Best Story - A Long Fruitful Journey

 

Shanti Thatal’s appearance belies her age. The 74-year-old is still as vibrant today as she must have been when she was younger; her face has a youthful glow, and she is very animated when she speaks. Credited with being the first female music composer in the Nepali film industry, the Darjeeling-born Thatal is certainly a woman of many talents, and has sung more than 200 songs till date.
Speaking with journalists at the nepa~laya premises in Kalikasthan, Thatal was extremely candid in sharing her life experiences. She is currently in Kathmandu for her third performance at Paleti, as part of the Paleti Utsav to be held this weekend, and has been rehearsing rigorously for the same. 
“I was always a sickly little girl,” she said, delving into her childhood. “And that meant I got a lot of attention from my family.” Thatal—the fourth among 10 siblings—said that she felt connected to music in a significant way from a very young age. “My mother always tells stories about how I would spend hours dancing and singing as a child. It’s unfortunate that there weren’t any video cameras back then; I would’ve loved to see the footage now.”
Thatal used to sing at school, and her first big-scale public performance was when she was in the seventh grade and called on to sing at a welcoming ceremony for veteran litterateur Bal Krishna Sama, an event that left an indelible impression on the young girl. “It encouraged me to continue looking for opportunities to perform,” she said. Eventually, Thatal began providing live vocals for staged dramas, because in those days, she said, they didn’t have a recording system. “One of my favourite moments was going to Kolkata to work on the play Roop Katha; I still remember it like it was yesterday,” she said.
Learning music under the guidance of Shiva Prasad Singh and Bhanu Ghosh until the eighth grade, Thatal was able to retain a focus on her particular passion that most children her age didn’t have. “I invested much more time in my music than I did on my studies.” In 1956, she was admitted into the Rabindra Bharati University in Kolkata, which she attended for the next three years being trained in music. Following this, Thatal returned to her hometown of Darjeeling, and gave her matriculation exams independently, before going on to seek the mentorship of musician Amber Gurung during her college days at the Himalaya Kala Mandir, a music, arts and drama institute.
Thatal’s big break came in the form of an invite to compose music for the Nepali film Paralko Aago in 1978, based on a story of the same name by Guru Prasad Mainali. And then, four years later, she received another offer to compose for the film Bachana Chahane Haru, an assignment she took up with great enthusiasm. 
“A majority of the actors and crew members on these films were from Darjeeling,” Thatal said. “And since it was sort of a landmark moment in terms of filmmaking in the area, we all worked free of cost.”
In the long and illustrious career that followed, the
musician went on to work as a music teacher under the Central Government of Sikkim, a post that led, two years later, to her appointment as the Assistant Cultural Officer of Sikkim. “It was an incredible experience and we got to do things that hadn’t been done before,” she said. “We set up the Cultural Department, and were able to bring about a general upliftment in the music scene in Sikkim.” Thatal remained at the job until 2000, when she officially retired.
Of course, she hasn’t been idle. She has continued to compose music and sing, although her performances are few and far between. Thatal is still unmarried, something that she is asked a lot about. “It just never happened for me, but it’s not something I regret or worry about,” she said. “I’ve been married to my music, and that has been enough for me.” The singer hopes to eventually retire completely, spending the rest of her days listening to music.

Thatal is to perform on August 11.The Paleti Utsav will be held at DAV School in Jawalakhel between August 9-12 and will feature solo performances by Amber Gurung, Phatteman and Aavaas besides Thatal. The Utsav marks the completion of ten years of Paleti

News - Facebook Out Of Bounds In Singha Durbar

 

With a view to curbing civil servants’ “undue  and excessive” use of social networking sites during office hours, the government has blocked Facebook inside the country’s administrative hub Singha Durbar.
The Ministry of Finance, which provides internet facility to all the ministries and agencies inside Singha Durbar, has blocked the site from 10 am to 3 pm every day for the last two weeks. A spokesperson defended the decision, saying it was intended to avoid a ‘jam’ in the internet connectivity.
“The connection had slowed down because of the overuse of Facebook. We have blocked it in offices as an experiment,” said Finance Ministry Spokesperson Rajan Khanal. He said there was no ministerial or Cabinet level decision on the move.
However, officials at the Ministry of Information were not ‘aware’ of the development until Monday night. “We are not aware of the issue,” said Spokesperson of the Ministry of Information Sushil Ojha.
Facebook has been blocked in key institutions like the Prime Minister’s Office, the Parliament Secretariat and over two dozen
ministries. Singha Durbar houses over 50 percent of the around 20,000 civil servants stationed in the Capital.
Facebook has also been blocked from 10 am to 5 pm at the Army Headquarters in Bhadrakali.
Blogger and Social Media Enthusiast Ujjwal Acharya said such a move is not a solution to the problem and urged authorities to bring in social media guidelines to encourage its proper use.
“In this age of technology, the government should use the social media to interact with citizens rather than block them arbitrarily,” he said. “If any official wastes his/her time on Facebook by breaching the guidelines, they can be punished,” he said.

