I wonder whether IHT could make it’s market in the country or not. Probably it’s published only few hundreds (all right lets just say thousands, happy?) copies targeting diplomatic missions and elites. One more reason to brag probably

I was at so-called festival where you could eat momo as much as you like that too of so many varieties. We had reserved few chairs for our friends and waiting for them to return back with momos. Few people came and asked if the chair was free which weren’t. But there was a smart-ass who didn’t bother to ask. He just pulled the chair and took away – to my utter surprise. He seemed to be educated but too bad he lacked the basic culture of civilization: that is to ask. I hadn’t recovered from my shock, another shock hit me. Famous band Kutumba which plays traditional music was playing on stage. And the crowd just gathered around the stage, standing in front us obstructing our view. Hello, you are allowed to see but not obstruct others. We had to shout but still they either acted or really didn’t hear us and I had to literally poke them to tell them. Later many people again gathered and obstructed. We didn’t have any power left to tell everyone even we were there to see what’s happening at stage.

And one word became legendary at program: Exactly. The male M.C. was so much in love with the word, every time as a counter to female M.C. he began his sentence with exactly. It was like

Girl: this program is sponsored by this, that, this
Boy: Exactly, and we are doing …..
Girl: Hold on people, we have performance by this band…
Boy: Exactly….. Exactly….. exactly….. exactly….

Didn’t count how many times he used that word but it must have easily crossed 100.

The momos were yum. There were 22 varieties of momo and 9 varieties of pickles ranging from momo made from vegetables, chicken, pork, mutton, buff, sweets, fruits and so on. But I felt ticket price were a bit high and thanks to my friend I was misinformed about the event. I was told there are unlimited free soft drinks and free ice-creams (then only I agreed to pay the ticket) but reality was there was only a 250 ml. coke available for free and no ice-creams (you have to pay extra of course) but it included 30 ml of White Mischief vodka. I demand ice-cream now!!!!

Probably I missed to tell in beginning: I was having bad headache, had planned to go home and sleep but I ended up being there. The headache is back and I am trying to sleep!

Every time I open my dashboard, there are spam comments: not just one. Yesterday night I deleted 9 comments and now 2 more. And in past week i must have deleted 20 more. I am tired of this stupid comments that says “Oh I like your blog…nice write ups and gave me new insight” and have link to some sites that claim of penis enlargement or free lottery or god-knows-what.

And seeing such small Baadhi of spams, I check my stats and it’s always same. No, I am not wishing my blog to be popular (probably just a little) and I know very few of you ever read my scribbles (I bet my nephew can write better than I). If no one is reading my blog why those spammer spent their previous time to send me spams?? Or is it automatic? It must be (my tube-light mind which is technologically illiterate thinks so).

Ohh did I tell you I couldn’t make myself finish Black Swan. The movie unfolds with such a power, I know tragedy is coming and I just couldn’t prepare myself to see the horror (well I haven’t completed the movie but I think it will be). Same fear overpowered me while reading Arundhati Roy‘s God of Little Things. I finally managed to finish it and I am glad I did. The book is one of the best book I have read. And I bet Black Swan is also an awesome movie. I have other movies to watch as well and I hope to finish it tonight, review might follow later

I was in love with blue, then my love shifted to black, then white, then again blue and then purple and then orange and then green… so if i hang most of recent T-shirts/Ts it will be like rainbow….

Anyone out there who compete me? lol

This place where I am working now has lots of memories for me. This is the place where I learned to be professional, learn new skills, techniques, and many more. Met very good friends who will always be in my heart. Looking back, I never thought I will be at this stage: working in the area of development.

I had barely completed by high school and passing my time, like any other kid, roaming and having fun. At the same time, I wanted to be independent on my own, wanted to do something. So when I saw the vacancy, I applied for the post and voila, I got it which was beyond my expectations. Well I had fared well but had talked a lot, I mean a lot. Anyway, I got the job.

