nepali and a pump recently introduced here is <a href="http://www.gizmag.com/aqysta-barsha-pump/34588/" target="_blank">pumping water to a height of 82 feet</a> at a maximum rate of 1 litre per second. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Pratap Thapa, co-founder of the company aQysta that is rolling out the pumps, <a href="http://www.dutchwatersector.com/news-events/news/12671-aqysta-builds-six-new-river-powered-low-cost-barsha-pumps-for-farmers-in-nepal.html" target="_blank">got inspired to design the pump thinking of his farm</a> on the slopes near a river. So, he named it Barsha. <br />
<br />
The pump, also known as a spiral or coil pump, comprises a water wheel with flexible hosepipe spiralling on it. The <a href="http://wonderfulengineering.com/this-new-irrigation-pump-doesnt-need-fuel-or-electricity-to-pump-water/" target="_blank">wheel is affixed to a platform</a> that floats on the flowing river water. <br />
<br />
As water enters through one end of the hosepipe, <a href="http://practicalaction.org/blog/news/campaigns/barsha-the-perpetual-water-propelled-pump/" target="_blank">air gets compressed by the rotating wheel imparting kinetic energy to the water</a> – enabling it to force out of the other end and reach to a distance of about two kilometres. <br />
<br />
One of the users, <a href="http://kinmel.setopati.com/krishi/28163/" target="_blank">Bhim Prasad Koirala from Jhapa</a> in eastern Nepal, said that though the pump cannot cater to huge farms, it pumps enough to irrigate small paddy fields and vegetable farms.<br />
<br />
Hailed by farmers in Nepal, the technology, however, is not totally new. The pump has been inspired by a <a href="http://www.developmentbookshelf.com/doi/abs/10.3362/0262-8104.1985.030?journalCode=wl" target="_blank">similar technology adopted by Morton Reimer</a> to pump water from the Nile River in South Sudan during the 1980s. The stream-driven coil pump was based on a <a href="http://lurkertech.com/water/pump/tailer/" target="_blank">principle developed in 1746 AD</a>. <br />
<br />
The Barsha pump beats the diesel and solar powered pumps <a href="http://www.climate-kic.org/case-studies/turning-on-the-tap-with-aqystas-barsha-pump/" target="_blank">in terms of sustainability and maintenance cost incurred</a>. The zero emission pump has very low maintenance cost. <br />
<br />
The pumps, imported from the Netherlands, have been installed in 17 districts of Nepal including <a href="http://nepalihimal.com/article/4807" target="_blank">Syangja, Lalitpur, Doti, Bajura, Jhapa and Salyan</a> by aQysta and Practical Action. It costs around Nepali rupees 200,000 (around USD 2000). If assembled in Nepal itself, it will <a href="http://www.ekhabarnepal.com/?p=6721" target="_blank">cost less than 100,000 rupees</a>, according to reports. <br />
<br />
Only about <a href="http://www.tradingeconomics.com/nepal/agricultural-irrigated-land-percent-of-total-agricultural-land-wb-data.html" target="_blank">one third of the agricultural land in Nepal is irrigated</a> 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 <a href="http://www.dutchwatersector.com/news-events/news/12671-aqysta-builds-six-new-river-powered-low-cost-barsha-pumps-for-farmers-in-nepal.html" target="_blank">more than 6,000 rivers flowing all the year round</a> in the country. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
Read: <a href="https://kathmandupost.com/opinion/2017/01/01/better-irrigation">Better irrigation</a> co-authored by Ganesh R Sinkemana in The Kathmandu Post.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnLoC7f7T6BFchcwgAT2I-ZaFt0nnA7LuwroBnfcXDBG_qRoLLI75zqKEG6TkhucEksoeC3XQ4ZF9ykn1iGxhYU-1LT87BIXXakVly_oQTrfuGfffIVbP2xP8DdNs_u8KQKcvBHkHp4kc/s1600/Better+irrigation+-+The+Kathmandu+Post.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnLoC7f7T6BFchcwgAT2I-ZaFt0nnA7LuwroBnfcXDBG_qRoLLI75zqKEG6TkhucEksoeC3XQ4ZF9ykn1iGxhYU-1LT87BIXXakVly_oQTrfuGfffIVbP2xP8DdNs_u8KQKcvBHkHp4kc/s400/Better+irrigation+-+The+Kathmandu+Post.jpg" width="397" /></a></div>
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sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-53242078401492077572016-12-29T11:29:00.002+05:452016-12-29T11:29:23.961+05:45A basket of nostalgia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidv3rIiXMLYy8BNavMce_3mXKXe2nyfhlI4cxekQLnuSK8oIYXKRyPECeAp9Wb43ndNSSxQEbs7qiOmFm3ijtpX-vOsgbqlkiNbg-jbcUDJLSXvgaKSqwd_GbhR_LzDQ5wocV7bVir73k4/s1600/SikkiBaskets1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidv3rIiXMLYy8BNavMce_3mXKXe2nyfhlI4cxekQLnuSK8oIYXKRyPECeAp9Wb43ndNSSxQEbs7qiOmFm3ijtpX-vOsgbqlkiNbg-jbcUDJLSXvgaKSqwd_GbhR_LzDQ5wocV7bVir73k4/s400/SikkiBaskets1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sikki baskets (c) CK Kalyan</td></tr>
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<br />
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 <i>sikki</i> grass near the tarmac. The golden colour stem with purple-reddish stamen at the top is really easy to differentiate it from other grass. <br /><br />
And this was only a decade ago.<br /><br />
The <i>sikki</i> grass, not an ubiquitous species any more, was found in abundance in Kathmandu – before it started taking the shape of a concrete jungle. <br /><br />
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. <br /><br />
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 <i>sikki</i> grass that day and was busy with sorting out the best ones from the lot. <br /><br />
***** ***** ***** *****<br /><br />
She had brought the <i>sikki</i> from Balkumari in adjacent Lalitpur. One day when I followed her to my relative’s house via Chyasal, I could see a jungle of <i>sikki</i> grass in the area – taller and stronger than its species found in the Terai. <br /><br />
<i>Sikki</i> 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. <br /><br />
In Terai too, these days, the <i>sikki</i> 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 <i>sikki</i> 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. <br /><br />
***** ***** ***** *****<br /><br />
The bale of <i>sikki</i> grass was a thing of amusement for the onlookers – my neigbours. After sorting, my mother started tearing the <i>sikki</i> stems into two halves. I had done this before during my winter break and I had enjoyed my grandma’s challenge to split the <i>sikki</i> 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. <br /><br />
A <i>sikki</i> 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. <br /><br />
Then for the next few days I could see my mother busy with keeping the <i>sikki</i> stems on the sun to dry and collecting them in the evening.<br /><br />
After few days, the <i>sikki</i> stems had turned into glossy and flexible but sturdy splinters. <br /><br />
***** ***** ***** *****<br />
<br />Then my mother started weaving small baskets out of the <i>sikki</i> stems. The weaving is a cumbersome process – putting a fistful of <i>kans</i> grass and coiling them with <i>sikki</i> splinters by using a needle like equipment called <i>takuwa</i>. <br /><br />
She wove two small baskets out and handed me one to eat my daily breakfast. We call these small baskets <i>pauti</i> 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 <i>pauti</i> is no more a common item. <br /><br />
<i>Read: <a href="http://tharuculture.blogspot.com/2016/12/weave-your-own-basket-from-kans-and.html" target="_blank">Weave your own basket from kans and sikki grasses</a></i><br />
<br />
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. <br /><br />
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’!<br /><br />
She carefully hid it inside the cupboard and then when I returned from school, she took me to a corner and said, “<i>Bauwa</i>, this beautiful basket is for your would-be wife.” <br /><br />