Best Story - That Prickly Prick

 

The first time I saw that sharp, sparkling thing, I didn’t know what they were doing. As they inserted that never-before-seen object into my body, its fluid passing slowly through my veins scintillating
those valves and nooks it had never before made its way through, half of my body was left paralysed. And then high-pitched shrieks filled the silence of the room, shrieks so loud their frequency could have shattered the glass. This was my first encounter with the prickly prick.
“It’s okay. Mummy’s here.” A soothing sound made its way through my ear-piercing shrieks. “Shh… you’re my brave, little boy. It doesn’t hurt much, does it?” As she held me close to her heart and sang those oh-so-familiar words, the pain began receding. My fluttering eyelids closed, and my wailing all but stopped. As I took a ride in dreamland, I knew that that first-ever prickly prick of mine wasn’t my last, that there were many such pricks that would pierce my little body with no remorse, pricks not even the thickest of armour could shield off.
•••
I knew I should have never done that. I knew that I was being hasty. Just when everything was done, I realised that I had forgotten my helmet. I ran up a flight of stairs and BAM! I lost control and hit my head on the metal baluster.
“Steady now,” the health assistant said as he cleaned the wound on my head. It seemed like steady was everyone’s favourite word, except mine. I knew my mother was giving me her I-told-you-so look. She sat across me, contemplating, rehearsing and re-rehearsing things she was going to make me listen to and follow.
It’s all because of that stupid helmet, I told myself over and over again. But as I saw the health assistant take out a brand-new needle from his medical kit, all I wanted to do was put that same, stupid helmet on and run.
“Be brave now,” my mother said in a stern voice.
They had first pricked me on my leg and I had been brave. Then my right hand, left hand, you name it, and I had been very brave. And now it was my head and I was supposed to be brave.
“This will hurt a little, okay?”
said the health assistant smiling.
‘A little’ was an understatement though, I knew.
“It’s okay. Mummy’s here.” And before I, a brave young man, could get embarrassed with those simple words, the needle did its magic.
•••
The beeping sounds of machines and doors swinging; these are the only sounds I have been hearing for the last few days. Twice a day, I hear the familiar sounds of footsteps coming close to my bed, and then I try to concentrate on listening to the needle piercing through my body. But I never hear anything. The needles always silently make their way, and now, they even don’t hurt. I try to remember the prickly pricks of those needles, the pain they had caused me. I had thought that there was nothing as painful as the pain a single prick can cause.
But I was wrong. When I got an A- in my eighth grade exam instead of an A, it pricked me worse. And when I lost my first love, the pain was so bad that I ended up crying in my mother’s arms.
“It hurts so much, mummy,”
I had said between my loud sobs.
“She doesn’t love me.” I had fumbled with these words over and over again. “It’s okay. Mummy’s here,” my mother had replied.
“But I don’t want you. I want her.” The pain of unrequited love ran deep into my heart, or so I had thought. But I was wrong again.
When I had to cut my hair short for the stitches to be done properly on my head, my head looked so bad that I had to stay home for over a month until my hair grew longer. Having to stay back home listening to my mother’s suggestions at every step was painful; the most painful time of my life.
I can hear the coughs now, loud and hoarse. I try to open my eyes but I can’t. They flutter for a while and close involuntarily. I can see a womanly figure sitting across me, hands fisted and face sober. ‘It’s okay. Mummy’s here,” I want her to say. But she remains silent. That figure walks to me and whispers in my ears, “Do you need anything, Grandpa?”
Grandpa? I try to open my eyes and see her. Who is she? And who am I? Where’s my mother? I breathe in heavily. I find it hard breathing.
Grandpa? I heave a sigh. I hear the continuous beeps. The man has stopped coughing. The raindrops have lost their way in the clouds. I try to remember my mother’s eyes as she sings a lullaby to me, her agony when I was first pierced with a prickly prick, her stern face when I made a mistake (and I made many mistakes). I remember her dancing the day
I got married, her playing with my kids. I remember her getting old and sick. And one day she was gone; the absence of her laughter so severe, the pain of it more acute than anything I had ever known.
I hear the familiar sounds of footsteps again. It’s time for those prickly pricks now. The sharpness cuts through the layers of my skin that have witnessed the innocence of my childhood, the mistakes of my youth and lamentation of my old age.
“Oh how it hurts him!” I hear my granddaughter cry. I remember carrying her and swaying her when she first had her share of a prickly prick.
It doesn’t hurt, I want to tell her, nothing hurts me now.
As my skin gets pierced, the fluids slowly move through my cranked veins. I want to fall asleep now, never to wake up again. No more pricks now, no more heartache, no more mistakes, and no more trivial acts of bravery. The beeping sounds slowly fade away, doors have stopped swinging. Everything is still, silent. And then, I hear a voice.
“It’s okay. Mummy’s here.”

Inspiration - More Than Art

 

