Mother, O my dear mother !

(Dear reader, I have revised two of the posts over here on the request of some of my friends, which they loved very much. The two posts are combined in a single post over here. You may go older entries to see comments by readers if you want. With regards- Chanky Shrestha.)

As well as a loving mother, she was so lovely and beautiful. In my dim memory, she looked like Baijayantimala, the superb heroine of old Hindi cinema. Though of wheat-white complexion, her face was bright and evergreen-smiling.

Since long, she had been in bed almost panting and not feeding me her breast. What had hapened to her ? I’d not understand. Breast-feed is best pleasure for every child and I was not different. Though I knew she was in trouble, I would ask for breast-feed again and again. In return, Didi (sister, the elder one) used to say, ‘Ama (mother) is suffering from severe pain, that’s why you should not suck her breast my dear brother.”
Didi would give me some milk in glass that I would not drink. I would cry and she would take me on her back to playground to make me play.

Mother’s face was very pale and she was getting skinny day by day. I saw father would standby her every moment and console that she would get well soon.
Once, as I asked for breast-feed, she burst into a violent cry. What made her cry ? Father asked Didi to take me outside and kept on consoling mother. Didi said to me, ‘ Ama is very serious and you made her cry. Please don’t make her cry by asking breast-feed, my dear Kanchha.’
I was really shocked by her cry and couldn’t play at all. A feeling of crime made me very sad. How could I make my lovely mother cry ?
‘Didi, what has happened to Ama ?’
‘She is in a great trouble.’
‘Who gave her such a trouble ?’
‘Demon.’
‘Can’t we kill the demon ?’
‘Pray to God Rama, then he will kill the demon and Ama will get well.’
Then I really began praying God Rama. Every morning I prayed, it seemed as if I was in a meditation. Yes, then after, never did I ask for breast-feed. Father was amazed how obidient I had been ! But mother would cry again and again as she would see me.
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Our courtyard had a big Kangiyo flower tree. Under that, the floor was smeared with green cow-dung, that evening. Father and some other people brought mother there and made her sleep. She was lying flat on her back and facing sky. Someone took me off from there and said, ‘Let’s be off. They are taking her to a good hospital and she will recover very soon.’
The next day, our courtyard was very solemn. The vermilion powder was here and there. Father had shaved his head and had a white cap. West-ward courtyard had a bakaino tree which was cut down. There was only a root-side stump.
‘Where is mother ? Why is this bakaino tree cut down ? Why are you wearing the white cap ?’ I said to father in a single breath.
Father looked very sad but said calmly, ‘We have taken her to a good hospital and she is getting well.’
‘And the tree ?’
‘We made a motor of the tree and took her on the same. Well, you will ask about my bald head and white cap. As you know the summer is too hot and I felt I had better shave my head and wear a filmsy cap.’
Didi also had the same readymade answer about mother.
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‘You the bastard mother-killer,’ a slot boy said to me as I failed rule while playing hide and seek game.
‘What did you say ? Say once again that.’
‘Mother-killer…..mother-killer…..mother-killer….I will say 1000th time that you are a mother-killer.’
‘Why do you say this ?’
‘Your mother caught TB when you were borne. And she died because of you.’
‘No, she is in a good hospital and getting well.’
‘No, you killed her and your father burnt.’
‘Bind your language !’ I picked him by the scruff of his neck and shook him violently.
‘How dare you the mother-killer pull my collar ?’ He also pulled my collar and gave some hard punches on my nose. My nose broke and bled incessantly. The cloths were smeared with blood. For some moment, I could not even cry due to severe pain. I had fallen to the ground.
When my conciousness was returned Didi was slapping the boy for breaking my nose. He gave her an obscene threat and ran away.
My nose was still bleeding and pained very hard. Didi made my face turn towards sky so that the bleeding stop.
‘Didi, is our mother really dead ? And was it because of me ?’ stopping hiccup, I said after a some moments.
Didi embraced me tightly and suddenly, burst into a violent cry.
Now we had made a great show for the villagers.

WHY DID SHE THROW ME TO GROUND ?