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. <br /><br />
And then after a year and half, she left us. For ever. To be with the gods and angels. <br /><br />
***** ***** ***** *****<br /><br />
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.<br /><br />
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.<br /><br />
And the basket stayed there for more than two decades. <br /><br />
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. <br /><br />
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. <br /><br />
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 <i>sikki</i> basket woven by my mother. <br /><br />
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! <br /><br />
Till this day, the beautifully woven <i>sikki</i> basket holds a special place in my heart. It’s nostalgic. And to keep away the nostalgia, I have planted a handful of <i>sikki</i> grass near a pond in my village!</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-56052286603289527412016-08-05T16:23:00.002+05:452016-08-05T16:23:27.846+05:45कला र प्रतिबद्धता<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
कोइलीको कंठ सुरिलो थियो, उसलाई स्वरहरूको ज्ञान थियो र रागहरूको अलि अलि ज्ञान थियो। उनले संगीतमा नै आफ्नो करियर बनाउने निश्चय गरिन्। <br /><br />
कोइलीले अप्लाइ (आवेदन दिइन्) गरिन्। अर्को दिन नै उनलाई अडिशनका लागि बोलाइयो। त्यो इमर्जेन्सीको बेला थियो र सरकारी कामकाजको गति तीब्र भएको थियो। <br /><br />
कोइली आकाशवाणी (भारतीय रेडियो) पुगिन्। स्वर परिक्षाका लागि त्यहाँ तीन गिद्धहरू बसिरहेका थिए।<br />
<br />
"के गाँउ," कोइलीले सोधिन्। <br /><br />
गिद्धहरूले हाँस्दै भने, "यो पनि सोध्नुपर्ने कुरा हो र। बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा लोकगीत सुनाउ। हामीलाई त्यही मात्र सुन्न सुनाउने आदेश छ।" <br /><br />
"बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा लोकगीत? त्यो त मलाई आउँदैन। तपाईं भजन वा गजल सुन्न सक्नुहुन्छ," कोइलीले भनिन्। <br /><br />
गिद्धहरू फेरि हाँसे। "गजल वा भजन? बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा छ भने अवश्य सुनाउनुस्।" <br /><br />
"बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा त छैन," कोइलीले भनिन्। <br /><br />
"त्यसो भए क्षमा गर्नुस्, कोकिलाजी। हामीसँग तपाईंका लागि कुनै स्थान छैन," गिद्धहरूले भने। <br /><br />
कोइली फर्केर आइन्। फर्किदा उनले म्युजिक रूममा (संगीत कक्षमा) कागहरूको टोलीले बीस सूत्रीय कार्यक्रममा कोरस रेकर्ड गर्दै गरेको देखिन्।<br /><br />
त्यसपछि कोइलीले संगीतमा आफ्नो करियर बनाउने सोंच त्यागिदिइन् र विवाह गरेर आफ्नो घरतर्फ लागिन्। <br /> <br /><a href="http://satyagrah.scroll.in/article/12158/sharad-joshi-satire-on-emergency" target="_blank"><i>सत्याग्रहमा प्रकाशित शरद जोशीको लघु कथाको नेपाली अनुवाद </i></a></div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-70393845951448797392016-07-25T23:40:00.001+05:452016-07-25T23:40:13.847+05:45लक्ष्यको रक्षा<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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।"<br /><br />
दौड शुरु भयो। खरायो दौड्यो, कछुवा पनि आफ्नै तालमा सुस्तरी दौड्न थाल्यो। <br /><br />
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। <br /><br />
कछुवा चाहि बिस्तारै बिस्तारै आफ्नो लक्ष्यनिर पुग्नथाल्यो।<br /><br />
जब खरायो बिउँझियो, उसले खरायो अगाडि पुगिसकेको देख्यो। उसले हार्ने पक्का थियो। बदनाम हुने डर त छँदै थियो। खरायोले तुरुन्तै आपातकाल घोषणा गर्यो।<br />
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उसले आफ्नो बयानमा भन्यो, "प्रतिगामी पिछडिएका तथा कंजरभेटिभ (रुढिवादी) ताकतहरू अगाडि बढिरहेका छन्। यिनीहरूबाट देशलाई बचाउनु जरुरी छ।"<br />
<br />
अनि लक्ष्य भेट्नु अघि नै कछुवालाई समातेर जेलमा हालियो। <br /><br />
<a href="http://satyagrah.scroll.in/article/12158/sharad-joshi-satire-on-emergency" target="_blank"><i>सत्याग्रहमा प्रकाशित शरद जोशीको लघु कथाको नेपाली अनुवाद </i></a></div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-63747674607030471542016-07-25T22:49:00.002+05:452016-07-25T22:49:53.745+05:45अवसर र आरक्षण<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
१<br />एउटा घोडा र गधाबीच चर्काचर्की चलिरहेको थियो । घोडा भन्दैथियो, “त कुद्न सक्दैनस् भनेर मालिकसँग मेरो नि गोडा बाँधिदिन भन्न गइस् हैन ?” <br /><br />
“गजब छ, बाँदरले आफ्नो घर नि नबनाउने अरुलाई नि घर बनाउन नदिने । कस्तो अचम्म ? आफू पनि त केही गर, कति अरुको आरिस गर्छस् ।”<br /><br />
गधाले भन्यो , “त्यसो कहाँ हो र, मलाई चाहिं सधैं भारीमात्र बोकाउने अनि तिमीलाई चाहिं सधैं मिठोमसिनो खुवाउँने ?”<br /><br />
“आखिर परिश्रम त म धेरै गर्छु नि तिमी भन्दा। मैले मलाई नि मेरो श्रम अनुसार न्याय पाउँनुपर्छ भनेको मात्र हो ।”<br /><br />
२<br /><br />
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 ।”<br /><br />
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 ।”<br /><br />
“गजब छ , बाँदरले आफ्नो घर नि नबनाउने अरुलाई नि घर बनाउन नदिने । कस्तो अचम्म ?”<br /><br />
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 ?”<br /><br />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 ।” <br />“हामीलाई त अलिक बढि खाना चाहिन्छ , अनि पो हामी नि त्यो सांढेझै हुन्छौ त ।”<br /></div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-87164970231436726942016-06-20T14:45:00.005+05:452016-06-20T14:54:44.974+05:45Why can’t we do away with the black dots and superstitions?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAL9_LnrmC2B2WARImt1hyphenhyphenpbJwkiXFWXqCsCr-o-OJp7adaoaHZQX67Y9SrnFzMkxu3DMSgo9DFKUm5L3MahaZ0eOigPzjs_Ajt58UPmxp5iOWzYAOHsqsfC6PCZ3yjKzdPplZr9y94mB/s1600/evil_eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAL9_LnrmC2B2WARImt1hyphenhyphenpbJwkiXFWXqCsCr-o-OJp7adaoaHZQX67Y9SrnFzMkxu3DMSgo9DFKUm5L3MahaZ0eOigPzjs_Ajt58UPmxp5iOWzYAOHsqsfC6PCZ3yjKzdPplZr9y94mB/s400/evil_eyes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This pot bearing evil eyes was hung to a sisoo tree to save the gourd climber from evil eyes.</td></tr>
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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. <br />
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Then I saw something uncommon. Two black dots under his feet – one on each foot!<br />
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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! <br />
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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. <br />
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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 <i>supa/nanglo</i> (bamboo winnowing tray) painted with black and white dots (sometimes circle) representing evil eyes. <br />
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Read: <a href="http://tharuculture.blogspot.com/2012/02/evil-eyes.html" target="_blank">Evil eyes</a> <br />
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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.<br />
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When I saw the babies’ feet and the black dots, I remembered a popular Nepali adage “<i>Kalo biralo badhera saraddhe garnu</i>” meaning tying a black cat to do the yearly rituals of death anniversary.<br />
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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. <br />
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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!<br />
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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. <br />
<br />
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?<br />
