Say no to peacock plumes next Krishna Janmashtami and no to water lilies coming Deepawali

 

A girl holds a peacok feather during Krishna Janmashtami festival
in Lalitpur near Kathmandu. (c) Navesh Chitrakar/Reuters 

I love Krishna Janmashtami, the birth celebrations of Lord Krishna. The only thing I detest is the devotees' love for the peacock plumes. I don't know whether Lord Krishna adorned his hair with a peacock plume or not. Or it was just an artist's imagination to beautify the portrait, it's still to be confirmed. However, almost all portraits of Krishna have a peacock feather stuck to his head band.

The fascination for the peacock plumes on the auspicious day brings traders selling the plumes at Krishna temples throughout Nepal. Imagine – only in the Kathmandu Valley there are hundreds of Krishna temples and at each temple there are at least two traders, each selling hundreds of plumes. If honestly calculated, the number of peacocks trapped and slaughtered for the plumes will cross thousands.

So is it worth buying a peacock feather on Lord Krishna's birthday? I would say a big NO to the feather sellers. Let's make sure that the peacocks stay safe in jungles and are not afraid of losing their lives for Krishna's birthday celebrations.   

Likewise, in Deepawali, similar is the fate of water lilies. The nook and crannies of marketplaces in major towns of Nepal are filled with water lilies. Water lilies are considered to be the best offering to Laxmi, the Goddess of wealth, in Deepawali (Laxmi Pooja in Nepal). Thus, to please the Goddess and amass wealth, people pay a fortune to buy the lilies. And the lily gatherers scour the ponds and ditches of lilies, not sparing even the buds.

Imagine – what will happen if the naturally growing lilies face extinction? Let's choose an alternative to offering water lilies to Goddess Laxmi this Deepawali and not devoid the ponds and ditches of their natural ornaments.

From mundane to serious affairs in Nepal: A journalist's viewpoint

I am a big fan of Barclays Premier League. Don't ask me about the English clubs, I can tell you in detail even about the recent transfers. However, when I see students going to Liverpool and Chelsea International colleges in Kathmandu, I start pulling my hairs.

Such is the fascination for English names among the college-goers and educators that "Many sound more like American or British colleges (or English football clubs) than Nepali: Chelsea International, Caribbean College, Caspian Valley, Bridgewater Int'l, Guinness Int'l, Welhams College, Columbus, Gillette College, Golden Gate College, Thames International College, Bernhard Campus, Northfield Campus, Xavier Academy, New Millennium, Liverpool International College, to name a few".

Journalist Anand Gurung sheds his frustration towards Nepalis' fascination with the West in the article Kathmandu Capers in his debut book Journalism & Journeys. The book honestly expresses the author's impressions detailing the nuances of daily lives in Nepal in form of travel essays and articles. All 19 articles are engrossing and will take you through the streets of Kathmandu, jungles of the Terai, and even to Raxaul and Darjeeling of India.

In the article A house in the City, he laments at the concrete jungle the Kathmandu Valley is turning into. In Tragic Traffic Tales he highlights the plights of the public vehicle users, the tampering of meters by the taxi drivers and the reckless motorbike riders.

While talking about mundane affairs, Anand raises some serious policy issues in his article Mongolian Momo. He states: "The state's policy of systematic discrimination meant that the Janjatis, Dalits, Madhesis and of course, women, were completely sidelined. They were left out in the cold and had no voice in the running of the state. The state never fostered national integrity by advocating social and economic justice for them. Instead, the Kathmandu rulers forcefully tried to thrust one religion, language and culture on them to promote the sense of "Nepaliness" and partly succeeded in this attempt."   

In Wildlife Diaries, he highlights the community conservation efforts in Bardia to save the wild animals. He interviews the community based anti-poaching unit members and the Chief Warden of Shuklaphanta Wildlife Reserve to find out about poaching and poachers. In The Hissing Trishuli Rapids, he describes the thrills of rafting in the famous Trishuli River. Having had a similar experience in the rapids of Bheri River, I liked this piece the most.