Art culture has expanded to the point where someone could make a full time job out of attending each and every exhibition be it for art, photography, installations, and even fashion. But most do not have the luxury of making it to every event and so there is the risk of attending exhibitions which disappoint, or worse, missing out on those worthy of attention. The BFA Exhibition Project 2012, open since Monday, July 30, at Nepal Arts Council, Babarmahal, which showcases the works of eight artists from Kathmandu University School of Arts Centre for Art and Design, thankfully falls into the latter category.
My low expectations were shattered by what I saw put together by final year students studying for a Bachelor’s in Fine Art and an eighth credit student from Germany. Together, Anil Shahi, Anja Warzecha, Bindu Gurung, Laxman Bazra Lama, Nabil Nalbo, Sapana Shah, Sujan Dangol, and Sunil Pradhan have bro-ught an exhibition that showcases the individual artist in each and works beautifully as a whole. At a glance, each artist has their own style and message, but it’s clear that everyone has responded to their surroundings, albeit in distinctly different ways.
In his project Don’t Make Me Laugh, Anil Shahi presents the face of jokers with reddened wide smiles not unlike the villain ‘Joker’. Stating that these jokers are all around us, Shahi says it’s not clear whether the smiles we are surrounded by are fake, happy or genuine, “it’s just important that we smile.”  Bindu Gurung has interpreted the environment on a personal and public level with two rooms that represent a public space like a chiya pasal, and the far more private bedroom. 
Laxman Bazra Lama’s It Never Stops and It Never Ends was slightly more political; whether it’s conveying the idea of a broken state through a large cracked black egg spilling smaller eggs onto the floor or large block letters cut out from political magazines scattered on the floor—he sends a clear message.
In a different part of the room, Sujan Dangol presents Utopia 2.0 NP—the city represented through a cardboard box or though a merged metal structure. Sapana Shah takes a deeper look at how we respond to pain through scenes from a hospital mounted on x-ray light boxes in Horizon of Sympathy. Working with illusions and what looks like pasted bits of paper, Anja Warzecha explores fragments and creates spontaneous multilayered pieces. Nabil Nalbo explores the many facets of society through portraits in Human Identity, and Sunil Pradhan makes a poignant commentary on consumerism in I Love Pricetags.
While many artists come up with ideas that are impressive conceptually, they aren’t always well executed. But this exhibition sets itself apart from others. BFA Exhibition Project 2012 is impressive in terms of how much each exhibit accomplishes. Each artist has expressed a distinct idea through various materials and mediums, yet the ideas are portrayed so that viewers are able to understand something at first glance. The true brilliance is only revealed when one spends time speaking to the artists and lingering by the pieces.
The exhibition provides a titillating experience for art enthusiasts, offering what can only be a testament of the vast reservoir of talent in Nepali artists.
Under the tutelage of Sujan Chitrakar, programme coordinator at the Centre for Art and Design, these final year students have acquired a stronger sense of themselves and their project idea, resulting in solid pieces. If there is one and only one exhibition in Kathmandu you attend, make it this one.
BFA Exhibition Project 2012 is open until Wednesday at Nepal Arts Council, Babarmahal

Biography - Gehendra Shumsher

The Childhood

Gahendra Shumsher is believed to be the first scientist of Nepal. He was the senior son of the past Prime Minister, Bir Shumsher. He was born on Poush, 1928 BS. He was originally born at Kolkata, India where his father was sent as a representative of Nepal. He studied at home in his nursery classes from an English teacher and also enrolled in Durbar High School, the first school of Nepal. He was a very creative, argumentative and serious from his childhood. He loved music, physical exercise, sports and creative works and also wanted to do something different from others. He didn’t have much interest in studies rather he used to spend most of his time doing and creating the works of his interest.

Morning shows the day

When he was young, he was made In-charge of the arms and ammunition of Nepal Army by his father, Bir Shumsher. When Bir was made Prime Minister in 1942 BS, the door of opportunity opened for him. Now, he could work independently to raise the standard of arms and ammunitions of the Army. He established factories to manufacture essential equipment for soldiers. Electricity power, generator, rice mill, wind motor, etc. were also set up by him in Jannal, Sundarijal, Balaju and Meghchan in Bhojpur. Instead of importing iron and coal from other countries, he used the iron found in his own country, Nepal and used the coal found in Koilabas in Dang to make weapons.

The Achievements

His creative mind was always looking for something new things to do. So, in 1965 BS, Gehendra imported a motor car from Ford Company, Britain. Then he thought, why can’t he manufacture such things? So, he studied in detail about every part of the motor car. Of course, he had to separate and dismantle every part of it. Then again, he assembled the various parts of the motor car. Later, King Prithvi Bir Bikram wishes to have that. So, he offered the motor car to the King. He asked for the maps, charts and catalogue from Japan & Britain. He studied each of them in detail and became successful in designing and manufacturing rifles using his creativity & ability. At that time, there was only a single barrel rifle in the army. He made double barrel rifle and named it “Ge-Rifle” after the first letter of his name. He also made double barrel gun and named it “Bir-Gun” after his father’s name Bir Shumsher. He also made a new model canon and named it “Dhir-Gun” after his grandfather’s name Dhir Shumsher.

Next Inventions

Gehendra set up rice mills in his residence at Seto Durbar. He also made wind motors to draw under-ground water. He established a leather factory to refine leather and produce leather goods like shoes, belts, etc. at Balaju. It was Gehendra Shumsher who generated electricity with the help of his friend, Muse Thapa for the first time in Nepal and also demonstrated how electricity can be used even in water. The Ranas were deeply impressed by his works.

The Support

Dev Shumsher succeeded his brother, Bir Shumsher as the Prime Minister of Nepal. Dev was comparatively a liberal ruler. Gehendra was one of the favorites of Dev. So, Gehendra continued his inventions and creations without any impediments. Dev invited suggestions from the people for better administration of the country. Jaya Prithvi Bahadur Singh from Bajhang suggested that Nepal should develop technology like that of Japan and administration system like that of Britain. Gehendra fully supported Jaya Prithvi’s suggestions. Dev sent a team with Gehendra to study the Japanese technology to Japan and another team to study English system of administration to Britain. Jaya Prithvi wrote Japanese history in Nepali and Gehendra made new arms and ammunitions on the Japanese model.