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It’s a point to ponder. </div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-89387338125585786862016-02-25T12:28:00.002+05:452016-02-26T13:52:28.431+05:45I don't care about crabs any more<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH40UF2G5zt0rVXgBXy_SJJH7ly9gC-ScC_Oi1-U996B37K4l1q2SHU8KO3vtY5TWN0Ll76KL7rMxGU8N5XhyphenhyphenL3jm7OSqTwKf6GjwSckfySMCZGbEObk7GSWKsFHP2NIf6RoD-V7LxuZt4/s1600/Two+crabs.+Image+by+Flickr+user+Mark+Jones.+%2528CC+BY+2.0%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH40UF2G5zt0rVXgBXy_SJJH7ly9gC-ScC_Oi1-U996B37K4l1q2SHU8KO3vtY5TWN0Ll76KL7rMxGU8N5XhyphenhyphenL3jm7OSqTwKf6GjwSckfySMCZGbEObk7GSWKsFHP2NIf6RoD-V7LxuZt4/s400/Two+crabs.+Image+by+Flickr+user+Mark+Jones.+%2528CC+BY+2.0%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two crabs. Image by Flickr user Mark Jones. (CC BY 2.0) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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. <br />
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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? <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
<b>So, I don’t care about the crabs any more. </b><br />
<br />
And my simple proposition – let’s get rid of this <b>Leg Pulling Syndrome</b> and start <b>pushing forward each other</b>. That will lead us to a brighter future. There’s no doubt!</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-23178982947615013212016-01-10T23:04:00.005+05:452016-01-15T06:56:09.925+05:45If you are in Kathmandu and want some adrenaline rush, plan a hike to Kalinchowk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxmOkelcT-3Xnoyqe44pdLClOCCWp2wZVufO-i_qkje117begTbSU7HHl2uGu4fpAjMpEFpnHxXy-e2fjaDvx5dRUjKD6_axuowC7fFrEnoINhyphenhyphenmbVOQk8u1SLLCxWCDnpefMHGlha1mC/s1600/MountainrangeKalinchok.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxmOkelcT-3Xnoyqe44pdLClOCCWp2wZVufO-i_qkje117begTbSU7HHl2uGu4fpAjMpEFpnHxXy-e2fjaDvx5dRUjKD6_axuowC7fFrEnoINhyphenhyphenmbVOQk8u1SLLCxWCDnpefMHGlha1mC/s400/MountainrangeKalinchok.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain range, as seen, from Kalinchowk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">I don’t believe in superstitions. But don’t
know why, it seems that if I hike and travel on the first day of the year, the
spirit will continue throughout the year.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Keeping up with the tradition of travelling
to new destinations on the first of January, along with my two friends Dilli
and Deb, I set out for a hike to Kalinchowk, a famous religious and touristic spot
in Dolakha district. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">One thing special about the trip was no
substantial planning involved. Now ask me why I believe in such an old
philosophy of procrastinators. Let me tell you – it makes the journey more
unpredictable and filled with surprises. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
unofficial blockade has blocked the veins of economy. But people have no
complaints.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The journey to Charikot in a public bus was
a memorable one. We started at 9:30 am from the Old Bus Park and it took us
seven hours to reach Charikot. On the way, the bus stopped a zillion times to accommodate
the local passengers. One of the reasons for such a crowd in the bus was the fuel
scarcity due to the unofficial blockade. Half of the bus corridor was filled
with 50-litre jerry cans carrying diesel and other half with passengers, packed
like sardines. At places people even got up the bus roof-top with loads of
firewood. Not to mention, it was already packed with travellers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">As we got down the bus for snacks in the
mid-way, the restaurant owner quickly heated the chick-peas and potatoes over a
firewood stove. He had no qualms about using up the precious firewood in the
wake of the cooking gas shortage and he did not charge more than usual for this
extra service.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Back in the bus, the old people, ladies
with little children all clung to each other while some rested on the seats. Even
little children were standing along with their parents. But still they were
cracking jokes – about the hardships they had to face due to the unofficial blockade.
They had no complaints – neither against India nor the current government. The
whole bus was making its way through the narrow roads in a jolly mood. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">A
frog’s leap for locals is more than leapfrogging for outsiders</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Entering the Dolakha district, we could see
the buildings destroyed by the 25 April earthquake and people living in
temporary shelters. The landscape was a beauty to watch but the rubble and the
shelters were like lesions on a soft skin. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Finally after seven hours’ ride we reached
Charikot. Finding a place for the night was another big task in the New Year
eve. Although the hotels were booked and packed with new arrivals, we got a
nice deluxe room in a reputed hotel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Another big and arduous task in front of us
was to find the right suggestion to get to Kalinchowk. Everybody we talked with
suggested hiring a jeep to Kuri. Although the distance from Charikot to Kuri is
only 18 kilometres, nobody advised us to hike. The <i>didi</i> at the hotel where we
stayed said that it would take us more than five hours to reach Kuri and additional
one hour to reach Kalinchowk from there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The next morning we set up for the hike –
decided not to hire any vehicle to Kuri. However, as we were sipping tea in a
road-side café, luckily we met the president of the local transporters’
association. He advised us not to go on foot and said it would take seven hours
to reach Kuri. The number of hours needed to reach Kuri had increased with each
person we consulted. According to the first person we consulted, Kuri was only three
and half hour away from Charikot. Thus, after talking to the president, we
decided to take a jeep ride one way and he helped us connect to one of the local
drivers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXcQA22OuVlCykoggz0cxwkDzOX8dJFep3NGSl6HUOkb9F3pjQ4xcprxYA1lBPK7pydOU8dpgA_caNkiSeMUrPr93o1P3T0I0sLoKyyxYkt__CZh8pXzHH1I7GgNeA-Ml7j5LyDmx4MCc/s1600/TeaHouseKuri.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXcQA22OuVlCykoggz0cxwkDzOX8dJFep3NGSl6HUOkb9F3pjQ4xcprxYA1lBPK7pydOU8dpgA_caNkiSeMUrPr93o1P3T0I0sLoKyyxYkt__CZh8pXzHH1I7GgNeA-Ml7j5LyDmx4MCc/s400/TeaHouseKuri.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tea-house in Kuri.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Luckily, in next one hour we were at Kuri. Everything
was happening as per our sporadic plans and in a way it was much better than
planning everything in advance. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We saved almost five hours that, otherwise,
would have been spent in hiking uphill. For the locals the ascent takes 3.5
hours, but even for brisk walkers like us, it would have taken more than 5
hours. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Thus, we learnt an important lesson: Always
add an hour and half to what the locals say it will take, if you are planning an
uphill hike. For the locals it might be a frog’s leap but the same, for you,
might be a never-ending trek. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoMor-s6HGDlDg4Qa90CRqDdjDhmo_C2hY3NkPPmxr_0ySamJmfFH0W95MEa_kv1MMG-v6WVfbVq-mKIxmcAHsykMXoFxPVuzdP4LgAhNaDlI2D1PydkrUodvS_Of4wYAiDcZCyBjdJNY/s1600/KuriVillageKalinchok.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQoMor-s6HGDlDg4Qa90CRqDdjDhmo_C2hY3NkPPmxr_0ySamJmfFH0W95MEa_kv1MMG-v6WVfbVq-mKIxmcAHsykMXoFxPVuzdP4LgAhNaDlI2D1PydkrUodvS_Of4wYAiDcZCyBjdJNY/s400/KuriVillageKalinchok.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kuri village, as seen, from Kalinchowk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Reaching Kuri on time had its own benefits.