Anand's writing sometimes turns poetic which makes the read more pleasurable. His attention to details takes you right to the action point. You never get bored and find newness in each of the writing. The articles are a mix of all sorts of jottings and cater to all types of readers. However, had the book been a collection of either travel essays or personal impressions, it would have garnered niche readers.

The above mentioned articles are only a glimpse of several other interesting articles that are compiled along with them. All the articles are beautifully written and deal with completely different topics. One link that binds them together is the mention of Nepal, Nepalis and Nepaliness. If you like Nepal and Nepalis, like reading from mundane affairs to serious issues, this book is meant just for you.    

Anand Gurung is a Kathmandu based journalist and editor of the online portal Nepalnews. Journalism & Journeys is his debut book published by Vajra Publications, Kathmandu, Nepal and Dragon Publications, New Delhi, India. The book is priced at NRs 400 in Nepal and IRs 250 in India. The book is available at major bookstores in Kathmandu.

 

Esperanto: Language of hopefuls

Esperanto hopes to eliminate communication barriers

Republished from The Kathmandu Post

On the way to Lao Cai from Kunming, I met an interesting couple. The man was 93 years old and his spouse was in her late eighties. As we stopped mid-way for lunch, he joined our table and initiated a conversation. Sensing that we were not proficient in handling food with chopsticks, he taught us the basics of using them. In return, he learnt a few Nepali words. He then revealed his age and said that his enthusiasm to learn had bounced back since he started learning Esperanto a year ago.

Esperanto is a universal language developed by Ludovic Lazarus Zamenhof. Seeing the differences created by languages, Zamenhof set out to create a common language that would bring peace and harmony among different ethnic groups. It is, by far, the most successful of a hundred or so conlangs (constructed languages) invented in the nineteenth century. 

Close-knit community
In Hanoi, three young girls, Nubo, Revo and Cxielo, welcomed us. Their names in Esperanto mean cloud, dream and sky respectively. They took care of all our necessities. They were deputed and instructed by the organisers to ensure that we didn’t face any difficulty during our sojourn. At Wuhan in China, Esperantists travelled more than two hours to welcome our group from Nepal. They offered us a feast, exchanged experiences, took us around the city and treated us to a sumptuous dinner. Esperantists around the world belong to a single family and are ready to help, guide and host fellow Esperantists.  

Easiest to learn
During our journey from Lao Cai to Hanoi, I asked many Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Koreans and Mongolians why they learnt Esperanto. The answer was that they found it easier to learn Esperanto than English.

Esperanto is considered the easiest language in the world. Because of its simple grammar and recognisable vocabulary, Esperanto is much easier than other languages. A study by the Institute of Cybernetic Pedagogy in Paderborn, Germany tested how long it took people who spoke French as their first language to learn different languages up to the same level. According to the research, German was the hardest, taking 2,000 hours of study, English required an average of 1,500 hours of study and Italian took 1,000 hours, even though it is similar to French. However, Esperanto learners only needed 150 hours, a tenth of the time required for English. Learning Esperanto helps learn other languages much faster too as learning a second foreign language is easier than the first.

Perks
I was amazed to see so many youngsters learning and speaking Esperanto in China and Vietnam. I met many Japanese and Korean Esperantists and the only answer that I got from them was that they loved Dr Zamenhof’s idea to create a common language throughout the world. They liked to travel and wanted to make friends across the world.

Esperantists also arrange a plethora of events throughout the year, making it easier for other Esperantists to travel by participating in such events. Some of the most popular events are the Universala Kongreso, Internacxia Junulara Kongreso and national and regional congresses. Both the Universala Kongreso and Junulara Kongreso are organised in a different country every year. Besides, smaller events take place all year round in different countries.

The Pasporta Servo comprises a list of more than 1,300 hosts in nearly 100 countries who will accommodate travellers for free as long as they can speak Esperanto.