The Mysterious Death

In 1963 BS, on the occasion of Dashain festival, while bowing down to salute Chandra Shumsher, a pistol fell down from the pocket of Gehendra. Chandra Shumsher became suspicious of Gehendra. He didn’t react immediately. But after one year, i.e. in 1964, Gehendra died a mysterious death. It is said that Chandra Shumsher was alarmed at the success and popularity of Gehendra and killed him. Thus, Gehendra died at the young age of 35. He would have done much more to develop technology and science in the country had he lived longer.

Thus, all inventions and creations of Gehendra are preserved in the National Museum at Chhauni, Kathmandu. He will be remembering forever.

By Shubham Thapa, the owner of this blogspot

Real Thing - Smoking in movies may turn students to cigarettes study

The actor Joaquin Smoking.

Youth who watch a lot of movies with cigarette-smoking characters, no matter what the film's rating is, are more likely to start smoking themselves, according to a new U.S. study.

The lead author of the report, which appeared in Pediatrics, said the conclusion supports the idea that the smoking itself - not the sex, profanity or violence that may go along with it in certain films - influences teens to take up the habit.

"Movie smoking seems to be just as impactful if it's packaged in a PG-13 movie as opposed to an R movie," said James Sargent, from the Geisei School of Medicine at Dartmouth in Lebanon, New Hampshire.

"I really think it's a 'cool' factor. The more they see it, the more they start to see ways that (smoking) might make them seem more movie star," he told Reuters Health.

Sargent and his colleagues counted how many times a character was seen smoking in each of over 500 box-office hits from recent years. Then they asked 6,500 U.S. children aged 10 to 14 which of a random selection of 50 of those movies they'd watched.

The average "dose" of movie smoking was 275 scenes from films rated PG-13 and 93 scenes from R movies, the researchers said.

In three subsequent interviews with the same youths, those who had watched smoking-heavy movies were more likely to pick up the habit themselves. For each extra 500 smoking shots reported in their initial survey, young people were 33 to 49 percent more likely to try cigarettes over the next two years.

The effect of on-screen smoking was not significantly different for PG-13 and R films. Because young people tend to see more PG-13 films, Sargent's team calculated that if smoking automatically earned an R rating, the number of youngsters who try cigarettes would drop by 18 percent.

In the United States, a movie rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association of America suggests some material may be inappropriate for kids under age 13. An R rating means children under age 17 must be accompanied by an adult.

"At this point, it is established that exposure to smoking in movies is a potent risk factor for actually taking up smoking, especially when the exposures are early," said Brian Primack, head of the Program for Research on Media and Health at the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine.

"This study goes a step further and suggests that taking smoking out of all PG-13 movies could have a palpable effect on the impact of smoking in the US," he told Reuters Health in an email.

But another researcher who was not involved in the study said he wasn't sure if eliminating smoking from all non-R movies was "the magic answer."

Matthew Farrelly, who studies smoking at the scientific institute RTI in Research Triangle Park, North Carolina, said the study is a step in the right direction but that he wasn't sure the researchers could totally discount the influence of violence and profanity in moves on kids' decision to try smoking just by looking at movie ratings.

"I'm hoping that someone can disentangle smoking in the movies from other content that might appeal to youth to really firm up the relationship," he said.

Though the link between on-screen smoking and trying cigarettes "makes sense," Farrelly added: "I just think the relationship has been vastly overstated."

Best Story - Imperatives for the future

As political leaders and others deliberate on the names and numbers of provinces for a federal Nepal and others alike decide on bandas to counteract the proposals, what seems to have escaped the mind of many is a vision of Nepal as a ‘multicultural’ state. Considering the demographic reality of the country, the Interim Constitution has already declared Nepal a “multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multi-religious, and multi-cultural” state, but this concept

of a Nepali state that is encapsulated by the term ‘multiculturalism’ seems to be missing from the current debate.

As I write this, I am reminded of a very insightful article by Mohana Ansari, member of the National Women’s Commission, published a few months ago in Kantipur, arguing that lack of awareness about the value of educating children is no longer a concern amongst Muslims in Nepal. However, the main reason young Muslim girls are reluctant to attend schools at higher levels is the requirement to wear uniforms consisting of short skirts, particularly when they reach secondary and higher secondary levels.

One might wonder what short skirts have to do with federalism, or multi-culturalism, for that matter. But, as Ansari writes, the principals of the schools in Biratnagar, Itahari and other areas where the population of Muslims is not insignificant, have said firmly that bending the rules for the sake of any community is not possible.

If we cannot recognise the cultural differences of social groups in democratic societies such as ours, then what are we heading towards? Multiculturalism, state restructuring, federalism, these might mean many things to many people, but the basic tenet needs to be that in

democratic societies, different groups should be entitled not only to non-discrimination and inclusion in the economic and political domains of the state, but also to some form of public recognition of their differences.

‘Multiculturalism’ as a state policy was gradually adopted in countries like Canada and the UK in the 1970s and became popular in the late 1990s even in countries like France and Australia. For these countries, multiculturalism was a strategy to define the relationships between immigrant groups and thehost society. More specifically, as political theorist Harihar Bhattacharyya reminds us, the discourse of multiculturalism in these Western states have been taking place in the context of them already having evolved as culturally more or less homogenous nation-states that now have to accommodate and incorporate their minority groups into a dominant national ethos of liberal democracy.

That the issue to be addressed in these countries related primarily to recent arrivals, such as North Africans in France and migrants from its former colonies in Britain, is in sharp contrast to countries like Nepal or even India, which have always been multicultural societies. What we are hence confronted with here in Nepal is the need to incorporate its diverse citizenry as an integral part of its national polity.

