Eight reasons to visit Rajbiraj

Rajdevi Temple (c) Swapnil Acharya

Colourful dresses, warm hospitality and tasty food. This sums up your experience in Rajbiraj. In spite of the sweltering heat (currently the chilly cold wave), dusty and bumpy roads, encroached alleyways, open drains and stray pigs there are multitude reasons to visit Rajbiraj, the first planned city of Nepal. As claimed by the locals. Rajbiraj derives its name from the famous temple Rajdevi Mandir.

People here dress in bright colours like in many other Terai districts. It’s a photographer’s delight to capture a melange of colours passing through the narrow alleyways. The dots of red, yellow and blue in a near perfect green field that turns into a sea of yellow in the month of November, is another rare sight to be captured.

Highly influenced by the egalitarian Mithila culture, people here speak in soft tones. They respect people from outside and make them feel at home. Even people speaking other dialects and languages imitate the softness of Maithili language.

The food tastes best here. Be it the morning time poori jalebi (wheat flour circular chapati-like bread fried in oil and circular coil like syrupy sweet) or the evening time jalkhai, snacks comprising puffed rice, chickpea, pakoda, kachodi (resembling vegetable tempura), amadike chutney (turmeric-like spice with raw mango’s taste and smell) and fried green chillies – both are mouth-watering.

An old man enjoying jalkhai (c) Swapnil Acharya

The sweets especially laddoos are the best. Peda, small sweets made from milk from nearby Barmajhiya is famous throughout Nepal. But beware to locate the real Budhoko Pasal (old man's shop). There are hordes of shops selling pedas with huge hoarding boards claiming to be the genuine shop. The original shop lies adjacent to the Armed Police Force centre. 
 
If you are a pan connoisseur, then you must taste the pan in Rajbiraj. Owing to its taste and the skill of the pan makers, Saptary Pan Bhandar and Sagarmatha Pan Bhandar are famous throughout Nepal including the capital.



Rajbiraj is also famous for fish. Once you eat Jalkapoor from Koshi River, you won't feel like eating other fishes. But beware of the Jalkapoor being sold at NRs 300 plus in Kathmandu and other metros. You can imagine – the fish sells at NRs 500 plus in Koshi Barrage itself, the place of origin. As far as I know the fishes sold in name of the famous fish from Koshi is imported from Andhra Pradesh and other states of India, and they are obviously not the Jalkapoor.

Other famous fishes from Rajbiraj are Rohu, Bhakur, Naini, common carp, silver carp, bighead and grass carp. I don't know the trade name or scientific name of one of the local varieties called Kotri, but it is really tasty. If you are in Saptary, try eating the fish. It's finger licking good.

Saptary is turning into Nepal's mango basket. The foothills of Churia, once considered useless, is adorned with mango orchards. Not even a single strip is vacant – most places in the Churia foothills are already bearing orchards while few patches are fast catching up with the rest. Maldah, Bombay, Dashhari all varieties from Saptary has its own peculiar taste. In the future it's going to be the mango district, if One District One Product (ODOP) concept is well promoted.

If you are a religious buff, then Chinnamasta, Kankalini and Sambhunath are the places to visit. Chhinnamasta, the Goddess sans head, is one of the major attractions. Hordes of Hindu pilgrims from neighbouring India and all parts of Nepal visit the temple, one of the Shakti Peeths, to pay obeisance to the Goddess. Nearby is the famous Kankalini Temple near the Koshi Barrage. On the Ashtami and Nawami (eighth and ninth days of Dashami festival), the temple witnesses innumerable sacrifices of buffaloes and goats. Sambhunath is situated around 12 kilometres north-west of Rajbiraj. The temple sees pilgrims from Nepal and India throughout the month of Baishakh (April-May).   

It’s easy and super cheap to get to Rajbiraj. Magic (small van), with people packed like sardines, will take you to the city at NRs 20 per passenger from Rupani, the roundabout on the East-West Highway.

So, when are you visiting Rajbiraj? 

All photos by (c) Swapnil Acharya.
Video on Paan from Saptari by Story Cycle.

Odisha odyssey II

The famous OTDC bus
Leaving the Chandrabhaga beach, we drove on the marine drive leading to the famous religious town of Puri. There was something special about the Odisha Tourism Development Corporation (OTDC) bus. It ferried the India and Australia teams to Cuttack.