It was clear that my mother was no more. Some of village-women and my contemporaries would call me mother-killer, ill-fated, ill-omenous etc. I would not even understand why they called me like this and that. Did they mean I had killed my mother ? Of course, yes. They meant I was ill-fated that’s why my mother had been dead. (How could I kill my dear mother whereas she loved me so much and so did I ?)
After her death, whenever I saw a beautiful young girl, I thought she was my mother. All of a sudden, I call her ‘mother’ (though they may be married or unmarried). If she responded, I would say, ‘Let me go to mother.’ It was clear that my mother was no more. What had happened to me ? What made me do that ?
As I would call them mother, some of them would caress and kiss me. Some would pinch my cheek. A gorgeous agile girl had kissed and jokingly said, ‘If only I would give birth to a son as lovely as this one !’ Two young men were laughing at her. When she noticed, she was blushed as red as a rose.
‘Mother, my dear mother’, once I called a lass who was a relative of one of our villagers. She was totally blushed. When I kept on haranguing, ‘ Let me go to mother”, she took me on her waist. Now I know she had done this only to stop me from calling her mother. Do you know what I then said to her ? I said, ‘ Feed me your breast.’ What would be a virgin girl’s remarks as such is proposed ? Of course, she did the same as you think she would. She took me by both armpits and threw to the ground as forcibly as she could, and disappeared at once. For some moments, I couldn’t even cry due to severe pain and the hate of the girl. A violent hiccup caught my throat when I noticed someone was consoling me.
Then after, never did I call mother to any damsel. No one might replace a mother even if she had been dead.

On Dristi column

I write a column entitled Pratidhwoni in Dristi weekly, once a month or three weeks. Last Tuesday, I wrote on some of cruelest experiences of my journalism and literature which got an awesome response. I received 13 sms and 6 calls at my mobile which went ga-ga over the column. Promod Ayam from Channel Nepal wrote that the writing as well as offence on some of the worst characters of Nepali journalism was very powerful which was his own sentiment. Deepak Lohani, a poet and story writer, wrote, ‘ Sallahkarjyu (consultant, he calls me with this title) no one can be compared to you in writing kutpit sahitya (bashing writeups).’ Yadav Thapaliya, a poet and journalist, told me that the writing was gentle way to finish villain of our society. Thank you all for your loving responses.

Yes, I have traced the malpractices, villainous tendencies of Nepali journalism and literature in the column. Nepali journalism and literature would go ahead towards right path if only the tendencies were traced by all the concerned. You know someone Sharma who worked with me in Spacetime Dainik had threatened suicide to the publisher while he had been nearly aquited.
Later on he himself was able to make another person commit suicide when he was successful to have mercy from his lords. Do you remember Mitralal Balak Adhikary who commited sucide  last year’s August. Another literary magazine editor is using the government forum for his own advantages. He publishes the matters only by those who has written on him or who is not creative writer but journalist or who lives abroad.

What a pity ! It will be my success when the just persons of the fields raise their voices against such culprits.

Autobiography or story?

‘Have you been 45 ?’
‘What do you think ?’
‘I think you are around 30.’
‘Do I look that ?’
‘Exactly. But you wrote you are 45 in the story.’

These dialogues had been held between one of my readers and me. He was mentioning my story ‘Ajammari’ (Immortal) which was recently published in a literary web site. Yes, I think stories are squeezed or developed from a piece of experience or self sufferings. Though stories necessarily need an imense imaginativity, if the seed of the story is from self sufferings, I think, it becomes rather pathetic and heart-touching. But it does not mean the whole story is autobiography. Thus thinking does injustice to the author.

‘Have you been sacked again ?’ wrote other friend of mine from USA when he read the story. What should I answer ? Yes, some of my stories touch the anomalies of journalism. I had written a story titeld ‘Asantulan’ (Imbalance) in which an honest journalist has been dishonourably aquitted. The readers thought this was my own story.

‘Well, you have been sacked from Nepal Samacharpatra, haven’t you ?’ A number of readers asked me the same question.
‘How do you think so ?’
‘Your story tells that.’

What should I answer as I had resigned from my post under moral ground. My resignation was much more acclaimed by my colleagues. Still, they remember and mention it whenever we are in touch.

Was that my own story ?

Anwika Giri, an energetic young storywriter, faces the same problem that she shared with me.

Are all the stories autobiographical as it is written in first person style ?

An encounter with minister

I was afraid of Minister for Culture, Tourism and Civil Aviation Pradeep Gyawali since I had written a story in which a piece resembled him. It was heard that he footed on the floor splashed with the blood of black he-goat when he first time entered ministerial residence.Why did he do this ? Did he really want to promote, as a culture minister, our culture of inhumane sacrificing animals ? Did he believe in superstition ? I think it was not what he actually wanted. My story titled ‘Apaharan’ (which was published in Samay weekly as Krantikari, Neta ra Mantri) attacks on this very point.

Maybe, he was compelled by the security staffs or other ministerial staffs. But his name was involved in the issue. Was that a bit a leftist minister carries out ? I have yet to get the answer. Maybe, it will remain unanswered.

Yes, he was the person really very easy and amicable. Some day, we used to be together to recite loktantrik-ganatantrik poetry during the preparion for April Movement. He had read my poetry book Kayaklpa very interestedly and wrote his rich comments to me through email.