Rising amidst doldrums
During its heyday, Esperanto had as many as two million speakers and produced its own rich literature, including more than 15,000 books. Esperanto survived two world wars and the ascent of global English. Today, Esperanto has more speakers than 6,000 other languages spoken around the world. George Soros is one celebrity who speaks Esperanto. 

Volapük, a language created in the nineteenth century by Johann Martin Schleyer, once had 280 clubs around the world and more speakers than Esperanto. However, it could not maintain its momentum as users were not allowed to coin new words. Esperanto provides freedom to the speakers to come up with new words while maintaining the system and enriching the vocabulary.

Esperanto clubs and societies provide space for people who hope to learn, mingle, explore the world and live in harmony. Like the old couple I met in China, Esperantists across the world hope to create a universal language that leads to a global village where all people speak a single language and there are no communication barriers.

Read the original post here.

#Esperanto aspires to remove #CommunicationBarriers http://t.co/PKne2HFCQ4
— Sanjib Chaudhary (@sankuchy) July 28, 2013

Confessions of a gym addict

(c) www.morguefile.com

I was a dabbler…
Sometimes serendipity turns into a life-changer. I was a cent per cent bookworm with no traces of liking for sports. The only game I liked was football and I was always offered a defender’s role – the reason being my stubbornness to stop the strikers. I ended up hitting them hard on their insteps, shins and calves – and left no chances to bring them down. After few matches even the defender’s role became coveted for me. Everybody was scared of my fouls.

I even tried gymnastics and karate. After few spells of somersaults, my left hand got caught in a stool and I was banned to attend gymnastics classes. Same happened with karate. I was self-teaching karate with a handbook published by Indian Book House. I punched on everything, be it a rice bag, a wall that came into my sight, or a mound of sand. As my parents noticed the knuckles, the handbook and self-learning both had to be stalled.

While my friends were doing the pull-ups and push-ups, and pumping the dumbbells, I used to sit in a corner and read books – the Famous Five, Secret Seven, and the Hardy Boys series. It was a complete no-no to sports for me.

This is how I ended up in gym
Then I landed up in India for my Bachelors. One day doing the chin-ups, I fell down and hit my head hard on the cemented floor. Suddenly, the lights went off and it was a complete darkness for me. I experienced what it feels like while dying. I opened my eyes as my friends from the dormitory sprinkled water over my face.

It resulted into a deep cut on my head. They took me to the college dispensary and after first aid I was again on my toes – live and kicking. I was recommended to go for a CT scan. I was reluctant – I didn’t want my parents to know how it happened. So I avoided it in spite of fears of having blood clots in my brain.

The fear amplified as I discovered that the whole world seemed to revolve as and when I knelt to pick anything lying on the floor. I had no options – I took to gym with the faint hope that I will cure myself of this malady. I started pumping iron, eating boiled eggs, drinking packets of milk, slurping down glasses of banana shake, and sleeping like the dead.

…And I started loving gym
As the days passed, I could feel the difference. Earlier the whole hall seemed to hover over me as I lifted heavy weights while doing decline bench press. Slowly the hovering turned to light shaking and after few months it was normal. Nothing hovered or shook when I knelt. I thought – the exercise helped set the brain in the skull which had to bear a huge shock during the fall.

Then I noticed another difference. My biceps bulged and I could notice the triceps while brushing every morning. My chest inflated and I could feel the power in my hands. Then after few months I could feel the set of abs appearing on my once flat stomach. It was a huge achievement for me.      

The desire for more muscles controlled my desire to consume limitless alcohol with my buddies. As the six packs started showing, I got more and more addicted to gymming.

Then I got stuck to gymming
Then came the Eureka moment – I found the reason to stick to gymming. It’s an interesting anecdote.

I was in the third year of my Bachelors of Engineering and ragging was rampant in the campus. However, I had never ragged a junior.