We utilised the saved time well. Spending more than an hour on the peak,
clicking as much pictures as we could were the bonus of reaching earlier at the
hill-top. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The Mount Gauri Shankar (7,134m) and other
peaks seemed standing just next to us. The cool breeze atop the hill was
soothing and relaxing, especially after the tedious, almost 80 degrees climb
for an hour. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGH7472V1gZfMcWtzjR0T52Mk4xKQgEhu14bqVsVRhASHEIM-rQaT2cpowXRVo1Je4j2WpX8a3o0tIzt2swjWbAS_ACtHeZ1OEpX4gmQUpFfuucbU0hAR2uGalyJvfrw0zukF_sY-2M8m/s1600/BellsKalinchok.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGH7472V1gZfMcWtzjR0T52Mk4xKQgEhu14bqVsVRhASHEIM-rQaT2cpowXRVo1Je4j2WpX8a3o0tIzt2swjWbAS_ACtHeZ1OEpX4gmQUpFfuucbU0hAR2uGalyJvfrw0zukF_sY-2M8m/s400/BellsKalinchok.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bells and bells everywhere - the offerings from the worshipers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Once you reach the top (3800m), you get to
understand why the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shakti Peeths</i> (the
place of worship, highly valued by the Hindus) are located at inaccessible
places. The place is free from unwanted crowd, pollution and whatever dirt the
mankind produces at easily accessible places. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidGKMMW2HM9ZA0hQYpIrCBo9BEbc7vIB8_4dpbMFwASkttAMV8gpAYnw_5R6_y5SB9NBUSy-JQzEc80UfvkCUhp7IsfmIJg2C31_jCV9uXsKL1e-o0BV4JOOEHBQn6CEAuKi3g918_9OtN/s1600/KalinchokBhagwati.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidGKMMW2HM9ZA0hQYpIrCBo9BEbc7vIB8_4dpbMFwASkttAMV8gpAYnw_5R6_y5SB9NBUSy-JQzEc80UfvkCUhp7IsfmIJg2C31_jCV9uXsKL1e-o0BV4JOOEHBQn6CEAuKi3g918_9OtN/s400/KalinchokBhagwati.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apart from bells, tridents are offered to Kalinchowk Bhagwati.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">We
will never get over with the Hindi music </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">While reaching the hill-top was bliss with
no trace of pollution, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bhajans</i>
blaring out of the loudspeaker was piercing our ears. And imagine – all the
chants were in Hindi language, dubbed copies of latest Bollywood hits. Not to
mention, the songs with hints of sexuality. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I wonder when we will start promoting
Nepali <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bhajans</i>. All the time we talk
about taking pride in being a sovereign country and banning Hindi movies and
television channels but forget that Indian-ness has penetrated skin-deep. It
won’t go away that easily. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
black marketers need to learn lessons on humanity from Kuri hoteliers</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">While the ascent was difficult even for
regular hikers like us, descending down the peak was a much easier task. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhml3fBrRgFRcocZ0f1YgsOTi85S3hNOxczgbC3ErcpSZV-dJA94NT9jKgrLjO5XNfyYrd1n9fD46cjsPE6mPLJCv2bYhdIMLM9ctY3xneHoyNITEHBouUK1mYV52BQaMyj_nPT11f-Bjjv/s1600/StonesKalinchok.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhml3fBrRgFRcocZ0f1YgsOTi85S3hNOxczgbC3ErcpSZV-dJA94NT9jKgrLjO5XNfyYrd1n9fD46cjsPE6mPLJCv2bYhdIMLM9ctY3xneHoyNITEHBouUK1mYV52BQaMyj_nPT11f-Bjjv/s400/StonesKalinchok.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you pile up the stones, it will keep away your joint-aches.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Reaching the base, we searched for our
Sherpa friend who had accompanied us in a jeep to Kuri from Charikot. To our
surprise, everyone in the small bazaar seemed to know each other and they
happily helped us find his lodge. What a shame, we had not even bothered to ask
his name during the one hour jeep ride. However, a man recognised him as we
described his appearance. He said, “Oh, that must be Kanchha!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And Kanchha Sherpa, he was. He came,
leaving behind the clothes he was washing. With a big grin on his face, he
said, “I thought you guys won’t be back for lunch,” while his wife cursed him
for not telling her to prepare lunch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">In a jiffy she prepared snacks for us.
Imagine lighting up the improved cookstove and cooking food. But for her it was
a daily chore and in no time we were gulping down the egg noodles. When it was
time to pay, we were dumfounded – it was much cheaper than in Kathmandu!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">In spite of the unofficial blockade and the
difficulty to get the commodities to that height, the prices had not
skyrocketed as in the capital. We could imagine how greedy the Kathmandu
businessmen had been. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">They need to learn a lesson or two from
these relatively poor but honest businessmen!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Kathmanduites
still need to learn to be social</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">While we were going gaga over the good
people in Kuri, we had to face few thorns in the way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We knew it would take us around five hours
to descend down to Charikot from Kuri as we hadn’t booked any vehicle for the return
trip. Luckily, a Bolero with a back carrier appeared from nowhere. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We were more
than happy and excited as we were, asked the people sitting in the front for a
hitchhike. Though the jeep had been reserved, they were okay with it and asked
us to jump on the back carrier. However, a girl and a boy sitting at the back
acted snobbish and said, “No, there’s no place, you guys can’t hop in like
anybody.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">And the boy wasn’t even looking at us. As
if we were some animals!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">We knew the team was from Kathmandu. And the
message was loud and clear – they needed a lesson or two to be social!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Climate
change is real. And it’s happening.</span></b></div>
<span lang="EN-GB">Saddened by the behaviour of our fellow
Kathmanduites, we marched towards the hiking route – as brisk as we could. </span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-b0Mn1QXXi9kPhewClQXNUBE9dHfBNlcp7KlCuBqWWbqv6dzoXuoliTHu9y24xew2ox75GH65srePItKVgSsHZ0n50Z2tJF_kKUH728FZ0ftf0UasRJKaZ6HKFEH1zsHOMhyphenhyphenLmc7w3fx/s1600/rhododendrons.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-b0Mn1QXXi9kPhewClQXNUBE9dHfBNlcp7KlCuBqWWbqv6dzoXuoliTHu9y24xew2ox75GH65srePItKVgSsHZ0n50Z2tJF_kKUH728FZ0ftf0UasRJKaZ6HKFEH1zsHOMhyphenhyphenLmc7w3fx/s400/rhododendrons.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhododendrons ready to blossom ahead of the blooming season.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The walking route passed through a jungle
of rhododendron. To our surprise, the bushes were laden with flower buds – they
would bloom in a week or two. And it was just the first day of the year!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The rhododendrons bloomed only in March
earlier. Then the <a href="https://globalvoices.org/2015/12/16/flora-and-fauna-signal-the-visible-effects-of-climate-change-in-nepal/" target="_blank">blooming season shifted</a> to February and last year the
rhododendrons bloomed in mid-January. This year, it would bloom much earlier. The
change was there, right in front of our eyes – the real climate change. And it
was happening. In the broad daylight!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">It’s
the motivation that matters. Be surrounded by optimists. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">A good thing about walking back was the experience
– the walk up the hills and the following descent. On the way, we met three
young guys – tired both spirit-wise and fitness-wise. They had been walking for
seven hours and hadn’t met anybody to up their near-dead spirit. Somebody had
suggested that it was only a three and half hours walk to Kuri from Charikot –
same was what had been suggested to us. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Still they were half an hour away from
Kuri, the base camp to Kalinchok. We knew, for sure, they won’t be able to make
to the top that day as the temple gates closed at 4 pm. Seeing us, their faces
brightened up. They were face-to-face with another trio that was returning from
the summit!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">When we said that they were only half an
hour away from the base camp their spirits suddenly charged up. We, too, were
happy to meet the youngsters. We told them about Kanchha Sherpa and his lodge
where they could put up that night and set for the hill-top the next day. They
were more than happy and as they bid goodbye, one of them said, “<i>Dai</i>, had we
not met with you, we would have left the hope to get to Kuri today.” Such is
the power of optimism and being surrounded by optimists.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">The
earthquake not only took down the buildings but also shattered the human egos</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">As we returned to the hotel in Charikot, we
had a chat over a cup of coffee with a local hotelier. The couple had left
their hotel business after the 25 April earthquake and was sustaining the
family from the earnings of a small tea shop.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Most of the buildings near the shop had