The bus driver and conductor narrated the story to our Oriya friend. Then he translated the experience to us. They were kept in 24-hour scrutiny for days ahead of the trip to Cuttack. While driving the team to Cuttack, a cavalcade of security personnel accompanied the bus. Not only that, during the entire match period, they remained in the bus guarded by tight security. They were thoroughly checked before even entering the bus. The bus itself was checked many a times to ensure that nothing suspicious was lying around. Still they were happy to tell that they served the cricket players who are held as superstars in the country.     

I imagined – might be the helicopter shot hitter Mahendra Singh Dhoni or the prolific run machine Virat Kohli had occupied the seat I was sitting on.

Lord Jagannath and the largest open-air hotel in the world
While driving from Chandrabhaga to Puri, our host friend told us the importance of the Jagannath Temple. Being one of the major four Dhamas (the most sacred centre of pilgrimage and worship) for the Hindus, the temple and the surroundings remains crowded most of the time. And only Hindus are allowed inside the temple premises. Our friend also admonished us not to be trapped by the Pandas, the priests at the Jagannath Temple. They start following the pilgrims and dupe them in the pretence of leading to the darshan (sighting) and pooja (worship) of the deities Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadra in the temple.

The Jagannath Temple, also known as White Pagoda, has four gates – the east facing is called the Lions Gate and the ones facing north, south and west are similarly known as the Elephant Gate, the Horse Gate and the Tiger Gate respectively. The temple is said to have been built by emperor Anangabhimadeva, historically identified as Angangabhima III belonging to Ganga dynasty. Some historians are of the opinion that the construction commenced during the reign of emperor Chodagangadeva, the founder of the dynastic rule in Odisha.

As we entered the temple along with the sea of other people, we had to cross two barricades of Pandas to get the darshan of Lord Jagannath from a distance. In spite of the cacophony of the crowd peace and tranquillity prevailed in the premises. There was a feeling indescribable, the devotion overflowed from within. 

While I was doing rounds of the temple, a huge crowd had gathered at the eastern end of the temple. All necks were craned towards the temple top. A Panda was climbing the 214 feet and 8 inches tall temple to change the flag. It was a daring task and even more dangerous to climb the platform on top of the Shikhara (Sanskrit word for mountain peak, Hindu temples are either of pagoda style or shikhara style).

We waited for a while, watched the spectacle and then went to Anand Bazaar (Happy Market), the largest open-air hotel in the world, as described by our friend from Bhubaneswar. There are stalls everywhere having huge earthenware pots containing cooked rice, dal (cooked lentils) and different types of vegetable curry and sweets. The good thing about the stalls is that devotees irrespective of caste and creed eat the Mahaprasada (offered to Lord Jagannath) together. The blessed offering (prasad) is called Mahaprasad as it is believed that Lord Vishnu bathes at Rameswaram, meditates at Badrinath, dines at Puri and rests at Dwarika. Dry sweets are also available at the Anand Bazaar which are preferred by the tourists to carry back home.

Towering Lingaraja
Returning back to Bhubaneswar, I visited Lingaraj, the largest temple in Bhubaneswar. The 180 feet towering temple is dedicated to Harihara, a form of Lord Shiva. Harihara is referred as Tribhuvaneswara (also called Bhubaneswar), the master of three worlds – heaven, earth and netherworld. It's a must visit site in Bhubaneswar. But only Hindus are allowed inside the temple.    

The temple is believed to be built by the Somavanshi king Jajati Keshari in 11th century.

Missed Chilika
Luckily, I had to go to Aska in Ganjam district of Odisha. I had wanted to visit the place since the cyclone Phailin struck on 12 October 2013. On the way, I could estimate the size of catastrophe. Everywhere I could see huge trees uprooted. Houses were damaged and at places the destruction done could be seen in the fields.   

Returning back to Bhubaneswar, we stopped by a roadside tea stall. Like mango trees on planted along the highway in Nepal, cashew nut trees adorn the roadside. The tree was new to me and to my camera as well!

While sipping tea, I roamed around the small shops making a beeline along the National Highway. At the end of the shops few women vendors were selling fish. Seeing a horde of varieties I asked the source and to my surprise one of the ladies said Chilika.

Being a conservation enthusiast, I had heard a lot about Chilika Lake. Chilika is the largest lagoon in India and ranks second in the world. It is a Ramsar site of international significance and home to many migratory birds during the winter season. Covering an area of over 1,100 square kilometres, it is lifeline for many villages and fishermen residing in the area.   

