Blogdom for Freedom

(This piece is strictly feminine, a tribute to womanhood and specially dedicated to my sister and niece who are just coming to the world of adult-womanhood)

Imagine you sneak into the bed feeling better and lighter than the kite of autumn-start but when you wake up, you feel as if your waist’s rebelling like a separatist; you grope for  the bathroom, and you pee a stream of blood .What would you do ? Chop- chop! Change and rush to the doctor? Nay…You need not hasten…this is just a cycle honey bunny!!This happens every four days of all your adult-months till the menopausal-hollowness.
And trust me, this is an uncommon experience bestowed upon the fairies only .You are undergoing what the half of the whole population is quite unaware of. Lucky you, you pee blood every month means you are a beautiful woman and the great forces of ‘creation’ are at work inside you. Do you know why it happens? Let me explain it for you; First, I will start with the “grand feeling’” of being born a woman.

You are a woman, God’s Magnum Opus, whom the God created with great artistic intuition and aesthetic endeavor .Look at your own beautiful body for evidence, that sleekness, that fairness, that softness, that spark and wave; those little artistic angles, curves, triangles and pyramids .God’s used all the knowledge of geometry, trigonometry, astrology, and history…to have you made. And you have got such a mighty heart my lady! You are a mother, a wife, a sister; a big ocean of love, care and warmth. You are a nature; you nurture those around you. And you are entrepreneurs, scholars, scientists, mountaineers, space-travelers and everything that human beings can be. You are simply the great. (But I am not meaning to impart that you are the superior gender).God’s equipped you with all the capacity that takes to run the world in proper order. So, God’s set out to another planet to create ‘a world’ in there, entrusting you to manage half of the things of the world here. But before leaving, God made some special arrangements for you; God built a big reservoir inside every woman. Read the rest of this entry »

It was a training session and her angular fingers were dancing against the faint pale light of the Projector. For me, all she was the pink fingers with crimson nail-paint. ‘projects’, ’management’ ,’planning’, ‘risks ‘…..I heard her words in fragments ; wholesome was only the  maroonness  of her parting lips.
Yes, all I noticed was colors; all I cared was colors, all I felt was colors, and all I understood was colors. Throughout the presentation, all I cared was the pale light of the projector; I noticed the beams, the flush of light and the impression of the color it created. For me, it was the true-type color for it smudges everyone with the paleness, whoever comes along.
I did not care the singularity of the building, but the many-colored Bougainvilleas; red, yellow, pink, white. I did not care what the people have to say, but the Red-blue-black-ash- colored hoods they wore. I did not care how the meal tasted but the silverness of the rice and greenery of Saag.
How many colors…how many colors….how many colors….Colors were everywhere and no two colors were similar. Everything possessed color; advancing colors and receding colors. Even the water was colored in the dingy pond and the air was colored on the sunny yard. But why so many colors? Why everything was not just red or purple or green? May be because every one-thing has to be different from every other-thing. That’s what lives’ve got to be too; one different from each. And, all the colors must be very significant and special, if not, why would God create those uncountable colors with such a delicacy and deliberations? And most of the colors are true-type colors…because they affect moods, they affect impressions, they affect lives and they affect fates.

Longing to go back to the “Tockeet”

The universe is teeming with countless planets. The God is in charge of all. God gives chance to all the creatures to spend at least a life in every planet. Right now I am spending a life in the Earth. Before this, I was given a chance to lead a lovely life in the planet Tockeet, which literally means something like the merge of word ‘happiness’ and ‘laziness’. The planet is located at the northern edge of the galaxy lying next to Andromeda. This is certainly not the best planet, but, I remember well, everything worked differently there, comparing to the Earth. There, God communicated directly to us. God was not mystified as in the earth. God used to stand tall, distinct and roamed around valley after valley, country after country like “Gandalf “of the series “lord of the Rings”.