visible cracks, few had fallen down and people were still getting rid of the
rubble. The lady was telling how hard the life was after the earthquake. “The
earthquake taught a great lesson to us all,” the man added. “All the tall
buildings had been built from bank loans just to compete with the neighbours
with high-rise buildings. The earthquake not only took down the buildings but
also shattered the human egos. Now all of them are back on the streets.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">How
to get there</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">If you have your own vehicle it takes one
hour to get to Dhulikhel from Central Kathmandu and from Dhulikhel you can
reach Charikot in three and half hours. From Charikot to Kuri it’s only 18
kilometres but as the road is uphill and bumpy it will take nearly one hour –
make sure you are riding an off-road vehicle. From Kuri to the Kalinchowk
hill-top is a forty-five minutes steep and arduous walk – if you keep on
climbing without a break, otherwise it might take you an hour or more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">If you opt for public vehicle, you can get
one from the Old Bus Park in Kathmandu. The journey to Charikot is of six hours
and costs NRs 335 per person. The buses run at an interval of an hour and half
and the first one leaves the bus stop at 5:30 am and the last one at around
noon. From Charikot to Kuri you can either hire a jeep (six people can fit in
the vehicle) for NRs 5,000 for a round-trip (but it will cost you NRs 3,700
one-way, if you plan to walk one-way) or hop into one run by the local
transporters’ association for NRs 250 per person. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB">Accommodation
and food</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">In Charikot there are plenty of good
hotels. However, it’s always good to book in advance in special occasions like
New Year or any Hindu festival. Kuri has few lodges, tea shops and a grand new
hotel. There’s no problem of getting good food. The hotels in Charikot charge a
room from NRs 800 – 1200 and it’s much cheaper in Kuri. The food is cheap – NRs
200 is more than enough for a meal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-55518710361025238242015-12-04T15:28:00.002+05:452015-12-04T15:29:46.382+05:45Say ‘NO’ if you are offered venison in Nepal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
The forbidden fruit always lures a man. And that’s why most of the non-vegetarians are fascinated by the idea of eating a wild animal. But have you ever wondered how the meat is procured? How do the profit-makers kill the poor animals illegally and how they cheat the buyers? <br />
<br />
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bardiya_National_Park" target="_blank">Bardiya National Park</a>, Nepal’s largest park in the plains, borders with Surkhet district notorious for illicit trade of wild animal parts – deer meat being one of the most frequently traded items. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK1ZWxJYxX92POILQQkkJMc5-WfJwmsgKqZ7QMo2ESE0VYI3ZqP6RC51oW-L878A4E10WTNK9lOMTYIXugxPPK2MX8aCqB1NtN_1qSpTPnqerdpXNZw1BVdB8Ipe__iCD05EKcEZh6RHS/s1600/Chital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCK1ZWxJYxX92POILQQkkJMc5-WfJwmsgKqZ7QMo2ESE0VYI3ZqP6RC51oW-L878A4E10WTNK9lOMTYIXugxPPK2MX8aCqB1NtN_1qSpTPnqerdpXNZw1BVdB8Ipe__iCD05EKcEZh6RHS/s320/Chital.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chital (Spotted deer). Image by Mahesh Balasubramanian.CC BY 2.0</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If you travel from Kohalpur of Banke to Birendranagar of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surkhet_District" target="_blank">Surkhet</a>, you will come across a stop-over “Babai”, at the banks of Babai River. There are small tea and snacks shops dotting over the road-side that sell hot meals to the travellers stopping by. And if you are a regular customer, they will ask, “Would you like to taste venison?”<br />
<br />
However, think twice before eating the meat of a wild animal. I must have travelled via Babai to Surkhet more than 30 times. And most of the times, the shop-owners ask me to taste the delicacy of the day. But every time, my answer remains the same. A blunt “No”. <br />
<br />
The <a href="http://yetaautaa.blogspot.com/2013/05/bardia-water-snails-and-waiting-for.html" target="_blank">poachers spray lumps of salt</a> on grass patches frequented by deer. Then they spray Thyodene on the patches. After few days of exposure to the sun, the odour of the chemical normalises and when the deer come to the patches, they eat the salty grass. Due to the grass laced with poison, they die on the spot. The poachers then take away the carcasses and make dry meat. The meat is sold at an exorbitant price.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqmVJe7pGOPJ7AfZvbOoOJVIlXJHJqZnLfwsRieX5SaOde2iDISDDWEtYU3EWHr7D30_iKwZ0jV-NWj8ozW3J93F-TH0aGdilBSHw8QjegYvunor6Fo6QP9E9DExOs0exz9zFQxBrtaB6/s1600/Langur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqmVJe7pGOPJ7AfZvbOoOJVIlXJHJqZnLfwsRieX5SaOde2iDISDDWEtYU3EWHr7D30_iKwZ0jV-NWj8ozW3J93F-TH0aGdilBSHw8QjegYvunor6Fo6QP9E9DExOs0exz9zFQxBrtaB6/s320/Langur.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
Himalayan langurs. Image by user Gautam. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
However, if you are not a regular customer, chances are high that you will get duped. Instead of serving deer meat, they will give you <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gray_langur" target="_blank">langur</a> meat. It’s sad that the langur population is declining as they get killed for the meat. <br />
<br />
So, next time you are offered a plate of deer meat, say “<b>No</b>” and help save these beautiful species along with the innocent monkeys that get killed to replace deer meat. </div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-38672403575126561302015-07-21T17:52:00.000+05:452015-07-24T12:21:20.440+05:45And I was the last man to jump off to safety from the jaws of death <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Pulchowk bus station at Narayangarh was bustling with crowd – a mélange of people from hills, terai (plains) and foreigners back from Sauraha, the destination famous for sighting one-horned rhinos. The temperature was soaring at 36 degree Celsius and the air was humid, making everyone sweat perpetually. The Narayani River flowed gently nearby, with the vehicles screeching at the bridge to lower their speed. Policemen were loitering at the station, enquiring groups of people in between. <br />
<br />
Adding to the sea of confusion, a bus from Bhairahawa, with a load of bananas and vegetables on the rooftop, stopped near the common ticket counter booking tickets to Kathmandu. People, waiting for the bus, hurried to embark the bus and grab the front seats – so that their journey till Kathmandu will be a comfortable one. Among them was a man with five goats – he got in the bus with the goats in the tow. As the goats bleated, the passengers cursed the conductor for allowing him to get in. <br />
<br />
“Mommy!” “Mommy!” <br />
<br />
A terrified baby started crying seeing the goats, while one of the goats started tearing at the shawl of the mother seated on the last row. She hit the goat with her elbow and it let go off the shawl. But whenever she looked elsewhere, the goat would again start its work. A game of hide and seek, between the mother and the goat, ensued. <br />
<br />
The bus was full within minutes and the passengers were packed like sardines. The perspiration and smell of all different sorts started wafting like a concoction of strong rotten eggs and <i>raksi</i>, a home-made alcohol. <br />
<br />
*** *** *** ***<br />
<br />
A man next to me was chewing beetle leaf and used to lunge at the window to spit in between. The red spurts would splash on my face and clothes as he spat each time. In spite of the man’s audacity and my peaking vexation, I crushed my anger and remained a mere spectator.<br />
<br />
All the passengers were asking the driver to start the bus, but the greedy conductor still wanted some more people who could travel sitting on the sacks of bananas and vegetables on the bus roof. <br />
<br />
The bus operators never care for the comfort of the commuters but only for the money that they can squeeze out of them.<br />
<br />
Then came an old man with a white cap, a silver goatee and a few days’ stubble which confirmed him to be a Muslim. He tried to get in the bus along with a basket of 10-20 chickens in it. <br />
<br />
Not letting him in, the conductor started haggling over the fare. <br />
<br />
"Hundred for you and 50 for your chickens," said the conductor.<br />
"I will give you just 100, why are you charging for these chickens?" said the man meekly.<br />
"Don't you know, they occupy a space that can adjust three men?" <br />
"But they are not men, they are mere chickens."<br />
"Fifty is not even a pinch of what should be paid," the conductor growled furiously. <br />
<br />
The deal could not be struck. But the old man had just managed to get inside the bus door with his basket of chickens. Miffed by the altercation, the conductor grabbed the collar of the old man's kurta, disembarked him from the bus rudely, picked up the basket and threw it out of the bus. <br />
<br />
The chickens, afraid, started clucking – adding to the cacophony. <br />
<br />