To this effect, the nature of engagement required of the Nepali state, vis-à-vis its minority groups like the Muslims, is completely different from that of the Western states. In these countries, it might suffice to accommodate the religious needs of its immigrant Muslim

communities such as by organising cultural fairs, making available burial sites, prayer spaces, granting permission to construct mosques, and so on. But after events such as the London train bombings of 2005 and the riots later that year in France, these states also had the option

of rethinking the whole concept of multiculturalism.

That is at the heart of the debate on head scarves in France, which led former president Nikolas Sarkozy to declare that multiculturalism has failed “because some were more concerned with the identity of immigrants who were arriving, while they didn’t care enough for the identity of their host country.”

Sarkozy went on to say: “It can only be a French Islam, and not an Islam in France.” But the nature of policy interventions required in countries like Nepal would be completely different. Taking the example of Muslims one more time, although there might be Muslims who are recent immigrants, many Muslims have been living in Nepal even before the creation of the state itself, while others came with the territory when the four districts of Naya Muluk were ‘gifted’ to Nepal in 1860. In that sense, the Muslims of Nepal are not newcomers and are as Nepali as any other community living here. What we thus require are a set of political and

institutional measures that would ensure accommodation of the country’s diversity while also addressing the issue of exclusion of marginalised groups in the country’s political and economic domains.

In the context of today’s Nepal, federalism is viewed as a means to achieve self-determination for socially excluded groups. But self-determination by one group cannot be at the cost of any other, whether dominant or excluded. That exercise of self-determination by everyone is possible only when multiculturalism is allowed space to grow in all spheres of life. In other words, the ideal of multiculturalism should allow the notion of individual citizenship and the rights inherent therein to harmonise with the ethos of different socio-cultural communities.

In the short skirt example, this would mean respecting the cultural norms of Muslims and allowing girls from that community to wear a different outfit to school, or changing the school uniform entirely to make it acceptable to them. It definitely does not consist of refusing

outright to accommodate the requests of teenaged Muslim girls and their parents, thus denying one of the most deprived groups of Nepali society its right to education. Had the essence of multiculturalism been understood and embraced by our society, the approach of these schools would have definitely been different.

The Interim Constitution acknowledges Nepal’s demographic reality by at least defining Nepal as a multicultural state, but unless concrete measures are taken to provide recognition of social diversity, the ideal of multiculturalism is likely to be no more that mirage.

Best Story - A way back home

Cumulus clouds drifted slowly in the sky as humming birds flew beneath them, making random circles, pentagons and ellipses. The trees made soft whooshing sounds as the wind flirted with their foliage. Everything was calm and serene. Yes, serene; that was the word that best described the environment of the park. The only thing that seemed to be missing was a flowing stream. That would have made it picture perfect.

Still, even a flowing stream wouldn’t fill the blank for Robin; nothing would make the picture complete. Not the clouds, not the humming birds, not even a calmly bubbling brook would help soothe the turbulence that had risen in the four chambers of his heart. Robin slowly opened his eyes. He had no desire to gaze at the floating clouds; he knew the birds

would keep flying—it was the only thing they did. And since it was autumn, the leaves were destined to fall. Destiny; how he hated that word. “It’s not in your destiny,” he remembered the exact words he had been compelled to hear only a few hours ago. The synchronised movement of lips on an emotionless face had uttered these words.

There were no second takes in this act. He had given his best shot and he had lost. Robin sighed and shifted his weight on the grassland. He had been lying there for a while. He had carelessly forgotten to keep an account of the time. Besides, he had nowhere to go. He had hit his head on a dead-end. How he had hopefully looked forward to a wider, endless horizon. But here he was, confined within the four boundary walls of the park.

“It’s not in your destiny,” the words rang clear in his ears again. And though he didn’t want to, he re-enacted the act—him entering the consulate building and putting all his documents in order; the air filled with perspiration and hope; an aura of pain, pain of rejection; and the bland sound of stamps after hearing which your ears turn deaf to even the finest piece of music in the world. Robin couldn’t understand how someone could so easily put an end to the fulfillment of a dream. How could someone, without so much as looking into your eyes, pierce right through your heart?

“Maybe something was wrong with my documents,” Robin thought for the umpteenth time, or maybe, it was just not my destiny.

The right pocket of Robin’s trousers made a buzzing sound. Robin jolted upright thinking that it was a bug, only to realise that it was his mobile-phone ringing. He knew who the caller was without even looking at the number on the mobile-screen. It was thirty minutes past four in the afternoon and it was time for Robin to receive that call.

“Hello!” An excited voice echoed from the rectangular device in his hand.

“Hey!” Robin tried to sound happy.

“I’ve done it. I did just what you said and I won the match.” The excitement in the voice, its ring of pride and victory, was irrevocable.

Robin smiled as his daughter giggled over the phone. He could almost see her—still in her school-uniform, trying hard to whisper so as not wake up her napping grandfather, and making faces at her mother who always reminded her to keep the conversation short. Robin wished to be there in his home, the same home he was willing to run away from. “No, I wasn’t running away,” Robin corrected himself. “I was just changing the direction of my yacht.”

He only wanted to take a flight to some place abroad; like migrating birds that fly over the rivers and mountains to find their way into a safe haven. Only unlike those birds, Robin wasn’t planning to return after a season.

“Daddy, are you there?” The loud whisper continued. “I can’t wait to show you the trophy.”

The trophy; the bronze statuette that glistened like gold.