The most interesting feature of the planet was that, there was nothing called”the time” in the planet. There was no fixed time for anything. We could do anything we liked and anytime. It would rain and shine according to our will. There were flowers, clouds, haze, rainbows, mist, wind and everything as we want them. There was not much work. We always sleep in big grass, feed on cotton candies, laugh aloud, talk, trek, and paint. We didn’t have to do any job .Everybody was equally happy and equally sad. We used to spend time sleeping, talking, singing, playing roaming and eating lazily. We had limited desire and had power to control our desire, we had little means and little choice and little ends. We were taught in group, we were taught about the other planets. Read the rest of this entry »

With my little knowledge of the time and space, I recently came into the conclusion that “Management is a common sense”. And I lack common sense.

Back to college days, Management used to be the most stupid subject. Planning, Managing, Communicating, evaluating; it talked mainly the clichés, platitudes and themes that we already know. Management teachers always talked a lot, pretending it to be something like a rocket-science and normally in embarrassing English. A teacher used to pronounce “chaos” as “चावोज” .And it used to be one of those merciless subjects that offered no good marks no matter how good you write in exams. This was my impression during those days, full of teen-arrogance.

But as the time and space moved on, I grew older and now I feel like being trapped in the jigsaw of mismanagement. Today, I remember those management teachers with a great awe, I remember Dhruba Sir, Geeta Ma’m…feel sorry for that stupid vain, Those volumes of Griffith and Panta…those beautiful pointations of goal-setting, SWOT analysis, Communication-chain, Organizational structure and all .Though I quit the class before long, I am glad that some concepts are deeply engrained in my mind and I feel myself more or less “management-literate”.

Yet, everything boils down to “doing “it, not merely to “learning” it. At office…I work stupidly…Just rushing around and finishing the work only at the 11th hour. My brother always castigates me for my poor management of time. My ex-boss’s main complain also used to be the mismanagement, of time, of resources, of work. It’s been really tough, since long. My mismanagement has grown too much to handle.

In the midst of this lamentation, there was a good news that I was attending a “project management” training provided by my own organization. It was a nice experience. I realized how very it is important to re-know what you know so that you truly accept and internalize that knowledge. You make points and you present it but it makes no sense unless you relate those points to your exact work. Knowing what you are going to do, doing it perfectly sans overrunning the resources and finally being proud of what you have produced or rendered at the end of the day. This is all what management is…but it’s so difficult to “do” it as it should be “done”. Hopefully, one day I will be able to catch up with this charismatic theory “Management” in practice.

For sometimes, I thought this “management” thing is not my cup of tea. It’s the Management Board’s. I hated managing big things and I hated to be a manager, I would rather love to be an elementary school teacher.  And for sometimes, managing things was even the “sour grapes” for me .But lately, I am realizing how important it is to manage things, even the little things of day to day life. I m realizing that Managing things does not mean working harder, it does not mean documenting everything, it does not mean poking noses in other’s business. I think, it’s more like a common sense, like keeping your senses open while working and doing your work more cutely, neatly, swiftly and most important of all,  enjoyably. And It’s a high time for me to develop a “common sense”.

मिडियामा काम गर्न लागेको अढाइ वर्ष पुग्न लागेछ । तर अचम्म न कहिल्यै कुनै प्रेस सम्मेलनमा गइयो न कुनै पत्रकारहरुको भेलामा वा नारा जुलुसमा । न कुनै पत्रकारहरुको समुहको सदस्यता लिइयो । आजसम्म एउटा पनि नेतालाइ भेटेको छैन । एउटा पनि हिरो या हिरोइनलाइ भेटेको छैन । न कुनै गायक गायिका या खेलाडीलाइ । न कुनै  विदेशीलाइ चिनेको छु । खाशै पत्रकारहरुलाइ पनि चिनेको छैन भेटेको छैन । तर त्यसमा केहि regret छैन । धेरै गर्व गर्न लायकका मान्छेलाइ भेटेको छु ।

