Election

When Qatar hosts World Cup 2022, we are certain to be served sights of magnificent stadiums. The grand stadiums will be yet another testament to human feat. At this time Qataris will claim the credit. They will say, “Can you see what we are capable of?” And the world will nod in amazement, wide-eyed, mouth open and gasping. Young men will descend to the ground and play their best to the rhythm of the heart of people of their countries and supporters. Millions of people will watch this sport, glued to TV, hands sweaty, in trepidation, excitement, complete devastation or anticipation. The capability of this sport to stoke the emotions of countless souls across countries, race, religion and sex is simply sublime; there is nothing like that.

If I happen to watch this World Cup, I know, I will not be able to savor this sublime event because the stadiums will haunt me. These stadiums are tombstones of migrant workers who died working with extreme risks to erect these magnanimous structures. A The Guardian article says that the construction work will leave nearly 4000 migrant workers dead by the time these structures are completed. These are probably more number of people than if you count the shoppers walking the streets stretching from Nepal Airlines Corporation through New Road and passing through Asan all the way to Jamal on a busy Dashain shopping day. Majority of these are Nepali workers trying to escape the desperation of their poverty and social woes and trying to make a living. I know many from my own village. Their ghosts will hover around these tombstones of stadiums, I am sure, if I watch the World Cup 2022. 

Nepal is heading into another constituent assembly election. It is a fact: there is no real ecstasy on the ground. Our oligarchs have cherry-picked candidates for election, made a complex list of candidates, and shoved it down to us to make a choice. Now there is a talk of "manifestos" coming out of different political parties. We know that they mean nothing. Our oligarchs will write anything because they know they don't have to stick to their words. When you are beyond lies and shame, this petty exercise of words is meaningless. So we are hearing extraordiary declarations like double digit growth in 5 years, free health care to all. These declarations will be used for debates and discussions and perhaps that's pretty much the whole utility of these manifestos; we won't bank our bucks for their implementation. 

Yet, we will have to make our choice. However imperfect and rotten, this is our opportunity to express our opinion. Obviously everyone will have their own reasons for their choices. I am narrowing down on my own. And the stadiums of Qatar crystallize my predeliction. I will not be fooled by the lofty promises of "Bikas" and "Switzerland" if the cost is pulverized vulnerable human souls, as if they were nothing in the grand scheme of things. My questions would be: 

- Will you use violence to achieve something?

- Will you restrict basic freedoms of dignified citizens in the name of development?

- Will you treat the more vulnerable amongst us with dignity?

- Will you try to uphold fairness and justice?

- Will you be able to listen?

- Are you capable of kindness and empathy?

We know we can not rely on what answers they might give to these questions: their words are meaningless. We will have to watch their history, body language and make an imperfect choice. But I am up for it. 

Dashain

Dashain carries strange vibes. At one level, it is invariably about meat: goat, buffalo, chicken, duck..So the festivities is preceded by the activity of animals in captivity. Goats are being dropped from the hoods of buses held by their horns, goats bleating in agony, a prelude to carnage that awaits the butcher shop or the front yard of a village house with a patch of grass cleared just for this purpose or a temple with priest applying stuff and making rounds around the animal in an attempt to please the higher beings for who knows what. Butcher shops in cities bustle after Astami. Young men work extra hours slaughtering one animal after another, chopping them into pieces and filling in the extravagant orders of enthusiastic customers. If you roam around, you will be visited by spicy/meaty odor wafting out of kitchens where dead animals are now being tinkered for the palates of a more evolved animal species which prefers not to eat them raw. 

Our carnivorous appetite is indeed at a full throttle during Dashain. The more courageous amongst us who do not cave into these carnivorous impulses and rather rely on herbs, shrubs and trees, I wonder, what they think of us who are growling with an appetite for meat. 

However, it is not just about meat. Dashain is, perhaps, also the epicenter of family celebrations and festivities that dances the childhood memories. We were denied the celebrations for almost a decade by the violent conflict: we were never really free to prance around expressing our own animalistic nature because, everyday, we were reminded of how cruel an animal we had turned into. 

Finally, we have started going back to the routine. When nearly 2 millions are leaving Kathmandu during Dashain, it does indicate that Dashain is reawakening. We hope that it dances the memories of our children just like it did in ours. And it is also a lesson we have learned the hard way: We don't need the prosperity when bloodshed is justified as the only way to achieve it, what we really need is the protection from that stupidity prevailing our daily lives and discourse. 

Happy Dashain to all!

14 hours and 33 minutes

We walked 14 hours 33 minutes from Tanahun to Gorkha on a single day avoiding major roads and vehicles. There exists a separate rhythm of life in the kuna kapchas (as my friend pointed out) of Nepali society that we were privileged to brush through on a day. In the calmness of scattered households and their activities, in the cacophony of forests ruled by crickets, in the clarity of magnified sound of human speech resonating clean air and stumbling in the hills, in the almost lulling drowsiness of impassive men sitting on straw mats in their porch perhaps killing time, in the haste of a man the distance of whose grazing goats demand that he end his conversation with us, in the shyness of girls walking to their schools clad in uniforms, in the guesses of women about your roots, it is not hard to see how far these places are from the omnipotent and godly Kathmandu. And not just Kathmandu, but also its theories, policies and philosophies.