When I clicked pictures of the catch, the fisherwoman requested me to take a snap of her as well. I obliged and showed her the photo. She smiled back and offered me a fish.     

Nearby another lady was selling crabs from Chilika. They looked so different from the ones found in our part of the world. I could not wait to get Chilika. So I asked the driver to take us to the shores of Chilika. However, it was already dark and there was no point visiting the site. With heavy heart, I had to return to Bhubaneswar. It was a missed chance. A precious one. After that I kept mum throughout the journey. 

Odisha odyssey I

The elastic Gotipua dancers
Young boys dressed in yellow were lined up for the show. The cool breeze was making the audience shiver with the chill. I was feeling sorry for the boys who had kept long hair-dos and looked like girls. They had been invited to perform the famous Gotipua dance at the inaugural of the Knowledge Conclave. In Oriya language, "Goti" means "single" and "pua" means "boy". The master of ceremony announced that the dance is performed by the boys dressed up as girls to praise Lord Jagannath. In old times, female dancers called "Devadasi (Mahari in Odisha)" used to devote their lives to Lord Jagannath. With the decline of Mahari dancers, the boy dancers took their places to continue the tradition.

         
As the boys started dancing to the tunes of harmonium and drumbeats, we were left aghast at the acrobatic manoeuvrings of the boys. They demonstrated the life and times of Krishna. Especially, when they climbed above each other to form a human pyramid, the spectators were kept gaping at the show. The elasticity of their bodies suggested that they might have started learning the dance from an early age.

Sambalpuri dance and mobile magic
The second day we were amazed by the performance of equally talented troupe of Sambalpuri dancers from Sambalpur, a place more than 500 kilometres from Bhubaneswar. They danced and made all of us dance to their thrilling beats. The dance and songs were as colourful as the saris worn by the female dancers. The male drummer was beating the drum and screaming with all his might to enthuse the fellow dancers.

Sambalpuri, the festive group dance tracks its origins to the Kosal region of Eastern India. The dance is performed by the rural people and is thought to relieve them from the day's hard work.
The dancers danced in groups and also performed solo dances. When one dancer was to perform, the music arranger played a track different than that of her choice. She then took the music instrument which was apparently a cellular phone. She was dancing to the tunes of a mobile! 

The Sun Temple in scaffoldings
In Konark, the Sun Temple also known as Black Pagoda, is a mystery in itself. As you enter the premises, the grandiose structure demeans you down to earth. We were guided inside the premises by an old man in his late sixties. His English was humorous and he didn't leave a chance to break the limbs of English.

As per his explanation, the Sun Temple is a wonder and an object of happiness to all – children, young and old. Children can enjoy looking at the bottom slabs having monuments of animals like horses and elephants. Young can get pleasures by beholding the statues depicting different Kamasutra aasanas (positions). The top slab comprises idols of gods and goddesses that are objects of obeisance for old people. According the old guide all enjoy coming to Konark and get full "satisfaction" at the temple.

The Sun Temple was built in the 13th century by King Narasimhadev I of Ganga dynasty. The temple was carved as Sun God Surya's chariot with seven horses and 24 wheels. The old man said, "The seven horses depict seven days in a week and the 24 wheels the 24 hours in a day."

 

The beauty of Sun Temple is unparalleled. However, the scaffolding covering the main temple in the name of restoration, made us unhappy. The UNESCO World Heritage Site which derives its name from the Sanskrit words, Kona (corner) and Arka (sun), has turned into a caged structure. In contrast to the Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore's words on the temple "Here the language of stone surpasses the language of man", it seemed "Here the cacophony of scaffolding surpasses the beauty of the temple".   

Poor Olive Ridley on the shore
After visiting the Black Pagoda, we went to the beach near the confluence of Kushbhadra River and sea (Bay of Bengal) at Chandrabhaga. The cool sea breeze was adding to the fun. Some of us jumped into the white waves. I was clicking the pictures.

While I was busy clicking the white froths, I spotted a small dark object floating against the waves. As it neared the beach the waves overturned it. I could then sense, it was a giant Olive Ridley turtle (Lepidochelys olivacea). It might have come to the shore to lay eggs.   

Every year hundred thousands of Olive Ridleys come to shores of Odisha for the mass nesting and hatching. The mass nesting is called "arribada". I had just seen the vulnerable turtles and their hatchlings making for the seas in Discovery and National Geographic channels. It was a rare sight.