When I was a child, hearing my dad’s fascinating stories about histories and myths, I wanted to be historian or archeologist who tells the stories of the past. When I had free time, I used to count stars and watch them in amazement wondering probably I should be an astronomer. Then as I grew up, I thought probably being journalist is the coolest job in the whole world: you can travel and tell the stories. So I took up the subject hoping to be a hardcore journalist who travels around the globe and shares the untold stories. However, fate has something else for me. Even now also I travel, hear the stories and share the stories but not as a journalist who seeks answer to what and how and barely why but as a social communicator who seek answer to why to those questions which hardly interest our mainstream journalists.

These years, I juggled around various positions, worked in many issues and now time has come to say goodbye. But it won’t be easy though I had thought otherwise. The hanging frame that consists pictures of my friends, the poster of John Mayer, the happy calendar and other personal stuffs would have to find new place and I wonder whether there will be place for them in my new desk at new place.

Now my position will change. I will no longer be part of this glamorous media fraternity but still my quest for answer to why will always remain same; my search for stories will always remain same. Probably my voice will be hardly heard in radio waves, but my stories will always find a way to reach out to those who want to know.

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April 2006, Kathmandu
The mass of people cried out loud, chanting slogans calling for freedom and democracy; they slowly marched towards the Royal Palace. With excitement, I watched the crowd passing in front of me, I simply couldn’t stop myself as I too chanted along with them.

The April uprising heralded a sense of change among Nepalis. We all dreamed of democracy, prosperity and equality. At last, the King succumbed and a new era began. There was celebration through out the country. We had finally won.

June 2009, Tehran
Three years later; A similar scene was witnessed, they too were chanting for the same cause; freedom and democracy. Pictures of demonstrations were flickering on my television set. Suddenly a tensed expression gripped the news anchor as he announced that the police were using batons at the protestors and even gunshots could be heard. Of course the causality created uproar as many protestors were dead and thousands injured. Authority took a stand and voices were quelled.

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“What goes behind the curtain, no one knows. Not even the windowpane”

Seriously, when it comes to Islamic Republic of Iran, I don’t know anything. The only thing that we seem to know is veiled woman, stringent rules and the Big Bother policy. How a common Iranian feels about his/her country, the revolution, dreams and future; no one knows, not even another Iranian. Let alone Uncle Sam.

Najir Afisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran is a window-crack glimpse at Iran and Iranian’s thoughts. This Memoir tells the story of struggle for freedom, happiness, equality and above all being oneself.

After the 1979 Islamic revolution, everything changed drastically with a whim of wind; two different generations of different time-span evolved. One generation lured by the past wanted to restore the past glory with a determination to pay any price for the cause. The other generation wants to continue to live in a dream; a dream to live for the future with no past to dictate their dreams. The struggle of these two contradictory worlds is a story of Reading Lolita in Tehran.

The conflict is so deep yet silent, like a sleeping volcano waiting to erupt but displayed  in different ways. Gatsby, the fictional character, is put on trial to decide whether he’s immoral and a lusty sinner as he is blamed of threatening the society by destroying the decency and morality of Iranian society. However, there is one generation who are fighting to save Gatsby as he stands as their hope to destroy the infidels of the past.

Nafisi reveals how with the revolution, everything that was ascribed from the west was seized accusing and branding them of being anti-Islam, indecent and impure and then destroyed. Even the wonderful imagination of literature became a victim of the draconian policies. Everything was scrutinized in behest of morality, purity and decency. Suddenly quest for love became a sin, imagination became Satan and expression became a distant dream: at least for the women. Woman lost her voices, identity and moreover her independence as it was declared that she needed someone to protect her. Veil was made mandatory and no one could ever imagine how one piece of cover could widen the distance as such. However, those very women are colorful, vibrant and different and despite the harsh condition they do not stop dreaming for freedom and are determined to prove that Happiness is not western, joy is not western, and love is not western. The writer portrays the quiet resistance by the women against oppression.