·        महाविर पुनलाई

·        जगदिश घिमिरेलाई

·        भगवानदास मानन्घरलाई

·        मदन राईलाई

·        रामरति देविलाई

·        चमेली वाईवालाई

अझै यस्तै केहि नामहरुलाइ भेट्ने आश छ । जान चैं धेरै ठाउँमा गएँ । म तिनै ठाउँ र भेटेका प्रिय मान्छेहरु सम्झदै आत्मालोचना गर्दैछु ।  रोल्पा रुकुमका यूवाहरुको जिन्दगीमा परेको द्वन्द्वको असरलाई प्रत्यक्ष भोगें तर आज कसैको सम्पर्कमा म छैन  । सल्यानका दीदीहरुका आङ्ग खस्ने र सेतो पानी बग्ने समस्याका कानेखुशी सुनें तर उहाँहरुलाइ न कुनै उपाय या सल्लाह दिन सकें । बर्दियाका कमैयाहरुको बोली सुनें तर मैले काठमान्डुमा आएर त्यो कसैलाइ सुनाइन , छोरो गायब पारिएका बाबुको विवशता बुझें ,लोग्ने  बेपत्ता भएका श्रीमतीहरुको ब्यथासँगै रोएँ तर तिनलाई खोज्ने या सम्बन्धित ठाउँमा कुरा पुराउने काम गरिन । मुगुको खाध्य संस्थानमा हुने धरपकडको त लोकेसन रिपोट नै बनाएँ । चालिसौं दिन काम गरेर जोडेको एकबोरा चामल भट्टेचौरको पुल नहुँदा कर्णालीले बगाइदियो । मेरो मन कत्ति रोयो तर त्यहि दिन साँझ खान नसकेर एककचौरा पास्ता मिल्काइदिएँ। जुम्लाका हात खुट्टा फुटेर कालै भएका स्कुले भाइलाइ हात खुट्टा धुने नगरेको भनेर गाली गरें तर झोलाबाट झिकेर एउटा साबुन या पन्जा या कोल्डक्रिम दिन सकिन ।  रसुवाका तिब्बती शरणार्थीलाई  परिचयपत्र नहुँदा भएको समस्या बुझें तर त्यो कुरा मेनस्ट्रिम मिडीयामा ल्याउन सकिन न कतै बाम्तीभण्डारको  चियाको कुरा गरें । रीपोर्टका सबै रंगहरु लोकल रेडियोमा बजे अनि खुइलिए । यो संसारमा सियो खसेको आवाज कस्ले सुनोस । मैले पनि सबैलाई बिर्सें ।

म किन यस्ती स्वार्थीं भएँ ? मेरो आफ्नै नेचरले कि मेरो कामको नेचरले ? यदि म आफै स्वार्थी हो भने मैले आफुले आफुलाई फेर्नैपर्छ या मेरो कामको नेचरै यस्तो हो भने मैले यसलाइ कसरी मानवतावादी र ब्यबाहारिक बनाउने भन्ने सोच्नुपर्छ । अढाइ वर्ष त गयो तर अब मैले बाँकी समयलाइ निर्थर्क बनाउनुहुदैन । यसबिचमा मैले के बुझें भने गफले भोक मेटिदैन रहेछ संसार फेरिदैन रहेछ । काम गर्नपर्ने रहेछ । म सामाजिक रिपोर्टर, मैले नै मेरो स्टोरीलाई बिर्सदैजान्छु भने अरु कसले सम्झन्छ ? यो पेशा त गम्भिर जिम्मेवारी बोकेको पेशा हो । यसलाइ जागिरको रुपमा लिनु मेरो कत्रो भुल । यत्रो वर्ष काम गरेर मैले के गरे ? ठूलो कुरा त परै जावोस न कसैको एकसाँझको पेट भरिदिएँ न कसैलाई क को अक्षर लेख्न सिकाएँ न एउटा काउली उमारें न कसैको दुखेको घाउ निको पारें । At the end of the day खै मैले यत्रो वर्ष गरेको ठोस काम  जसलाइर् देखाएर भन्न सकूँ क मैले यो गर्या छु ? Delicatessen Center र Oasis café लाइ थोरै धनि बनाएँ Korean Shop  र Kathmandu mall    का पसलहरुलाई पनि पोषें । खाएँ लाएँ उडाएँ । उफ…..अब त अत्ति भैसक्यो । अब त मैले केहि गर्नैपर्छ । अबको reporter भनेको story-teller मात्र हैन  initiator बन्न पर्छ । कम्तीमा पनि म बन्नुपर्छ । नत्र त पसल थापेर बसे पनि भैहाल्थ्यो नि ।