However, my excitement was meant only for few seconds. The poor turtle had wounds on its neck and it breathed its last on my laps. The casting nets might have wounded the poor thing. The only thing I could do was to caress its shell and take a parting snap. 

A tale of two men

Zurich Airport

I was waiting for a connecting flight to Geneva. Being first time in Europe and that also in the German dominant city, I was keeping mum. I was just waiting on a bench and letting the time tick by.

The aroma from Starbucks next door was challenging my craving for a hot cup of capuccino. I suppressed the urge. Then a man grabbing a huge Subway sandwich, munching in between, hurriedly passed by my side. Although I had resisted the desire to have a capuccino I could not stop myself from fetching a yummy sandwich for my tummy.

As I was gobbling the piece of newly-found amusement, a young man in his early twenties approached me. He was neither tall nor short, was strongly built and looked smart in his blue uniform. "Excuse me, Sir," he initiated the conversation. "Are you a Nepali?"   

"Yes," was my terse reply.

"Oho dai, what a relief. I met a Nepali after six months. I am from Ramechhap." Within seconds, he had discarded the robes of formality and addressed me as an elder brother. Finding him in a new city was a relief to me as well. 

"It's so nice to meet with you in a foreign land, are you studying here?" I asked the young man. He was well-mannered and humble and his concern for a fellow countryman drew my interest towards him.   

He had come to Switzerland to work. He had completed his Bachelor's in the neighbouring country (I forgot the country's name) and was working for a private company in the airport. Switzerland was the best place to work in whole of Europe, he said. The companies were concerned about employee security and welfare. And he was happy to be there, though being thousands of miles away from his home. 

He briefed me about the dos and don'ts, advised me on the rules and regulations, and accompanied me to the boarding area. On the elevator, he asked about the political turn of events in Nepal. He was enthusiastic about the peace accord signed by the rebel Maoist leaders. "Now I wish our country will also be like Switzerland," he said. "I hear they are talking about federalism and inclusion. They should learn from Switzerland. In spite of being a land-locked country and smaller than Nepal, we have 26 cantons (federal states) here. The poor cantons get support from the Confederation (central state)."

I was amazed by his knowledge on the issues of federalism, ethnicity and inclusion. He was talking about a society which takes care of both equality and equity. Silently I saluted his opinions and wished the decision makers also think on the same line. "Well said bhai, Nepal should follow Switzerland," I advised, "Why don't you write Op-Eds in some leading dailies in Nepal?"

But the devil's advocate inside me was sarcastic. Might be he was saying that because he belonged to the Tamang community which was marginalised and discriminated. I was thinking about the worst examples of Nigeria where federalism has done more damage than good. My Kathmandu-centric thinking, upbringing with elites, and belief on capability (ability) and identity were taking toll on the poor guy's opinion on federalism and inclusion.          

"Utopia is what Maoists, indigenous peoples and Madhesis are talking about," I quipped. "It was so nice to meet you. Thanks for your guidance to get to Geneva."

"I hope Nepal will show the world how Utopian society can be built," he was shouting with a gleam in his eyes as I proceeded towards the boarding area.

Zurich Railway Station

I had survived the first snowstorm of the season. Never had been the trains delayed. Thanks to the heavy snow, most of the trains had to halt and take to alternative routes. And I was the one to benefit. I got to travel through many cities in Switzerland though the landscape was draped in white. I abandoned the direct train from Geneva to Zurich and followed a kind lady who volunteered to help me find the alternative trains and routes. The announcement made in the train was in German and I wasn't able to get anything, so I had to depend on her.

Finally I made to the Zurich Railway Station, kept the luggage in the locker and waited for my college friend.  

It was Friday evening and the streets were full of fervour and merriment. The snowstorm hadn't arrived in that part of Switzerland. The weather was chillingly cold and the people were in the mood to party till the arrival of the first snowstorm.

A young man had sprayed cans of silver paint on him and was entertaining the crowd. Nearby a group of youngsters was rolling tobacco and marijuana. A man was strumming a guitar and singing from the depth of his heart. 

I was amusing myself and trying to mix with the crowd. Then from nowhere, a well-dressed man, probably in his early fifties, inebriated and stuttering, came towards me. Like the young man I had met in the Zurich Airport, he enquired, "Are you a Nepali?"