One day we were returning to our hostel for lunch. It was 1 pm and the sun was shining to its might. The distance between the lecture hall and hostel was almost 15 minutes’ walk. As we were passing by the college gymnasium, we saw a group of first year students walking in a straight line. Some senior students might have told them to do so – they had formed a chain and each was holding the former’s shoulder.

I was annoyed with the teacher who had made us wait for 20 minutes more than the actual period. Going to hostel and coming back to lecture hall needed at least half an hour. We barely had 10 minutes to gulp the lunch. Seeing the first year guys, one of my friends asked me to give some extra work to them. In the fit of anger, I kicked a wild fruit and asked a guy to fetch it. He ran in the hot sand to fetch the fruit and was literally crying when he brought it to us. Then again one of my friends kicked it and asked another first year student to bring it back to us. I felt bad about it but some of my friends were laughing and enjoying.

In the evening, as usual, I returned from college and went to gym. I wasn’t feeling like pumping iron that day. My sixth sense hinted that something bad was coming my way. And it happened. As I returned from the gym, a white piece of paper was gummed to my door and it read, “Report to the Proctor at 6.00 PM”.

I was in a panic. I ran to my friends without even opening the doors. My friends knew the consequences – it had two meaning – either some disciplinary action would be taken against me or in the worst case scenario, I was going to be rusticated. My friend Atul Dev Saraf also had same sort of notice glued to his doors. He too was worried. Now we were two, so our problems halved. He was consoling me and I was sympathising him.

We made a deal – I would report first and he would follow me. With heavy hearts we headed for the staff quarters. Atul waited on the way and I reached the Proctor’s residence on stated time. With thumping heart I pushed the door-bell. To my surprise, the guy opening the door was my partner in the gym. To my good luck the Proctor was on his way to home and my friend was his son.

I narrated the story to him. As we were chatting in the drawing room, the Proctor arrived. I introduced myself and explained why I was there. He then asked me to sit down and told why I was summoned. Two first year students had lodged a complaint with the anti-ragging squad and they had identified Atul and me from the student profiles. It was obvious – they knew we were third year students of Chemical Engineering and my face was the most recognisable being a Mongoloid.

My friend came to my rescue. He told about our partnership in the gym and praised my calm attitude. The Proctor also recognised me – he had taught Physics in the first year and I was one of the good guys. This connection saved me. I told the truth – it was not a ragging as such. I was spared with an admonition. There should be no complaints against me in the coming days. I sighed with relief and thanked my dear friend and my favourite gym. They had rescued me from being suspended. Atul too followed my footsteps and he too was spared.

After this incident I became a loyal follower of gymming.

Once a gymmer always a gymmer
These days, like my friends, I too have lots of responsibilities – home, a sweet wife and a cute little daughter. Then there’s my job and my network of friends and relatives. I snatch away that one hour, at least three times a week, and pump the iron.

I made many friends in gyms in India and Nepal. My heartfelt thanks to Amar Deep Singh in Jaipur; Prashant Anand, Ashutosh Jaiswal, Kaiser Wani, Arshur Rahman and Balbir Singh in Delhi; Som Timilsina, Paras Shrestha, Rabindra  Karki and Deependra in Kathmandu; and Keshav Karki in Surkhet for keeping up with me.

It’s once a gymmer always a gymmer.

Do you have it in you?