“It was a tough match. The words were difficult to spell and pronounce. But I tried. Like you said, it wasn’t winning I focused on. I just gave it my best shot, and that finally did it. I won.” Robin knew his daughter was having a hard time keeping her volume low. She had won, his daughter had won when he had lost, and the excitement was evident in her voice. “We took a picture too, daddy. I want to show it to you.”

A picture of his daughter smiling from ear to ear. Robin suddenly remembered other pictures he had envisioned in his mind; pictures of some faraway land where he might have found opportunities, money and happiness. But long before he could put those pictures upon a mantel, they had been torn into pieces.

“Daddy, are you alright?” Afraid that his daughter would sense disappointment in his voice, and she could, Robin cleared his throat and acted normal.

“Yes, I’m very happy and very proud of you. Keep that trophy and picture intact,” Robin said.

“Hey dad, is this gold?”

“What is?”

“This trophy. It glitters like gold. Is it really gold?” Robin knew her ever-so-keen eyes would inspect the trophy in her hand as if it were some alien object.

“Would you care about it less if it weren’t gold?” Slowly Robin stood up and walked toward a nearby bench. There should have been a stream here, he gazed around. His eyes searched for that non-existent stream. There was silence at the other end of the phone. She’s contemplating the fact, Robin mused as he continued walking.

“Oh I love this, gold or no-gold. Besides, it’s not gold that makes you happy, right dad?”

Robin stopped short. What did his daughter just say? It’s not gold that makes you happy. Yes, gold doesn’t make you happy, nor can the mirage of a faraway land guarantee happiness, he mused. Maybe his trophy in bronze had been there all along. It was just that he wanted it in gold. And he knew he had tried to paint it gold. Oh how hard had he tried and how badly had he lost!

Robin walked slowly and sat down on a bench. He gazed around and looked at the nearby trees. He saw a few migrating birds building their nests. He wondered what place they had left behind in order to breathe and breed in an ecologically safer land. “Men aren’t any different from birds,” Robin thought—both in a continuous search for a new place, a new hope; both in a hardship to adapt; both always ready to take off and change their destinies; both beguiled by a faraway land, incognizant of the consequences—and yet, Robin concluded, both will continue flying in a new direction every other day.

“You’re quiet today, daddy.”

Robin tried to concentrate on his daughter. “Those sounds. Are there birds around?”

“Yes, migrating birds, the kind that travel to a new place every new season.” The chirping sounds of the birds did what the non-existent stream couldn’t. They created a soothing arousal in Robin’s ears and heart.

“Birdsong…today I learnt what Robin means. It’s a bird. Robin—the bird.” Robin could hear a gentle tone in his daughter’s voice. “You won’t fly away, daddy, will you?”

We all have to fly, Robin wanted to tell her. It’s just a matter of where or when. “No, I won’t,” Robin lied. She will learn in due time, Robin thought, but not today.

“Oh!” Robin heard his daughter heave a sigh. “I was afraid you’d say yes. Now come back home, daddy. Remember the trophy?”

“Ahh yes, the trophy. I’m coming home.”

“Okay, got to go. Mommy is giving me her infamous stare. Bye, daddy.”

Robin could hear soft giggles as his daughter put down the receiver, sounds to which his life was anchored. And he knew that no matter where he went, he would always get back to those sounds. Like birdsongs, those sounds would never fade away.

Robin put his mobile inside his pocket as he rose up and hurried toward his home. Only a few hours earlier, his legs had been numb. He had had to drag his legs out of the consulate building. And now, he couldn’t wait to put one foot in front of another. He couldn’t wait to reach home and behold his daughter and the victory she had accomplished, her trophy—the bronze trophy.

As Robin walked back home, he saw a pair of birds perched on their newly-built nest. And even as they chirped, sang and flew around their new home, they knew that one day they had to get back; even though they had flown far away from home, they knew their way back.

Best Story - Death is Beautiful

A few days ago, one of his students asked him, “Why did you choose to be a teacher?” At the time, he didn’t say anything. Let’s say, he was not interested in giving the answer. By the way, he’s interested in nothing nowadays. After eleven years of teaching at private schools, he had started to get bored. He is disgusted by everything—his family, his friends, his students, his boss and his profession. He was never a students’ favourite; they always remained away from him. 

But this time, without any particular reason, a student had asked him this question after class. He had been a shy teacher, kind of an introvert. This was the reason behind his silence at that moment. Nevertheless, the experience of years had boosted his attitude and removed his shyness. Still, he found himself unable to create an intimacy with his students. Quite often, he’d avoids contact with them. And, though interested, he daren’t make sound conversations with them. He just avoided their eyes, looked at them from the corner of his eyes, as if he was looking elsewhere, and pretended to be concentrated in his task. He did the same, rendering the student clueless.

“Sharma sir!” He felt as if awakened from a daydream when the lady at the tea-shop called him. “It’s already 9 pm, you need to move now. I am preparing to close.”

He had been sitting there for more than two hours thinking about this and that. Mr Sharma, who is a dark-skinned man—(that’s why he was sure that his students called him names such as Kalia, Kallu, as has almost become tradition among students)—usually visited this shop for tea. He sometimes happened to spend extra time here. He got up slowly pondering upon the student’s question once again.