I said, "Yes."

I had expected the same warmth as that of the young man. But with him it was just the opposite. Knowing that I was a Nepali, his expression turned cynical. "So, how did you manage to enter?" he posed the question with a smirk on his face. "What was your excuse to apply for the visa?"

I was irritated by the man's sneering and domineering attitude. However, I remained polite. "I had come here for an induction course and am leaving tomorrow for Paris," I clarified. "From there I shall leave for my country. I have no intentions to overstay in this country."        
  
"Everybody says the same," he sneered. "They come here as academicians, students, sportsmen, artists, throw their passports in those dustbins," he was pointing to two huge garbage cans, "And stay here illegally, working in restaurants owned by Indians."

I was horrified to hear the details. I tried to convince him that I was hell-bent sure that I would return back to Nepal. But he was adamant on his conviction. He even proposed to provide me work in one of the Indian restaurants if I throw away my passport down the gutter.

I have the gut feeling that with age a man mellows. He turns into a sensible fellow, with all sorts of experiences and sufferings. I took him as an exception. Probably his frustration and anger was suppressing the good man inside him.

I was keeping mum, just listening to his murmurings. It was the perfect situation to practise "selective hearing". Seeing me silent he said, "See gentleman, you need money to survive and I bet you won't be able to earn enough in Nepal." He then narrated his own story. He was a Director in one of the well-known INGOs (International Non-Governmental Organisation) in Nepal. What he used to earn was enough for a luxurious life. However, it was just the salary. His peers in the government having lesser salaries had built houses in the capital, but he was still living in a rented flat. Likewise, his classmates settled in the USA and Australia had earned enough to build houses in Kathmandu and start businesses of their own. So the only thing he could do was to throw the passport while he was in Switzerland to attend a workshop.  

"Now I have four houses in Central Kathmandu," he said triumphantly. "My children attend top-rung schools, my family members are happy and I feel that I have done my part of the job."

The only unhappy soul in his family was he himself. It appeared so to me. He was drunk, the knot of his tie was dangling near the third button of the shirt, his pants had dark smudges near his knees and his coat was in shambles.

He again babbled, "Seems you are one of those idiots who want to stay in Nepal." He solemnly advised me, "Listen, if you want to be a successful man, think about yourself first then think about your family, community and country." According to him, Nepal is a country doomed to fail.

As I was gathering facts in my mind to counter his claims, I could see my friend coming at a distance. He was working in Zurich at that time and had promised to take me around the city. "Thank you for your suggestions dai," I said, in an attempt to conclude the conversation. "Though you are right somewhere, I can't follow it. Good luck with your earnings." I waved to my friend and ran towards him.

We had met after nine years. We hugged each other and started throwing questions at each other to quell our curiosities. As we mixed in the crowd, the inebriated man was waving to me and shouting, "I am damn sure you will join me, sooner or later."  

That night we partied until dawn. It started snowing from early morning. I bade farewell to my dear friend and boarded the train to Paris. Mine was a window seat, so I got glued to the passing panorama. The white blanket of snow was a newfound amusement for me.

The TGV was gliding at a breakneck pace. The blanket of snow in the surrounding was getting thicker and thicker. And in the void of the whiteness, I was comparing the souls of the two men. One was like the white snow, pure, beautiful and welcoming. Another was like the big buildings piercing out of the white blanket of snow, like sharp nails pointing to the sky.             

Cell of change

Republished from The Kathmandu Post

(c) The Kathmandu Post

Mobile technology has greatly aided farmers in India; Nepal should emulate such practices

The hills of Almora in Uttarakhand of neighbouring India resemble the landscape in Nepal. The culture and way of life of the people are similar too. However, farmers there are a little more fortunate than Nepali farmers. They can obtain information on market prices, weather conditions, agricultural policy news, and tips on farming cycles via short message service (SMS) from Reuters Market Light (RML). The RML service is delivered in the form of a simple SMS that fits into the daily workflow of the farmer in his/her preferred language. Information can be obtained on 450 crop varieties in eight different languages. 

Mobile power
A woman hidden behind a veil narrated  to me her experience with mobile technology. She had laid out the whole lot of crop to be dried out in the sun. It was a sunny day and there was no sign of rain in the horizon. Then she received an SMS from RML. Being illiterate, she ran to her daughter who read it out. The SMS predicted rain.