Follow these sites to start gymming.

http://www.muscleandfitness.com

http://www.bodybuilding.com

http://www.musclemag.com

http://www.getbig.com

http://www.menshealth.com/fitness
 

कैदी आस्थाको

हैन,
आज किन ताल्चा मारेछन् ?
यो च्यानल गेट
किन खोल्दैनन् ?
त्यो भुस्याहा कुकुर
कुरिरहेछ खान प्रसाद ,
अनि कुरिरहेछु म
त्यसको जिब्रोको न्यानो स्पर्श ।

ती साना नानीहरु
आज किन लुकामारी खेल्दैनन् ?
किन आउँदैनन्
पैसा बटुल्न ?
पर्खिबसेकोछु म
तिनीहरुको पवित्र प्रेम
र आशरहित श्रद्धा ।

यो सानो छुचुन्द्रो चाहिं
मसँगै बसेको छ ,
घरिघरि मलाई काउकुती लगाउँदैछ
र प्रफुल्ल भई चारैतिर दगुर्दैछ ,
मख्ख छ आज ऊ
मसँग एक्लै दिन बिताउन पाएकोमा ।

संधै उकुसमुकुस गराउने अबिर
अनुहारै ढाक्ने टीका
अनि मेरा वरिपरि छरिएर,
मलाई मेरै कोठामा पराई भान गराउने
ती पुष्प गुच्छाहरु
आज सबै गायब छन् ।

मलाई पोलिरहने दियोका बत्ती
निसास्सिने गरी
धुँवाको मुस्लो फ्याक्ने
ती धूपका झुप्पा
अनि मेरा कान फुटुञ्जेल
बज्ने घण्टहरु 
आज सबै निश्तब्ध छन् ।

लामबद्ध ओइरिने
मेरा कथित भक्तजनहरु
आज सब सत्याग्रहमा बसेकाछन्
मेरो अमूक दर्शक भई बस्ने बानीबिरुद्ध
आज सब आन्दोलित छन्
अनि मलाई कैदी बनाई आस्थाको
आज नेपाल बन्द गरेकाछन् ।
  
(१७ अषाढ २०७०, सुर्खेत)
Republished from http://kchhakhabar.com 

चिप्लेकिरा र चित्रगुप्त

(c) www.morguefile.com

हे मनुवा !
आफ्ना विजीगिषालाई लगाम दे
निमेष भरमा चन्द्र छुने
ती महत्वाकांक्षालाई तिलाञ्जली दे
कर्म गर
तर फलको आश नगर
सुस्त सुस्त आफ्नो लक्ष्यतर्फ बढ
अनि कदापि पछि नहट
आफ्नो मार्ग पहिल्याई
अनन्ततर्फ लम्कि
चिप्लेकिरा झै हताश नभई
आफ्नो गन्तव्यतर्फ ।

यी मधुर वाणीलाई
पछ्याउँदा पछ्याउँदै
एक जुग बितेछ
अनि चित्रगुप्तको वास्ता नगरी
चट्याङ्ग झै गर्जिनेहरु
चम्किरहेछन् ,
अनन्तता थपिरहेछन्
आफ्ना क्षणभंगुरतामा ।

ती फिरन्तेहरु
नीति संहारकहरु
व्यस्त छन्
लुट्न अस्मिता
अनि
न्यायद्वारको चिराबाट
किंकर्तव्यविमुढ भई
चियाउँदैछन् चित्रगुप्त ।

अब त विजीगिषा
जिजीविषामा परिणत भएझै लाग्दछ
अनि अन्तर्मन कहांलिदै
उच्चारण गर्दैछ
फगत गाँस, बास, कपास ।
तर,
हारेको छैन अझ विश्वास
सत्यको दिन त पक्कै फिर्लान नि
अनि मिहिनेतका ती डोबहरु
अवश्य देख्लान्
ती अदृश्य न्यायमूर्तिले
भन्दै,
निरन्तर अघि बढ्दैछ
यो चिप्लेकिरो ।

(८ जेष्ठ २०७०, सुर्खेत)

Published in www.nepalipost.com

A day in the life of a goat

“Every dog has his day.”

That’s what we have heard since our kindergarten. And this is what I say whenever my near and dear ones are in distress. However, when I saw 23 goats being hauled into the dark chambers of a bus, I was damn sure those poor creatures never had had their days.