It is not strange that April Movement made him minister and I am at road as I used to be. No doubt, my future will be the same. Besides, the person like me is always in danger to be killed even in loktantra though I had also fought for it with all my efforts both in 1990 and 2007. (I have to mention that I had hardly escaped gun-shot at Durbar Marg on Chait 24, 2046 when I was a teenager college boy. Just escaped bravely and escaped death.)

Gyawali’s role as a member of High Level Peace Talks Committee was really praiseworthy. It will be printed in the history. But there are so many positions unfulfilled under his ministry. For instance: Nepal Academy which is taken as the Government of Art and Literature field. Due to this, the journals being published from Academy could not be regular. The remuneration of the authors could not be given away though the budget is nearly going to be freezed.

I was in touch with him, after he became minister, at a poetry symposium organised by Advanced Engineering College, Kopundole on Fagun 6. I was afraid of him but he shook hand with me (a minister shakes hand with a person of no importance: is this not strange ?) and was present with me very heartily. He addressed me as a powerful representative author of youth generation during his speech. He recited two poems which were really sensible. Second time, we met at the programme where poetry book Dasgajawari (Inside No Man’s Land) by RM Dangol was released. I have written a short comment on Dangol’s poetry. Minister Gyawali mentioned it frequently. What does this egocentric writing mean ? It means, by nature he is really a good, easy and gentle person even if he is now a full minister.

His mentioning me does not matter that much. He does same with other authors too. The all time pinching question to me about him is the same I have mentioned above. Why did he want to live on superstition ? Does it last his position long ? Why is he silent ? I think, he must clarify this. Will he do this ?

(A more thing to to say. By nature he is very good. It means he is too bad to be big. I don’t believe in superstition, though my conscience suggests that he will be sacked after reshuffling Council of Ministers. A minister in the country like ours must be too good to be big that he is not.)

The Mess of Love

(Dear reader, I love reading DH Lawrence very much. His novels, stories as well as poetry are really great. Simple language but great philosophical touch. This poem carries a great philosophical poetic sobriety which necessarily makes you ponder over your passion to your sweatheart. When I feel pessimistic, I read this poem and pacify myself.)

-By D. H. Lawrence

We have made a great mess of love
since we have made an ideal of it

The moment I swear to love a woman, a certain woman,
all my life
That moment I begin to hate her

The moment I even say to a woman: I love you !
My love dies down considerably
The moment love is understood thing between us, we are sure of it
It’s a cold egg, it isn’t love any more

Love is like a flower, it must flower and fade
If it doesn’t fade, it is not a flower
It’s either an artificial rag blossom, or an immortelle,
for the cemetary

The moment the mind interfers with love, or the will fixes on it,
or the personality assumes it is an attribute,
or the ego takes possession of it,
It is not love any more, it is just a mess

And we’ve made a great mess of love, mind-perverted,
will-perverted, ego-perverted

Insult aches rather than a jab

Kalapremi Samuha, a group of young ghazal writers, musicians and singers sent me an ivitation card which consisted two sessions. Ricitation of ghazals, talk and honour programme at Academy consisted the first session and the second was with singing ghazal and dinner at C/W. Sharmila Napit called me and asked to participate both the sessions.

We reached at C/W after the first session. I was together with Kantipur journalist Leela Ballav Ghimire, Ram Mani Sitaula and other two persons to whom I was new. We took our seats. A hasty-nasty person from the organiser approached and said to a person who was with us and unknown to me– Where are you from brother ? He told he was from media.
‘Which media ?’
‘Samay Sarathi.’
‘Sorry, this refreshment is not for media. Please be off.’

We were very badly disturbed and felt insulted though the misbehavior was not with us. We also were mediapersons. He might behave same as with the person. The person who was misbehaved did not leave but we four left the hall.

They invited us to have dinner and fed an insult. We felt the insult ached rather than a jab.

Bridal bonanza ! What a joke !

(Dear readers, I had written this news commentry freshly on Thursday but internet service did not favour me. That’s why it is published two days later though I think it will be still readable. Thanks for your cooperation.)