The old man was no match for the young conductor boy. The boy still managed to get some more men inside the bus. As the engine of the bus started roaring, the old man with tears in his eyes cursed, “You have mishandled a man of your grandfather’s age, the great Allah will punish you for your misdeed.” “Insallah!”<br />
<br />
“To hell with you and your Allah!” shouted back the conductor and the bus sped on.<br />
<br />
It was not fair. But none in the bus thought of confronting the ill-mannered guy. All were perched to their seats and nobody wanted to share the space with the old man and his chickens. <br />
<br />
To the most Hindus in the bus – if not all – he was just a Muslim. <br />
<br />
*** *** *** ***<br />
<br />
The Narayangarh – Muglin road section had lots of potholes and to add to the woes, the driving was reckless. The passengers at the back jumped with each bumps and jolts on the road. As the bus hit a bump, the goats would start bleating and passengers would scream “Ram Ram”. <br />
<br />
The bus left behind a cloud of dust which would finally settle on the trees and shacks by the road. I was feeling sorry for the soothing scenery and the river flowing by the road that provided some relief amidst the agony. <br />
<br />
Besides, I was lucky to get a front seat. I had put my bag and sandals on the overhead rack and was reading the latest issue of Businessworld. The man sitting next to me wanted to break the ice and chat, but I kept mum. Still he disturbed me with his chewing and spitting. <br />
<br />
At first I would take off my gaze from the magazine and look outside the window as and when the bus came across a jolt. But with a bump every minute or so, the curiosity died away. And I remained stuck to the magazine. <br />
<br />
As the bus crossed the bend after the famous Jalbire temple, the driver increased the speed. There might have been two reasons – Muglin, the next stop was nearby and a huge loaded truck was in front of us – with a driver adamant at not leaving the tarmac. <br />
<br />
Our bus driver was doing his best to overtake the truck and our ears were abuzz with the horn honking all the time. As he located a narrow strip, he sped the bus further and we were competing with the truck. <br />
<br />
Then the only thing that we heard was a huge thud. And a complete chaos. Our bus had hit a post on the road boundary! <br />
<br />
*** *** *** ***<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtr5djHCFpWEclkIb4uT8W0-zHi7Rkg6WVNCi9jGtn3RWpdBuQIcq33eHIcffutwy8YwvDmYEzOhx92eH3BJMn4iiQPgbgveUApIvrxEvOzbNPvWR8Q29kZwJ16UXcZB1Ihz4WWu4Q_vyL/s1600/7063364657_0dbb603a69_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtr5djHCFpWEclkIb4uT8W0-zHi7Rkg6WVNCi9jGtn3RWpdBuQIcq33eHIcffutwy8YwvDmYEzOhx92eH3BJMn4iiQPgbgveUApIvrxEvOzbNPvWR8Q29kZwJ16UXcZB1Ihz4WWu4Q_vyL/s400/7063364657_0dbb603a69_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bus stranded on the road between Narayangarh and Kathmandu after accident. Image from Flickr by Michael McDonough. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The bus was hanging by the boundary post. A scary see-saw it was. Thanks to the goats – their weight at the tail end was holding the bus from plunging down the hill into the river. <br />
<br />
Some of the passengers had already jumped off the bus from the front door. Some were hanging to the trees with their skins slashed. Two women were crying at the back seat. The window had shattered and the glass pieces had cut their faces at several places.<br />
<br />
Even in the death-at-the-sight moment I was able to grab my sandals and bag from the rack above my head. In a flash, I was jumping out of the opposite window. <br />
<br />
Then somebody grabbed my t-shirt and hurled me back into the bus. <br />
<br />
The man was in his 60s. “Please let my daughter jump first, she has a long life ahead,” he said and started helping her jump from the hanging bus. <br />
<br />
Each second in the ill-fated bus seemed like a year to me. I was sweating like nothing and the fear of death was not letting me think anything rather than jumping out of the bus. <br />
<br />
After his daughter, it was the man who took the turn to get out of the bus. A minute ago he was talking about giving chance to a younger girl to live and then he was ignoring a young man in his early twenties. <br />
<br />
The bus was still hanging to the boundary post. When I jumped off the window, the upper window sill caught my t-shirt but still I was able to get off the bus. As I safely landed on the road, I could see that the bus was already empty. Nobody was inside, except the goats. They were still bleating. And this time, I knew it was because of the fear of death. But the din and hullabaloo out on the road overpowered it. <br />
<br />
People care not for the precious lives but think themselves to be more precious than others. <br />
<br />
Several thoughts preoccupied my mind and the most prevalent was the conversation between the old man with chickens and the conductor boy. The old man with his silver goatee and white cap would flash each time in front of my eyes as I turned towards the bus. And his words would echo in my ears, “You have mishandled a man of your grandfather’s age, the great Allah will punish you for your misdeed.” “Insallah!”<br />
<br />
*** *** *** ***<br />
<br />
It was 7 PM and was getting dark. The stranded passengers were waving hands and getting on to any vehicles that stopped for help. Luckily, four monks and I were picked up by a pick-up going to Kathmandu. We were the last ones to be rescued from the site. <br />
<br />
As we left the scene, the bus was still hanging to the post and the goats – tired of bleating were whimpering. And the whimper, I knew, was scary. A sign of little thread of hope amidst the appearing death. <br />
<br />
The pick-up, a jittery vehicle, was throwing billows of smoke behind. Amidst the darkness of the smoke, it seemed, the old man with white cap and silver beard was cursing the conductor. And I could see the man in his 60s tugging me by my t-shirt and pulling me back into the bus. I was comparing the tears in the old man’s eyes to the twinkle in the eyes of the latter. <br />
<br />
The more I tried to remember, the more cunning the latter looked. <br />
<br />
Passing the small town Muglin, we were back on tarmac with no potholes. The journey was smoother and the pick-up no more threw clouds of smoke behind. Till that time, I was getting familiar with the four monks, all dressed in orange and maroon. There was a sort of glow in their faces. Calm as sea they were. <br />
<br />
When I asked from where they were coming, one of them quietly replied, “Bodh Gaya.”<br />
<br />
I was more interested in them and as I chirped and chirped asking them more and more, the reticent men started talking – this time in one-liners instead of the one-words. They had been to the place of Buddha’s enlightenment. And enlightened they were. <br />
<br />
After almost two hours’ ride, we arrived at Naubise – with the remaining journey reduced to 36 kilometres, an hour’s journey. As the vehicle stopped for late tea and snacks, I grabbed a packet of salt and sweet biscuits and started munching on it. The four monks remained in the pick-up. When I offered them the packet, they simply denied. I could feel the sense of fulfillment in their eyes. <br />
<br />
Then the scenes again started revolving in my head – the goats bleating, eating the women’s shawl, the bus smelling of local alcohol, the old man with chickens, the conductor and the man in his 60s – all characters forming an indelible collage. <br />
<br />
Lost in my thoughts, I looked at the four men. I could feel and see the calmness in their faces amidst the dim light splashed by the vehicles following us. <br />
<br />
The tranquility in their company was slowly erasing the harsh memories I was hoarding moments ago.<br />
<br />
*** *** *** *** </div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-90440390110391520342015-06-21T22:16:00.001+05:452015-06-21T22:16:37.483+05:45The great earthquake, Mani Dewan and his indomitable spirit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The indomitable spirit – that’s what I call it. It has almost been more than a month and half since the Big one struck on 25 April. And thereafter the subsequent aftershocks kept on hammering our heads. Destabilising the EQ more than ever.