More than 10 thousand goats end up being slaughtered every day in Nepal to satisfy the greedy gluttons.  According to a Heifer International study, Nepal has a goat population of 9.19 million and the total demand of goat meat in the country is about 70,307 MT. Out of the total current supply, 8,566 MT is imported and 52,809 MT (86%) is supplied from domestic production. Still, there is a gap of 8,932 MT equalling 565,300 additional goats annually (with an average carcass weight of 15.8 kg /goat).  

I encountered the cruel goat transportation while I was on my way to Kathmandu from Surkhet in a night bus. The goats were being ferried from Chhinchu, a small town in the mid-western Nepal, to Kathmandu, the capital city.

I left Surkhet at 4.30 pm. After driving for almost an hour drive the bus screeched to a halt at Chhinchu and it was time for snacks and a bio-break. Getting off the bus, I bought some oranges. While I was busy peeling off an orange, the bus headed to a nearby petrol pump. 

Then the next sight was horrendous. Three men were hauling goats inside a tiny compartment made under the bus. The goats, tagged on their horns, were bleating with pain while the men were pulling them (the goats) by their ears. I was astonished to see them haul six goats in a small compartment at the back of the bus. There was enough space only for two goats.

The 20 minutes allocated for snacks elongated to an hour’s stop. To know about the goat trade, I cracked conversation with the jolly fellow, the conductor.

“These are one of the best goats in the region,” said the boy in green shirt. “The big ones exceeding 30 Kgs in weight draw Rs 260 (1 USD = 90 Rs) per Kg and the ones below 30 Kgs fetch Rs 220 per Kg.”  He was giggling and helping the traders haul the goats into the bus.

The goats command the price as per their weight. The goat meat of the same goat is sold at Rs 650 in Kathmandu. The transportation costs Rs 280-300 per goat depending upon its weight.

While talking with them, I was clicking the pictures with my Samsung cellphone. The boy in green got closer to me. He too had a Samsung set and he wanted a favour from me. He urged to take his picture with a goat and send it via Bluetooth to his mobile. 

He posed riding a goat and I didn’t miss the moment to get further information from him. I transferred the photo to his set and waited for the right moment to get details of the goat trade from him. 

I counted the goats being thrown inside the dark chambers under the bus. All in all they adjusted 23 goats in the bus. There was no empty space, enough not even for a handful of grass. The transporters were like butchers. How can they even think of feeding the goats?

The goats were packed like sardines inside the space carved out between the four wheels of the bus and at the back of the bus. From outside it seemed nothing unusual. There was no trace of more than a score of goats being loaded in the bus. The goats bleated for few minutes and then everything was calm. The bus continued its journey to Kathmandu.

The conductor cracked jokes and entertained the passengers on the way. “I pray the Lord to keep the goats mum while passing by the police check-posts,” he joked. “Otherwise I would need to cough up few hundreds at each check-post.”

On enquiring about the legal aspects, he showed me a permission letter from the District Livestock Services Office (DLSO). The letter stated the duration between which the goats could be transported to Kathmandu for meat purposes and the goats were free of any communicable diseases. The quantity mentioned in the letter was 20 but the number of goats loaded was 23. So, he used to be extra careful while dealing with the policemen at the check-posts.

I could imagine the pain and trauma the goats were going through. Still they remained silent during the journey, bleating only at some big jolts. They had adapted well to the situation. It might be the warmth of the companionship that was keeping them intact. Outside it was cold though not freezing.

After a strenuous ride of 15 hours, we reached Kathmandu. I was eager to see the plight of the goats. As the bus stopped, a white TATA Ace mini-truck parked parallel to the bus and two young boys started pulling out the goats from the bus.

The goats were lifeless; the bus stunk of goat urine and droppings. Lifting a goat weighing 50 Kgs and throwing it to the mini-truck was a child’s play for the boys. They were used to it.

Finally, the mini-truck was full with the bleating goats. It headed towards the butcher’s. It was the goats’ last day in this world. Alas, they hadn’t had their day in their lifetime!         

The cruel goat transportation in pictures