Bridal bonanza ! What a joke over women sensibility ! Senu Ranjit of Samakhushi, Kriti Nakarmi Manandhar of Balaju, Dr. Mamta Singh of Bansbari and Nabadita Koirala from Tangal won Lakme Bride Contest Thursday. They got a honeymoon package worth Rs. 50,000 or equivalent in cash.
The contest, organised by Unilever Nepal Ltd. was open from December 1 to January 15 to all – married as well as unmarried. Of the winners Dr. Singh and Ranjit are unmarried. Yes, Ranjit, however, is recently engaged.
All the participants had to do was, post their photos donned in a bridal dress attached to the advertisement. Married women were also allowed to present their photos of their wedding ceremony.
Ten other winners were also selected for consolation prizes. They were: Anne B.C. (Bhatta) from Chabahil, Aarati RL Rana of Dhapashi, Roshini Thapa of Bhaisepati, Roji Pradhan Shrestha of Dhalko, Rajani Byanjankar of Chyasal, Laxmi Bista of Sunakoti, Anu Khadka of New Road, Nelam Ojha of Sinamangal and Pralita Tuladhar Joshi of Dillibazar.
To facilitate the interested candidates the organisers had also made provisions for free photo shots in different places via Hits FM. A total of 1,034 photographs were received from all over the country. Of them 895 were from the Kathmandu Valley. There was an encouraging participation from our customers from the valley, said Sachin Shrestha, marketing officer of Unilever Nepal Ltd.
Likewise, Lajana Shrestha of Maruhiti was chosen Lux Star for A Day in a lucky draw among the media persons where the participants had to give their views on how they can spend rupees fifty thousand in a day.
The other ten answers selected for consolation prizes were from: Sunita Lama of Jorpati, Manju Gurung of Kathmandu, Anita Shrestha of Balaju, Rina Shilpakar of Kathmandu, Sachita Khadka of Kathmandu, Anjana Fago of Anamnagar, Amrita Shrestha of Maharajgunj, Shanti Devkota of Kalanki, Binju Shrestha of Durbur Marg and Reshma Shahi of Samakhushi.
Is this contest, in a real sense, not a joke ? Let’s consider over Lajana Shrestha’s answer who was declared Lux Star for a Day: “If I’m to spend fifty thousand in a day then I’ll buy clothes — suits, saris and others – for my family members and myself.” What sort of contest is this ? Where will this lead our women to ? Are the women just to be marked on costume, glamour and sexual attraction ?

Marvellous Jeevan Sharma

A republican poetry symposium and cultural programe organised by Nepal Youth Social Forum-2006, a campaign for democratic republic, human rights, lasting peace and social justice, held in Kathmandu, Saturday, in which I was also a guest poet including other young ones. We could attract the attention of audience not that special. Yes, among us, Mani Kafle, a street poet was hero with his not serious but funny beats. But Jeevan Sharma did really splendid. As you know he is a famous singer of the people, he sang Jharnako mitho pani and Simali Chhayama, which were really marvellous, not only with musical melody but also with powerful words. He got once more again and again. But he had to beg pardon because of the shedule of the programme.
If the music and powerful words work together, it is really marvellous. It is thousand times more attractive than the socalled pop music. The stage was really stimulating when he sang-

it is called, there is not a single state of the poor
though we have a dream to bring it in this country

Bonym music, enjoy

I am much more fond of Bonym music. It was not the group which made just hoolabaloo.
It was really a group of serious and immortal music creators. They sang the song of people’s wound, poverty, fight for liberty and salvation of black community. I don’t know the present state of the group. I have an album of this group published in 1982 which is really marvellous. When the time is remorse and disappointing, I listen to the music and get relief. Yes I was really in a sullen mood today and unable to avoid this. At the situation, when I listened the Consuela Biaz by Bonym, made me fully relieved. The music is not possible here. I think, either the words may be able to refresh you. Enjoy-

In the hills above Freno
By a shiny mountain stream
A young man laid where he fell
In the ruins of his dream
He looked into the sky
Happy to see that the dawn was slowly breaking down
And a woman knelt beside him
Consuela biaz

In the town San Domingo
As we laughed and danced all the night
To the throb of flemenco guitars
Seemed a long long way from tomorrow’s fight
He came from under the sea
Full of the passion of when
you were born to be free
From the valley of Ronda
Consuela biaz

Consuela Biaz, she knelt there and gently
she bathed his wounds
and he kissed her trembling fingers
Consuela biaz
Consuela biaz
From the valley of Ronda
To the hills above Freno
Just to die against her shoulder
Consuela biaz

I am sorry, if I have failed you

Challenge on Dristi column

I write the column entitled ‘Pratidhwani’ in Dristi weekly once a month. Under the same title I used to write in Spacetime Dainik. It was my turn yesterday and I wrote, in the diary-style of satyakura blog, bitter comments on fake ‘republican poetry campaign’, Prabhu Narayan Basnet’s logicless logic and about the tragedy of my name.
At about 11 am on Tuesday, a perfect masculine voice called me at my 6616258 phone and told that he had interestingly read my column in Dristi weekly. In return to his response, I thanked him and beg him to disclose himself. (Perhaps, he knew that my phone does not have caller ID.) Suddenly, roaring like thundering cloud, he said, what do you really want ? Wait and see. I did not have any chance to know the cause. He slammed off his phone.
Who may be the person ? Is he really angry on what I wrote ? If yes, should I have to fear ? Not at all. I uttered, utter and will utter only truth and got challenges many many time for the cause. The love for truth has led me to a bundle of misfortunes, though it is my real love . In a true sense, it is my life. Can a person be departed from his own soul who is alive ?