Through fictional characters like “Gatsby” of The Great Gatsby and “Lolita” of Lolita and writers Henry James and Jane Austen, Nafisi portrays the state of Iranian society after the revolution and beyond it. The book evolves around 18 years and is divided into 4 sections: Lolita, Gatsby, James and Austen. The book opens with “Lolita”, 11 years after “Gatsby”. Nafisi, after resigning from university decides to start private literature class with some of her best girl students to read forbidden works of Western literature. Through Lolita she describes about oppression and how the establishment imposes their dreams upon reality turning people into figment of imaginations. “Gatsby” is set just as the revolution starts. She compares Iranian dreams with American dreams of The Great Gatsby and concludes how like American dreams, Iranian dreams too were corrupted and destroyed in the valley of ashes. “James” follows right after “Gatsby” and describes the state of Iran during Iran-Iraq war. She tells how establishment could use fear to deceive and trap common man leading to believe in hoax. But amidst this chaos also, like Henry James’s character Daisy Miller, she discovers Iranians too want to dream of living their life without judgment and compromises. “Austen” succeeds “Lolita “telling about increasing oppression and clashes of two generations and how later could never get rid of imposed-imaginations despite herculean efforts but still doesn’t stop trying.

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The Culture and circumstances of Islamic revolution and our revolution could be different, but while reading Reading Lolita in Tehran, one cannot help but wonder about more similarities than differences. Like Iranians, we Nepalis too dreamed of a utopian world that seemed to be in near distance but as the April uprising succeeded, the dreams we uphold have slowly started to fade away. Our shared dream of prosperity, equality, peace, freedom, tranquility is lost somewhere in-between and replaced by corruption and oppression. Now we too are left with our past to curse and future to doubt.

flickr.com/rabingrg

Once Shakespeare cried out; Life is a drama and we are mere actors.
This line always resonates in my head: actors, actors!

I ask myself, Am I actor too?

Sitting in this cold chair, looking around happy faces: I confront myself. Am I not? When have I been real? I prefer to be more reel than real. I have always pretended to hide myself from gaze, stare, judgments, and what not?

Searching skeletons in my wardrobe!

I always acted like the big cat; not afraid to reveal, at least to some. But when time came, I chickened out. Chicken; cuckoo-doodle-do.

My dad always tried to teach me: stand up for yourself, not for others but for yourself. I try to look back; have I? When my own relatives tried to snatch things away, I pretended I am too young to confront. If only had I said NO, things wouldn’t have been this way. Probably, I would have something else to rant about but not this one. Many relationships made, broken, betrayed over the time but I never had my own say. Had I taken my own stand, would things be this way? Certainly not.
Is this trait going to overrun me this time too?

Truth: stranger, bitter, unpredictable, magnificent. But still the most feared one.

No, I can’t digest bitter and stranger truth. Would I be always waiting for truth to be magnificent?
With truth: comes judgment. And I am afraid of that. Your truth will be more stranger and bitter than my truth. Won’t it be, or am I now trying to judge you?

I thought it’s up to me: why, whom, when and how! Probably a cover!

It’s time to follow my father’s footsteps. I don’t care how ugly it could be but I am not ready to make nice! And also I am not ready to back down. I shall leave things from future for future to deal with.

Stranger, bitter, unpredictable, magnificent: but truth.

I was 10 when I first heard about Hitler. My dad used to teach us about religion called “Humanity” and Hitler was one of the Satan of his story. When he told me Nazi used to stamp labels on Jews, I shuddered and my small naïve mind thought: Hitler is mad, how could anyone do that. He is really a Satan.

But as I grew up, I began to see labels everywhere. The label begins from you birth or even before you are born; cute, ugly, badmas, gyani, smart, dumb, gay, straight, cruel etc. and etc. and the label continues. No it doesn’t leave you even when you die.

And strange part of labeling is: there’s not just one label, there are sub-sub-sub-sub labels as well.

I was browsing through some youtube videos. One video by Gay Blogger caught my eye. Yes I read gay blogs, now does that make me more gay? If I haven’t read, would that make me more straight? See here too is label. (Now I know you have label on me because of that too.)

Focusing on the topic, he answers questions he receives or shares his stories. He was asked: whether he was top or bottom, another label within label. That question made me wonder, why there are sub-labels within labels. Isn’t one label enough or do we so strongly believe in nomenclature that we have to label everything and anything. We put labels on class, culture, caste, sexual orientation, looks, work, gender, and on what not? Once you are done with labeling…now second phase starts… start labeling the labels as well, and the process continues. And still, many of us claim we are different than Hitler. But are we?

Hitler labeled people publicly, we label people privately. Only that is different, isn’t it?