All at once, she collected her crop and stored it in a safe place. It rained just after that but her crop was safe. A lean farmer standing next to her shared a similar experience. He was ready to spray pesticide on his standing crop of vegetables. But he changed his mind after receiving an SMS notifying him of a light shower. It saved both time and money.

Such is the power of information. And it is a blessing when it comes to a mobile set worth a few thousand rupees and in your preferred language. In Uttarakhand, the RML services are free of charge, sponsored by the Department of Telecommunication and the German development agency, GIZ. In other parts of India, RML services can be availed of through a paid subscription. This service is being used by over 1.2 million farmers in 50,000 villages across 17 states of India. Even the information can be personalised based on the type of crop, region of the crop, region of the country and local language. This enables farmers to make informed decisions, reduce waste and maximise their profits.

Farmers are well informed about the prices of their produce in two nearby markets. It helps them sell their products at a fair price to buyers. The service also has a provision of flashing the name and mobile number of a farmer or a trader who wants to sell or buy the commodities. The seller and buyer can then negotiate with each other for an agreeable price.

Likewise, RML flashes the name and contact number of successful farmers periodically. The farmers end up receiving thousands of calls from fellow farmers asking them about their success mantra.The farmers can also enquire about diseases and pests affecting their crops with experts and specialists through a toll-free number provided by RML. They simply need to dial the number and record their problems with the call centre employees. The problems are then discussed with experts and the caller gets a reply-call with prescribed solutions.         

With the ever-growing use of mobile phones,  farmers in Nepal are also discovering ways to make their life easier. Now they can enquire about the price of their produce at major markets and negotiate prices with middlemen, avoid unnecessary travel to fetch agricultural inputs (especially if it is not available in the market) and seal deals with buyers. Farmers in Surkhet and Dailekh in the Mid-West development region can find out the price of vegetables and fruits through an SMS service provided by the Agro Enterprise Centre. Likewise, by calling a toll-free number, they can find out the prices of vegetables and fruits through voicemail. This service was piloted by Practical Action.

Mobile innovations
While we are being hit hard by loadshedding, farmers in India have found a unique method to deal with power cuts. With the help of a device designed by Vijay Bhaskar Reddy Dinnepu, founder of Vinfinet Technologies, they can direct their irrigation pump motors to switch on and off whenever they choose.

Through the device, the motor can also call back the farmer if there is voltage fluctuation or a power cut.  The device connects to farmers’ mobiles through an interactive voice response system (IVRS). With the provision of krishi meter (electrometers measuring subsidised electricity for agriculture), Nepali farmers can now irrigate their crops even during the dry season at cheaper prices. A device similar to that of Vinfinet Technologies could help them cope with regular power cuts and they can avoid staying on their fields for the whole day and night—in the cold and heat—waiting for power to resume.

The brains that developed the popular Android application ‘Taxi Meter’ which calculates the price of the distance travelled in a taxi and prevents travellers from being fleeced by taxi drivers must not leave behind farmers and agriculture in the ‘mobile revolution’. 

Ever growing mobile users
Cellphones, which are a necessity these days, is ubiquitous even in the remotest corners of the country. People living below the poverty line, above the line and the ultra-rich, all have access to mobiles and the telecom network. What aid workers could not do in decades has been accomplished in years by mobile operators. While the thought of building toilets in every household seems to be a dream, Nepalis from all walks of life hold mobiles in their hands. The private telecom service provider, Ncell, boasts of having reached the mark of 10 million subscribers while state-owned Nepal Telecom has similar claims (including Namaste, CDMA and 3G subscribers).

Like RML in India, across the developing world, mobile services in agriculture have focussed on sharing and obtaining information. The programmes developed so far provide farmers access to research and best practices, weather information and market prices via SMS, IVR or call centres. With the rise in population and intense competition in agriculture, it is of vital importance for farmers to increase their production and raise incomes. This is possible only if they have access to right information at the right time through mobile technology.

Recently, in an Information Communication Technology workshop held in Rajbiraj, one of the presenters asked the participants about the best way to reach people who do not have access to the internet. Three hands quickly rose in unison. The answer was the mobile phone in their hands. With millions of farmers with mobiles handy, what we need now is the right technology, like RML. It could be a ‘game changer’ for Nepali agriculture.       

Read the original post here.