Yes, why did he choose? Did he choose or was it just the way things were? He was not very fond of teaching, really, but this is what he had been doing for years now. Circumstances in life had made him a teacher; he had been in this profession for more than a decade. He had many reasons to contemplate on life. He often remembers his college days; his eyes burning with fire, “We must do something that will be of use to society. It’s very difficult, but the efforts of every individual can have some effect.” These were the kind of words spoken by Mr Sharma whenever he met his friends those days. He was then a dynamic Surendra Sharma, not merely a ‘Sharma sir’ like he was now. He had never thought he would be so easily distracted from his aim. En route, he had confronted numerous obstacles and become a zero. He was hapless to avoid his own principle of life. The routine of everyday life was too tedious for him. The frustrating mishaps that had occurred on different occasions had made his life worse.

A young man is running down the street. He looks anxious, even desperate. Who might this be? Surendra Sharma…He has probably heard that his college results are out; he probably doesn’t know that the results are not in his favour.

When he ran his eyes through the wall where the result had been pasted, he was stunned. There began his sad days. No one was happy to see his face that evening. It was not because he was unhappy; it was because he had failed. He had been hoping for some consolation, but didn’t get any. He then  decided to fight alone. He had never thought he would lose the support of his family for such a small reason. That was one the greatest factors that made him despise his own life. He felt tremendous pressure pile up on him, and couldn’t get away from his problems. He had always thought he would contribute to society, but he apparently wasn’t good at it. 

He had tried becoming a man of action, but wasn’t very good at that either. His life felt worse when relatives began thinking of him as an “unsuccessful man”. It was kind of true that he has come out a loser in this competitive world. Only people who earned money were, after all, thought to be successful, and Mr Sharma was quite unsuccessful in this regard. He himself sometimes compared his life with that of his friends. He found that his friends had at least done something, or bought something in their lives. But, Mr Sharma, working as Sharma sir, had collected nothing precious. He was only just able to live a life; he had struggled a lot simply for his existence.Mr Sharma was alone in his room. He began, again, to think of his achievements. The list didn’t go very long. He had not received anything from anywhere. Frustrated, he began thinking, “Is this all my life has become?”

He had always imagined better things. He looked around his room; it was empty. Nothing important; there wasn’t even a couch to sit on let alone a TV. He thought of how much easier this would be had he bought a revolver. “O, Sharma sir!” Hell, it was the voice of his landlady. The knock on his door was persistent. When he opened the door the shrieking voice of his fat land-lady bellowed upon him, “Sharma bhai, you always leave your lights on late into the night. Don’t you know how high the bill’s going to accumulate? Don’t repeat this, all right… I’m tired of telling you the same thing a thousand times.”

No, no, this lady never tired; she was lying. Mr Sharma didn’t respond. He only nodded and closed the door. He was surprised; the landlady had said it was “late night”. He looked at his wrist watch. Oh, it was out of duty now. It had been that way for more than a week now. He really was short of money; so no new batteries…He just guessed it might as well be “late night” and switched off the light.

He felt a certain tranquility creep up all around him, but couldn’t find it in his mind. In that darkness, he observed the pictures revolving inside his brain. He saw that there was not much balance in his bank account; he also saw that he was being treated as a psycho by his friends, his relatives were judging him as a failure, the was boss complaining about his work, students were calling him by unusual names…

He could have no peace. He got up from his bed and walked to the kitchen table. In the darkness, he groped around for a knife. What would happen if he slit his wrist-nerve?

People would find him dead in the morning with blood all around? He held the knife tight for a few seconds and threw it back. He regretted; regretted for not being able to be able. He remembered that his life had started with a failure. This is what had made him dumb all through his life. He started to sob; tear drops rolling down his cheeks.

Mr Sharma had never been this sort of a person but today he couldn’t control his emotions. It was as if he had become the greatest weakling on earth. He heard all the people laughing. They were laughing at him. If only he had Godly power; how easy instant revenge would be. But he was a common man with common features; it was impossible. He felt more helpless. He felt like getting away from this life. He imagined death…His face was shaking and his eyes, flashing. The only way out; the only relief was death.

But in this darkness, he could do nothing besides regret. He regretted not being able to earn enough money, not being able to buy a piece of land and build a house upon it, or even a beautiful farm. Most of all…he regretted never having bought a revolver.

How to be a great person

Have you ever been depressed because you think you're not an amazing person? Well follow these steps and find out how great you can be! Anyone can be great if they are determined to succeed.

1. 
2. 
   
3. 1) Be humble.
4.  All great people are nice people in general. Sometimes it can be hard to be nice to everyone, especially if they aren’t nice to you, but people will respect you for it and it will make you feel great about yourself. Give sincere compliments. Telling someone they look cool or that you like their shoes can be a good way to start. Once you start giving compliments, people will begin to think of you as a very nice person and may complimentyou in return.
5. 2) Help people.
6.  Helping people is an overall excellent way to be recognized as a great person. If someone needs a hand, you should be there to offer your support. If they drop something, pick it up for them. If they have a heavy load, help them carry it. If they are being bullied, feel free to comfort them. People like this deserve great respect.
7. 
   3) Be memorable. 
8. Some people are considered great because they did something memorable in society that made the world a better place. You could do this too; just take it one good deed at a time. Random acts of kindness, such as buying a friend a gift for no reason or talking to someone who is lonely will contribute into making you a great person.
9. 
   4) Smile. 
10. Yes, that’s right, something as simple as a smile can contribute to making you a great person. Smiles are contagious and they are proven to brighten people’s day. Wear a sincere smile as if it is a part of you. Your smile can brighten the darkest days, and you never know who may be falling for that smile of yours!
11. 
    6) Stick up for others: 
12. If someone is being bullied, don't be afraid to make a stand. Let them know that you are there for them, give them a boost of esteem. Don't let others push people around, and even more importantly don't let others push YOU around.

