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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.

just want to pack my bags and leave away to far far away!! Sigh.

Just want to hide behind the chaos and greatness of Paris, again

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?

People smile.

At every corner!

Probably you both once had coffee together or shouted cheers for your team together or just randomly shook your hands during some conference. Still, people smile at you!

Smiles are deceiving. You don’t know whether they are acknowledging smile or betraying smile or just I-know-what-you-did-smile.

After all, people try to interpret smile as per their mood.

Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa was right in front of me, smiling. I don’t know how she was feeling when her portrait was made. People have their own theories explaining her emotions. I don’t know what I saw in her eyes. After all it was hard to tell where she was looking at. It felt like she was following me everywhere in the room, between that jostling and pushing she didn’t leave her eyes off  me. As millions before me, I tried to smile her back or say grinned at her and tried to understand how she was feeling. With folding hands put on her stomach, what emotion she was going through.

I wonder, was she thinking about her child in her womb, people say she was pregnant at that time. Or was she laughing at Da Vinci himself thinking what an ugly bloke is painting my picture. Or she feeling sad thinking someday no one will ask me to paint again as I turn ugly hag. Or she is merely smiling back to people like us who are grinning at her.

I don’t know.

As I looked into her eyes, I felt her pain…. I felt her inner happiness. Was I trying to put my own emotions into her smile? Even if so, why did I see pain in her eyes? Was I too in pain, probably I was: in pain of being far far away. Then if I was in pain, how could I see her inner happiness? Or was I too content to be in city of love? Or was I just being another philosopher?

I tried hard to gauge her emotions but failed miserably; was she happy or sad? Or is it just an illusion? And Mona Lisa herself won’t explain. All she does is, smile at everyone.

Why is smile so enigmatic? Is every smile like that or is it just her smile? I know, I won’t buy any answers but still I can’t stop asking same question, again and again!

P.S. Look at the second picture! Apparently he is crying. But is he unhappy? Look again!

P.S. 2: Monalisa picture source: Flickr/Joaquín_Martínez_Rosado

A magnificient Eiffel…. picture taken when i was in Paris

Whyi didn’t get it from store? Dell doesn’t sell its PC from store, the only way is: online. So have to depend on credit card: stupid plastic money. Long story short: if you don’t have credit card, you are not coutned in Europe.

My oder is in 3rd phase now and on the 5th phase, it will be in my hand. So waiting for tht day but for now: few images .