Three men in a college

Hostel 2, MREC (c) Ajay Deewan

Houses in old Jaipur are pink-coloured. But the hostels of Malviya National Institute of Technology (formerly Malviya Regional Engineering College – MREC) are not coloured (In recent photos I see a thin strip of yellow in between). The only colour that pervades there is the friendship among the dwellers.   

The hostels are made of stones – they absorb heat and cool off instantly. So are the students – they get into tiny fracas here and there, and again get back to their normal routine – attend the class, complete the assignments and party hard with friends. Like the agelessness of the stones building the hostels, the bonding between the hostellers lasts forever.

Circa 1999-2000. I was placed in Hostel 2. The fact is, nobody wants to land in the hostel in the final year. Hostel 5 is the darling of final year students. All students, from all faculties, from all states of India and abroad, who are just a year away from celebrating their metamorphosis into engineers, get to stay together in a hostel which is more than a home. And the few unlucky ones are dumped in the Hostel 2. 

As there is a silver lining in every black cloud, you get more time to study hard in the step-hostel. You slog through the boredom but have enough time to incubate the creative ideas that come to your young and restless mind. In my case an interesting incident happened that changed my perspective towards friendship.

It was daytime and one of my friends was resting in his room.

He hears a knock on the door. He says, "Come in". But the knockings don't stop. He opens the door to the sight of a man in his early fifties.

The intruder politely says, "May I come in."
"Yes."
The man steps in and goes near his bed. "May I sit on this bed."
"Yes."

He sits on the bed – a metal cot with thin mattress and a regular bed sheet. He feels the connection, relaxes, looks at the ceiling and again stands up. He rises up, goes near the study table and asks, "May I sit on the chair."

My friend says, "Yes, please."

The man fumbles with the pen from his pocket and seems to scribble something on a piece of paper. He is expressionless. His mind seems to be swimming in void.

Sitting on the chair, he reaches the switch board and asks, "May I switch on the fan."

What an irritating man! My friend, holding down the vexation, says, "Please Sir, go ahead." He repeats with emphasis, "Do whatever you want. Think this as your own room."

The emotionless man's face turns bright. "Thank you my friend," he utters in his glorified tone. "Twenty nine years ago this was my room. The bed you are sitting on was mine. The chair, table and the fan, all were mine. It's been 29 years and now they seem foreign to me."

Tears start trickling down from his eyes and he breaks down. My friend finds it hard to console the man. Thanking him, the man leaves the room. Feeling curious, my friend follows the man from a distance.

The man heads to the central lawn of the campus. Two men of similar age join him and hug each other. They lie down on the grass, break into tears, laughter and joy. After 29 years.

Later we came to know that the other two men had also knocked on the doors of two other final year students. They had also posed the same set of questions and broken down at the end. The three men had graduated from MREC and had been working in the Silicon Valley in the US.   
In those days, social media was a mere dream. Thanks to Alumni.net, they met in the virtual world and planned to meet in reality – at their beloved campus. They also met their teachers, hostel warden and roamed around the campus streets, canteen and lecture rooms.

This day whenever I think of MREC – the hostel, the room, the cot, the chair, the table and the fan – they still hover round my head. The memories are indelible.

I long to get to MREC and indulge in the colour of friendship, once again. But I am waiting for my friends to poke me and instigate the desire. To be there. With them. After 29 years. Like the three men in the college.  

A cup of tea in the Golden City

Jaisalmer Fort (c) Wikipedia.
Author: Adrian Sulc, User: Hinterkappelen

The train was speeding past the vast sand dunes like an arrow whizzing away from a bow. The babool trees near the railway track amalgamated with the sparse vegetation and the warm wind was hitting hard on our faces. My friend Tashi's fluffy hair was rising up and falling down with the gush of wind blowing past our faces.

We were standing at the door of the railway carriage. While he was busy capturing the panoramic view of Pokharan in his analogue camera I was guessing the distance of the atomic test site from the railway track. Our friends had left for their homes, but Tashi and I had decided to spend our winter vacation in Jaisalmer.

Jaisalmer, the golden city, is 575 kilometres west from Jaipur and is the most strikingly beautiful city in India for travellers who have never been to a desert. It lies in the Jaisalmer district which borders with the neighbouring Pakistan. 

Both of us were Mongoloid and being taciturn in nature we could not make any friends in the journey from Jaipur to Jaisalmer. However, a Bihari man became good friends with us. He had been to Jaisalmer many times and the Collector (Chief Administrative and Revenue Officer of a district in India) being his distant relative, he assured us to provide help if needed.