If it's right for you, have a religion in your life! Many people admire those devoted to god, buddha, allah or whatever. Every religion has a load of positive morales and teachings, just try and follow them!

Best Story - The price for Survival

Fourteen-year-old Putali goes from being pampered by her parents all her life to having everything ripped away from her in an instant. Crying for her mother, she ends up begging for food on the streets, and then, out of desperation, takes up work at a dance bar, where she is reduced to nothing but an object on display, meant solely for the amusement of lecherous men. Putali, in fact, represents the billions of young girls who are forced out of their homes by difficult circumstances, and promptly become part of a booming sex industry where they are used and discarded at will.

Table Number 14 was staged at the Rastriya Naach Ghar on the occasion of International Day Against Child Labour, one of the many such events held around Kathmandu on Tuesday. The play, organised jointly by Terre Des Hommes, Change Nepal, Saathi, Child and Women Empowerment Society, Biswas Nepal, and World Education, was based around the realities of child labour, particularly to do with sexual exploitation. Themes like redundancy, political mayhem, and neglect, in terms of the country’s situation, were also laid bare on stage. That the participants comprised of children was another factor that added to the gravity of the production, in that it was able to demonstrate the effects of child labour firsthand, giving the issue a face. There were also moments in the play when the actors fell completely silent, allowing the audience a chance to pause and soak up the impact of the story.

The play was also interactive; for instance, when Putali whimpered for help from the audience, nobody stood up, testifying to the lack of activism and heroism in present-day society. Brevity was achieved by certain injections of humour in certain places, but it was of the ironic sort.  

According to programme coordinator Sulakshana Rana, “Any form of child labour is wrong, but sexual exploitation and involving minors in sexual activities are the worst manifestations”. These are relevant issues in the contemporary Nepali context, where the rising difficulty in finding employment, and the desperation that results thereof, leads young girls into demeaning and dangerous professions, selling their dignity for the sake of survival.

Joke - The Amazing Pencil

When NASA first started sending up astronauts, they quickly discovered that ballpoint pens would not work in zero gravity. To combat the problem, NASA scientists spent a decade and $12 billion to develop a pen that writes in zero gravity, upside down, underwater, on almost any surface including glass and at temperatures ranging from below freezing to 300°C. 

The Russians used a pencil

Joke - First shot

A young blonde woman is distraught because she fears her husband is having an affair, so she goes to a gun shop and buys a handgun. The next day she comes home to find her husband in bed with a beautiful redhead. She grabs the gun and holds it to her own head. The husband jumps out of bed, begging and pleading with her not to shoot herself. Hysterically the blonde responds to the husband, ''Shut up...you're next!''

Joke - Ugliest Baby

A woman gets on a bus with her baby. The bus driver says: ''Ugh, that's the ugliest baby I've ever seen!'' The woman walks to the rear of the bus and sits down, fuming. She says to a man next to her: ''The driver just insulted me!'' The man says: ''You go up there and tell him off. Go on, I'll hold your monkey for you.

Biography of Jaya-Stithii Malla

During the rule of Jayastithi Malla, Nepal (image)

Jayasthiti Malla was a 14th century king of Nepal belonging to the Malla dynasty.

The early Malla period, a time of continuing trade and the reintroduction of Nepalese coinage, saw the steady growth of the small towns that became Kathmandu, Patan, and Bhadgaon. Royal pretenders in Patan and Bhadgaon struggled with their main rivals, the lords of Banepa in the east, relying on the populations of their towns as their power bases. The citizens of Bhadgaon viewed Devaladevi as the legitimate, independent queen. The betrothal in 1354 of her granddaughter to Jayasthiti Malla, a man of obscure but apparently high birth, eventually led to the reunification of the land and a lessening of strife among the towns.

By 1370 Jayasthiti Malla controlled Patan, and in 1374 his forces defeated those in Banepa and Pharping. He then took full control of the country from 1382 until 1395, reigning in Bhadgaon as the husband of the queen and in Patan with full regal titles. His authority was not absolute because the lords of Banepa were able to pass themselves off as kings to ambassadors of the Chinese Ming emperor who traveled to Nepal during this time. Nevertheless, Jayasthiti Malla united the entire valley and its environs under his sole rule, an accomplishment still remembered with pride by Nepalese, particularly Newars. The first comprehensive codification of law in Nepal, based on the dharma of ancient religious textbooks, is ascribed to Jayasthitimalla. This legendary compilation of traditions was seen as the source of legal reforms during the 19th and 20th centuries.

Jayasthiti Malla ascended the throne of Nepal in 1350 A.D. (1438 B.S.). At that time the condition of the country was very bad. There was political disturbance in the palace. The country was economically weak. There was social disorder. A competent and resolute ruler was necessary. Jayasthiti Malla made reforms. He reorganized the caste system. Each caste had its own occupation, dress and manners. He made temples and placed idols in them. He performed Kotihom. He was a lover of literature. He encouraged Sanskrit and Newari languages. Poems and dramas were written. He brought economic reforms. Land was diveded into four classess according to the production of crops. He introduced measuring units called mana, pathi, pau and dharni. The work of measuring land and house was given to the kshetrakar and Takshakar respectively. He introduced the system of imoposing fines on criminals.

Jayasthiti Mall was a great reformist. He was an expert politician. He brought political stability in the country. There was peace and prosperity in the country. He died in 1452 B.S.