Dignify the Deaths

Media has an indomitable might. Owing to the perpetual sanguinity of the media industry, all the entrepreneurs mobilize it as a propaganda tool to conquer the world politically, commercially, spiritually and even emotionally. Thus, more often, media has become the arrow, armor and the album of the conquerors. However, this does not have any single-fold reasons and the media industry singly is not to be blamed for this. The media industry has its own financial, dogmatic and technical sets of limitation. Yet, the point is that, the media must reckon its grandeur and should not forget that its essence is not only to propagate information but also to promulgate the message of humanity, equality and justice throughout the world.

While writing this, the recent bomb blast at RawalPindi of Pakistan is in my mind.  Along with the powerful lady of Pakistan, Benajir Bhutto, many others were killed in the blast, including the suicide bomber. But the news hit the headlines as ‘ The Assassination of Bhutto’ or ‘ Bhutto Killed in the Bomb Blast’, whilst the news of the killing of other people who accompanied her even to the death was put merely in a line. Last October, when there was a huge blast in Karachi, taking toll on the lives of 140 people, the news was not headlined as ‘ The Killing of 140 people’; instead, the headline was ‘ Assassination attempt on Bhutto’.

Be it the epochal massacre of Kotparva or the Narayanhiti massacre, the death of the so called   royal-births and noble-births are mourned and recorded, whilst, there were several killed, who came from the so called lower- birth, whose deaths were never acknowledged. Their deaths are not archived as the so called high-rankers and so their memories vanished like the tiny bids of water in the ocean, giving an air of meaninglessness to their deaths.

I can not decipher, whether this legacy of ‘lightening the powerful’ and ‘darkening the powerless’ even after the death ,is handed by the society to the media or the vice versa. However, the media should not encourage this fashion of disparity. If everyone is entitled to the right to live with dignity, s/he is entitled to die with dignity too, whatsoever his/her political, social or financial position is. This may sound a bit unviable in the present situation to talk about the rights of the dead where even the livings are deprived of their basic rights, but death being a final and inescapable aspect of life, right to dignified death (at least I think) does not deserve to be denied to any soul. And media, with all its might and grandeur, should develop an attitude towards dignifying the deaths.
 

Killing is Seeding

Political Lineage, corruption and assassinations are some of the common fates that most of the striking South Asian political leaders could not escape. Be it Gandhis or Shahs or Bhuttos, the end has always been a beginning .And the beginning has always been a beginning of another end. History narrates that, when a particular assassination is set against a backdrop of certain political intricacy, the whole scenario suffers a sea change. Yet, the settlement of every intricacy has been a rising (or raising) of another intricacy. From socio-economic to psycho-religious, the effect of the post-assassination alteration is palpable throughout all the sector of a nation, not to mention political. Nevertheless, the kernel institution and principle remains immutable.

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I heard footsteps sounding and resounding all over the stairs all the night. Twice,I felt like being throttled ,I even said ‘adieu’ to my life, my beloved life.I now don’t understand what made me sure that someone would steal upstairs,breaking in the iron seals , and stranggle me to death .

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