<br /><br />But it couldn’t shake the spirit of Mani Dewan on that day, though his body still shakes at the mention of the disaster. <br /><br />Mani, short-statured and in his late forties, was alone at his home watching television when the earth started shaking at 11:56 AM. As he felt the temblor, he ran out of the house immediately for safety. Seeing the tall building in front of his house swaying as bamboos swaying in the wind, without any further delay, he ran towards the church in Kapan. <br /><br />The shaking was continuing and people were scrambling for open spaces. But he was running as fast his legs could carry him. Miffed by a truck stopped in the middle of the road, he scolded the driver taking names. The driver too entered into a fracas. However, seeing no use of brawling, he kept running. Only to see an electric pole blocking the road. <br /><br />Within four minutes, he was there, at the church. At dot 12, he stood in front of the seven-storey building that had toppled down like a matchbox. He shuddered at the sight and was emotionless for a moment. <br /><br />The shouts and cries from the building would tear apart the soul of any passer-by. But nobody had the courage to enter the collapsed building, once a tall landmark, with the earth still shaking. <br /><br />He knew that the church was on the sixth floor. He rushed inside the ramshackle structure – in search of his six family members. Never had all of them gone to the church together! <br /><br />Inside, the only things he could see were bodies writhing in pain and rubble. Surrounded by people crying in pain, he screamed from the deep of his heart. And luckily, his wife, buried in the rubble heard him. Buried beneath two people she replied back – with a faint hope of rescue. <br /><br />Rays of hope flickered. He started digging like a mad man. After taking out two dead bodies, he saw his wife’s head. Had he not found her, she would have suffocated to death. He pulled her out and then began search for the rest five family members. <br /><br />Till then nobody had dared to enter inside the rubble. As he rescued one of his daughters, nephew and nieces from the rubble, a stranger helped him get the severely injured survivors in the open from the rubble. <br /><br />He had found his five family members. But his youngest daughter was still missing. He searched and searched and finally found her among the rubble. She was like a dead log – only the blood was running down her veins. He took her out from the rubble to the open space where rest of his family laid. Breathing for life – out on the open road. <br /><br />But the truck driver with whom he had had altercation before, came to his help. He helped him take the survivors to a hospital nearby. Now the only thing he was worried about was his youngest daughter.<br /><br />After two hours she opened her eyes. He says, “That was the moment when my sanity returned.”<br /><br />“Otherwise, I had been totally senseless after seeing the dead bodies, spurts of blood, rods and concrete piercing the bodies, and innards splattered around amidst the gory scene.” <br /><br />He doesn’t remember how many more people he rescued while digging out his family members. “Must be around 4-5,” he says. <br /><br />“The only thing I regret is – I could not save a neighbour who had recently bought a house next to mine few days ago. I was helpless. He was buried to his waist and a rod had pierced through his head. He was dead.”<br /><br />As he narrated the story, I was imagining the situation. I could see his heart beating faster. And along with him, I was getting a bit nauseous. <br /><br />While we (I had tagged along with two of my friends) were listening to his story, we were offered plates of delicious snacks and treated to a trip to his farm nearby. A sprawling greenery amidst the concrete jungle, it was eye-soothing. The 13 ropani (1 ropani = 5476 sq. ft.) area had been a post-quake camp for the people living in the vicinity. With the already installed tents covered with plastic, they only had to bring mattresses, bed-sheets and blankets to spend the nights. <br /><br />All his tomatoes, ready to bear fruit, were uprooted. When we were there, the tomato saplings that had been transplanted were showing the signs of growing back. We were treated with the organic strawberries straight from the farm. What a delicious species it was!<br /><br />Apart from the climbers, tomatoes, beans, green vegetables, there was a pond in the middle of the farm. He had raised carps and local <i>rohu</i> variety of fish in his small pond – covered with net so as to stop birds from pecking on them. A kingfisher, looking live though killed by Mani, perched on a bamboo pole nearby. <br /><br />It was strange to see a kingfisher turning up for a fish hunt in the pond located amidst the concrete jungle called Kathmandu. And stranger was the sharp-shooting ability of Mani – he had killed the poor fellow with help of his catapult. <br /><br />Being a wildlife lover and conservation enthusiast, I always hate the killers of wild species. But here, in case of Mani, I loved him and his attitude. Not to forget – his indomitable spirit. <br /> <br /></div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-28251090127057311102015-05-20T18:02:00.000+05:452015-05-20T19:14:32.021+05:453 things you should avoid doing in a restaurant<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Icons sourced from Freepik.com and template from Hubspot.com</td></tr>
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I wonder whether the restaurant "Danapani" still exists in Malviyanagar of Jaipur in India. Living up to its name, it used to be a perfect joint to have your bellies and tongues satisfied. I was a regular at the place and my friends used to invite me to dine with them much often. The sole reason was a waiter in the restaurant who was very near to me. Whenever I accompanied them, they were sure to get a bigger portion of each ordered item. In addition to that we used to get royal treatment, being regulars. <br />
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One day I was alone and not many seats were occupied. After placing my orders, I was waiting for the food to arrive. Then suddenly there was a loud brouhaha about the food, few tables away from mine. The waiter serving the food was the same guy I had known for years. <br />
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As he came near me, I enquired him about the brawl. He said that the man had demanded the same dish thrice. At first he had complained about too much salt in the chicken, secondly he had complained about the taste and nearly slapped the waiter. He got scolding in front of regular customers. <br />
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It was obvious, the waiter was humiliated. He always took me as a well-wisher, so he whispered in my ear, "Do you know what I did?"<br />
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"I spat on the third serving. And you can see, the man is enjoying the food," he shared his crime with pride. I was taken aback by his gusto. <br />
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After that I fear eating in that restaurant. And above all I learned one important lesson, '<b>never to enter into a fracas with a waiter</b>'. <b>You have the right to complain, but do it in a dignified manner</b>. <br />
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*** *** *** ***<br />
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I am a food lover and I love the street food. In particular, the food at roadside Dhaba, the Punjabi owned eateries are real delights to my taste buds. <br />
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Once I was travelling to Delhi from Jaipur in a Roadways bus (state owned bus service). The Roadways buses generally stop at Dhabas that offer delicious food. I knew that and when the bus stopped for food at the midway, I occupied a table and asked for the menu. <br />
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A thin guy in his late teens came to me handing a menu in tatters. I glanced through it and ordered a parantha and aaloo dum. I didn’t bother to look at the price as the place looked local and cheap. However, after a satisfying meal when I went to pay, the price that I had to pay was ten times more than normal. I was dumbfounded but could not nag much as it was my fault. <br />
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The worse part was, I had a limited budget to travel back to Nepal from Delhi and I had spent the major chunk on a roadside lunch. <br />
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Nowadays, I <b>never place an order before verifying the price</b>. <br />
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*** *** *** ***<br />
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In Nepal, there are some exciting places famous for fish. One of them is Malekhu, about two hours’ ride away from Kathmandu. Eateries on both sides of the highway serve fish, claiming [the fish] to be from the nearby river. Another such place is Babai on the way to Surkhet from Nepalgunj.<br />
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If you live in big city and are used to eating frozen fish, you will love the taste. However, if you are a fish connoisseur you will notice the difference. The fish are not from the local river. They are outsourced from water sources including ponds of neighbouring districts. <br />
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I never believed when my friends said that the fish was not from the river.<br />
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Once I was travelling from Kohlapur to Surkhet. The bus was jam-packed. People were stacked inside like sardines. There was, however, a big black drum near the door. Sitting next to it, I asked a man standing near the door to sit on the drum. But as he sat on the drum, a fat man standing nearby yelled at him, “Don’t you see the tiny hole on the lid?” “If you sit on it, my fish will suffocate to death.”<br />
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Then only I realised that the container was for transporting fish. When the bus stopped for tea and snacks at Babai, the fat man got down the drum from the bus. While I was drinking tea the man was distributing the fish to the hotel owners. And they would sell them as “fish from Babai”! <br />
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I remember my friend cracking joke while we were having fish and rice. The shopkeeper had told that the fish was from Babai. He had said, “Does Babai have enough water to hold this big fish?”<br />
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It was summer and the river had dried down to a narrow stream. The fish was exceptionally big. And for sure, it came from a pond in the neighbouring Bardia district!<br />
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Moral of the story: <b>Never follow a brand blindly</b>. <br />