While walking from the railway station towards hotel, we met few army men. Seeing us they asked, "Have you come to apply for the BSF (Border Security Force)?" Nearby was a recruitment camp and every year many Nepalis came there to test their luck – to get enrolled in the lucrative service. Both of us were well built and in spite of our denial they didn't believe that we were there for our holidays.

It was getting dark when we reached Hanuman Chauraha, a roundabout in the way. It was pitch dark and we were still searching a place to stay. We were worried. It is hard to get a room in Jaisalmer during the peak tourist season. Then we remembered the words of our Bihari friend we had met during our journey and went to the Collector's residence.

We had no difficulty locating him. As chirpy he was, he dialled a number and scribbled the name of a hotel and address in a piece of paper. He was sure of fetching us a room in the unknown city. With his assurance we left for the hotel.

When we reached the hotel, we felt like scolding the friend from Bihar. We had already been to the hotel and the manager had shown us a "No Room" sign. However, we decided to ask once again. This time the manager was polite and was grumbling. "You should have mentioned earlier that you are the Collector's men," he said complainingly, "I got scolding for no reason." The man's face was worth seeing. The Bihari friend had admonished him badly. Then we, at once, got the best room in the hotel. It was a sweet relief.

As we were to check in the room, the manager came running upstairs, grabbed my arm, and took me to a corner. "Sir, can you please come with me for a minute," he requested and I followed him to the reception.

"Dai (elder brother), you are a Nepali that's why I thought it was my duty to warn you," he continued.
"It is nice to meet you in an unknown place, but why do you want to warn me," I enquired.
"Isn't your friend a Bhutanese?"
"Yes."
"I confirmed from the registration slip," he said. "You know, the Bhutanese chased us from Bhutan. Most of them hate Nepalis and I am afraid he might hurt you at night."
"Don't worry, my friend is a very good human being," I consoled him. "Even in his dream he won't think of harming me."

I left for my room thanking for his concern for a fellow Nepali. We freshened up and were immediately on the hotel's roof to capture the amazing photos of Jaisal Fort. In the dusk, the fort was dazzling – glittering like a golden palace dropped straight from heaven. The lighting was mesmerising, it made the fort look more beautiful. As the fort is made from golden yellow sandstone, it is also called "Sonar Quila" in Bengali. The fort built by King Jaisal who founded Jaisalmer houses a thriving city with Jain temples, palace and houses of commoners.

After clicking photos till we consumed the whole reel, we set off for dinner. As we reached the main street, a police jeep stopped in front of us and the enquiry began. Since Jaisalmer is near Pakistan border the security is very tight there. The police start interrogating as soon as they come across a new face in the city.        

Waking up early in the morning we strolled to a nearby row of shanties for a cup of tea and snacks. As we went nearer, we heard a man singing a Nepali song "Yo gau ko thito ma kanchha mero nam, audai jadai garnu hai sablai Ram Ram" (I am a guy from this village, my name is Kanchha, please keep coming, greetings to you all). The voice was melodious and reminded me of Udit Narayan, the original singer of the song. He hails from Nepal and is an established singer in Bollywood. The man singing the song was a dark coloured Nepali man from the lowlands (Terai/Madhes) of Nepal. Seeing us he had started singing the song and as we went nearer he invited us to his tea shop. While sipping the tea we came to know about his hardship since he left his hometown Butwal in Nepal. The journey from Butwal to Jaisalmer was full of thorns which he hid under his forever smiling face. He had met a Nepali after many days so he didn't allow us to pay for the cup of tea. His master, sitting at the cash counter, smiled at us. To him we were his worker's friends. For him we were mere Nepalis searching menial jobs.

After tea, we went to Gadisar Lake along with a small Bengali family in a jeep hired by the hotel manager. Together with the family we went to the Sonar Quila and Patwon ki Haveli, the mansion earlier inhabited by the ministers and likes. Jaisalmer is also called Golden City, deriving its name from the golden yellow sandstones used for building the houses. Cherishing the golden memories of the Golden City, we went to meet the Nepali friend who had sung Kanchha mero nam seeing us. As we bade farewell after drinking the tea made by him, he was smiling and waving at us. But his eyes were moist with tears.

Read the Nepali version at http://yetaautaa.blogspot.com/2012/06/blog-post.html .