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sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8484903076330367828.post-87063879179277112072015-05-11T11:42:00.001+05:452015-07-31T14:03:40.440+05:45Keeping it small<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Biogas electrification and Barsha pumps are two innovations benefiting small enterprises, farmers.<br />
By Sanjib Chaudhary (@sankuchy) and Ganesh R Sinkemana (@GSinkemana)<br />
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Following EF Schumacher’s idea of small is beautiful, innovative technologies have been changing the lives of millions throughout the world – enabling environmental and human sustainability. However, most of the technology innovations are overwhelmingly favouring the wants of rich consumers in developed countries with only a few of them catering to the needs of poor in the developing countries. Biogas electrification and Barsha pumps are two such small but beautiful innovations that are poised to benefit small enterprises and farmers in Nepal. <br />
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<b>Cow excreta, clean energy</b><br />
When John Finlay helped develop the very <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=13968" target="_blank">first commercial biogas unit in Nepal</a> in the year 1975, he didn’t have a faint idea that it would turn into a gamechanger in the renewable energy sector. Starting with the 95 biogas plants built by United Mission to Nepal’s Development and Consulting Services the same year, the <a href="http://nepalitimes.com/article/editorial/a-fossil-economy,1411" target="_blank">country has seen more than 350,000 biogas units</a>.<br />
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The biogas has been crucial in households to minimise the household air pollution saving the family members from respiratory infections. While the gas replaces using fuelwood, the slurry can be used as organic fertiliser for increased productivity. According to the Water Energy Commission Secretariat (WECS) Energy Sector Synopsis Report 2010, a biogas plant reduces the workload of women and girls about three hours in a day. Annually, two tons of fuelwood can be saved using a biogas plant if it runs at 90% operability and a plant can reduce the greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions to the extent of 7 tons carbon dioxide.<br />
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With the technological advancement, biogas which had earlier been used only for cooking and lighting purposes is also being used to generate electricity. In Nepal, the biogas electrification project at the Livestock Development Resource Centre run by the Annapurna Dairy Producers’ Cooperative boasts of being the first to generate electricity for commercial use from biogas. The project has been supported by <a href="http://practicalaction.org/" target="_blank">Practical Action</a>. Earlier, <a href="http://www.academia.edu/8158441/BIO-ELECTRIFICATION_THROUGH_AGRICULTURAL_AND_LIVESTOCK_WASTE" target="_blank">a small scale study on bio-electrification</a> through agricultural and livestock waste was carried out by students of Kathmandu University, producing electricity to light 9 LED lights, each of 5 W.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrc1LggNQyvaH9UvAGlEyVbfxBpdlUkrxWL3RyG500vcGO-UQn01hkctB0BXUsqPEZoiO8jU891nE1fJU65V86f1W2zdexV0-G9kdfszweo-P9VWejO_bPw_ORYrNKksuZyDGZDjhqlhn/s1600/Biogas+electrification.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrc1LggNQyvaH9UvAGlEyVbfxBpdlUkrxWL3RyG500vcGO-UQn01hkctB0BXUsqPEZoiO8jU891nE1fJU65V86f1W2zdexV0-G9kdfszweo-P9VWejO_bPw_ORYrNKksuZyDGZDjhqlhn/s320/Biogas+electrification.jpg" width="254" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A biogas electrification unit</td></tr>
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According to Bodh Raj Pathak, the vice president of the cooperative, the biogas generated is sufficient to run a generator of 5 kW load continuously for 8-9 hours. The electricity is being used for light bulbs, fans, water pump and a chaff cutter. The gas is also being used to cook for the staff at the centre. <br />
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The designed plant has a capacity of 50 m3, divided into two units of 25 m3 tunnel type digesters and currently only one inlet is being used. The biogas from the dung of 85 cows at the centre can generate electricity continuously for 16 hours if the biogas unit operates at its maximum capacity. The dairy has plans to use the electricity for pasteurisation of milk. The by-product slurry will be dried and packages as organic fertiliser, says Pathak. <br />
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The tunnel design has certain advantages over the circular dome design. It is simpler to construct and requires a shallow digester and hence is useful in locations having high water tables. It is a sectional type of construction and can be made of any size by adding extra sections. The tunnel design didn't gain popularity in Nepal as it is expensive to install and difficult to transport the pre-cast slabs for covering the balancing tank. <br />
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The biogas electrification technology is simple, easy to install, socio-economically viable and carbon neutral. If replicated by big diaries and cooperatives throughout Nepal, this technology has potential to making them self-sufficient amidst the current energy scarcity.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWskw3NDPvsZmPDx1kNbG7IdFse7KLQxs3lpRbQk4Ibh3dR1715Wig8OGjqhUCC1Lx3VpS6yKTyB7X7XVteZTGt9yH8eX-bdfi-tiw8NOGSRUvU8mSQ3VMHSc6Pc0Uq5xyOalD8P3LmzM/s1600/Barsha+Pump.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWskw3NDPvsZmPDx1kNbG7IdFse7KLQxs3lpRbQk4Ibh3dR1715Wig8OGjqhUCC1Lx3VpS6yKTyB7X7XVteZTGt9yH8eX-bdfi-tiw8NOGSRUvU8mSQ3VMHSc6Pc0Uq5xyOalD8P3LmzM/s320/Barsha+Pump.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Barsha pump can provide water to nearby fields without use of fuel and electricity</td></tr>
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<b>Right as rain</b><br />
Likewise, Barsha pump, a brainchild of Pratap Thapa and his team members at Delft University of Technology in the Netherlands, is poised to change the irrigation scenario in Nepal. The pump, inspired by the ancient Egyptian design, helps communities near rivers irrigate their field without the use of fuel or electricity. Barsha pump meaning rain pump in Nepali, comprises a water wheel fixed onto a floating platform. Installed into a flowing river, the wheel rotates with the flow of water and the air compressed by a special mechanism of the wheel pumps the water through the attached hose to the fields nearby. The <a href="http://wonderfulengineering.com/this-new-irrigation-pump-doesnt-need-fuel-or-electricity-to-pump-water/" target="_blank">pump can provide water up to a height of 82 feet</a> with a maximum rate of one litre per second. The pump is environment friendly with zero emission rate since no fuel is required for its operation.<br />
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<a href="http://www.aqysta.com/" target="_blank">aQysta</a>, the company co-founded by Thapa is building and testing Barsha pumps in Nepal with Practical Action’s support. One of the Barsha pumps installed at Haritjyoti Organic Agro Farm Private Limited in Waling of Syangja district in Western Nepal, is serving around 50 ropanis (2.5 hectares) of vegetable farming. The five micro-sprinkler heads are directly coupled to the Barsha pump, which run continuously for 24 hours without any fuel, electricity or any other operating costs. All the people, working in the farm, need to do, is to shift the sprinkler heads to different areas, which need to be irrigated from time to time. For the Haritjyoti farm, which had used and abandoned diesel pumps because of its running costs and had invested in getting a three-phase electricity line to the farm, to be able to run electric pumps, the Barsha pump has proved to be an exciting solution to keep their irrigation costs low. <br />
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As per the World Bank data, only <a href="http://www.tradingeconomics.com/nepal/agricultural-irrigated-land-percent-of-total-agricultural-land-wb-data.html" target="_blank">27.74% agricultural land in Nepal was irrigated in 2008</a>. Since, most of the farmers cannot easily access the irrigation facilities, innovations like Barsha pump will help them irrigate their fields that are near rivers without any extra expenditure. aQysta and Practical Action are looking to scale up the implementation of the Barsha pumps in Nepal by localising the manufacturing and distribution value chain, and selling thousands of Barsha pumps across Nepal.<br />
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While Schumacher’s idealism has been overpowered by multinational companies and mass productions, it is need of the moment to promote technologies like biogas electrification and Barsha pump that have social value and are environmentally sustainable. Also the concerned authorities need to make sure that the technologies are made available to all who need them. <br />
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<i>Republished from The Kathmandu Post (dated <a href="http://epaper.ekantipur.com/kathmandupost/epaperhome.aspx?issue=2642015" target="_blank">26 April 2015</a>)</i><br />
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<i>Photos by Ganesh R Sinkemana</i></div>
sankuchyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06654029610863216765noreply@blogger.com0