User talk:Amarbahadur

Keep the Dal-Bhat Tradition Alive

Amar B Shrestha, Kathmandu

The minibus was full of Belgian tourists. As we approached Ratna Park, the snarling traffic started to crawl, the end result of a demonstration by so called civic bodies for democracy. One tourist queried, “How many accidents do you have everyday?” I laughed that off but at the same time I was dreading the possibility of the heaps of stinking garbage in Khula Manch coming to the tourists’ attention. I also hoped that the visitors did not watch Nepalese TV or read Nepalese newspapers. I was apprehensive that they might know about the almost daily robbery of some commercial establishment in the centre of the city or about the frequent cases of dacoity in the suburbs. The tourists said they would be leaving for Chitwan and Pokhara soon. By road. All was lost. Here I was telling them that the violence was over and that the rebels had gone back to more peaceful politics. Now surely they would come across armed Maoists on the highway who have set up their own roadblocks for collecting toll. All this has forced me to come to the conclusion that the end result of the biggest mass movement in Nepal’s history has been increased disorder and lawlessness.

Till some time ago, politicians were blaming everything that should have been done but was not done, on the Maoist insurgency. Now they will tell you that everything else can wait till the constitutional assembly elections. My question is this, “Will this make everything all right?” One will have to be very naïve to believe so. There have been great changes at different periods of the country’s history, but no change, however revolutionary they were touted as then, could rid the country of the evils so malignant in the system that they overpower everything else. Take corruption for one. Take poverty for another. Add violence as the comparatively new phenomenon.

The anti corruption bureau is now housed in a munificent new building and has tons of files proving guilt of many ministers and bureaucrats. Yet one sees the same person (PM many times) implicated in the Lauda Air and Dhamija scandal (and about which even the UML had conducted a prolonged campaign since the proof was so irrefutable) merrily occupying the most powerful seat in government. And yet one sees the same ruffian minister accused of great corruption in the purchase of second hand land rovers peacefully going about the city in his brand new Pajero. Such examples are just too many and too well known to require to be written here. Suffice it to say that the ADB is talking about reviving the Melamchi project and one will be foolish to hope that the major culprits (one ex-PM and one ex-minister) responsible for embezzling stupendous amounts will be held to fault. How can they be? They are part and parcel of the government.

All in all, it begins to look like the mass movement was mainly motivated by the need to defend politicians against the watchdogs of corruption. And here it must be said that no matter how many times it is said that people from all walks of life, the common citizens, were at the forefront of the movement, it is far more true that the do-or-die mentality of political parties and their cadres was responsible for the movement. Credit must be given where it is due. And the credit goes to the well organized and disciplined cadres of the parties, specially more so of the really organized parties like the UML. Doubtless, this period was seen by some as a great opportunity to bring in radical changes as well, but still, it is also a fact that the movement was not a spontaneous one. Suffice it to say that even the Capital dwellers, some of the most aware of citizens, preferred to stay indoors throughout the movement. One cannot blame them – they have seen from close quarters what the leaders are like and have suffered at the hands of a corrupt system.

The same minister who introduced VAT in the country is the finance minister now, but in all this time, has VAT, which affects everybody, been implemented as it should have been? When it was introduced, there were posters stating that prices would not rise due to VAT. Yet, from the very next day cable operators started charging 10% extra to the customer as VAT. Even the momos in a well known restaurant started to cost Rs.55 instead of Rs.50 – the extra Rs.5 being charged as VAT. Such examples of hefty 10% price rises due to VAT are too many to be recorded here. Suffice it to say that NTC is charging VAT even on and over its totally unjustified service charges. This is of course a government body and it is really unbelievable that the minister is not aware of it. In fact the NTC is committing a double crime. Service charge is only a pseudonym for a form of tax, and VAT is supposed to do away with all other taxes, but here you have people paying through their nose not only double tax but also tax (VAT) on tax (Service Charge).

And what about price controls? Surely the government cannot get away by blaming everything on liberalization. Essential commodities have to be price controlled. Take medicines for example. The local pharmaceutical manufacturers have been given enough leeway in the form of minimal duties on raw materials, yet even a tiny bottle of a cough expectorant costs above Rs.25. The high costs of other drugs too are all too well known. Why are even locally produced drugs so highly priced? Simply because the market is so unregulated that many products cannot sell without tempting offers to the retailers. In fact the difference between the selling price and the manufacturing cost is astonishingly high in many cases and shouldn’t be so because the end user, the patient, has to pay through the nose for even this basic necessity. To a great extent too, prices are based on existing prices of drugs coming from outside. However it must be borne in mind that the justification of many foreign manufacturers for their drugs being costly is that they spend a lot on research. Not so here. Which local manufacturer does research? And anyway, even the foreign manufacturers are not really justified in their explanation.

What about food items? Rice, that most essential of all foods, is ironically becoming a luxury to many – the prices have risen so much. I fail to understand why the government which has no qualms about subsidizing petrol, cannot subsidize rice and make life a little more comfortable for all Nepalese. After all who uses petrol? Rich car owners, that’s who. And anyway those who can afford taxis, in the majority of cases, are those who have money to burn. Rice? That is something nobody can do without. Come on, surely the less expensive variety, those that most Nepalese eat, can be subsidized? And anyway, shouldn’t the government do some research on why prices are so high? Ditto for Dal. This once humble food has surely become a product only for the rich. Costing from Rs.50 to Rs.100 per kilo, dal has ceased to be a part of the typical Nepalese dal-bhat cuisine, at least for the masses. Why are dal prices so high? Come on, surely the government needs to pull up its socks and seriously start doing something to keep the tradition of dal-bhat alive?

The constantly rising cooking oil prices is another issue that flabbergasts every Nepalese and forces one to ask, “Is the government blind? Deaf? Dumb?” Well, actually the government is neither of the first two, but yes, it is most definitely dumb. Dumb not in the sense that it doesn’t have a voice, but that it consists of many stupid people who like to think themselves extra smart resulting in a most brainless and shortsighted mob. But still they believe themselves to be the smartest of all. Why? Simply because they have managed to steal so much wealth and fool the anti corruption bureau as well as the voters again and again, therefore one cannot blame them for thinking so. All in all, in the final analysis, it does seem that it is us, the common people, who are the dumbest in both senses of the word. Voiceless and Stupid - affected by misguided hype repeatedly and believing the same old rogues who actually should be behind bars and their ill gotten loot, back in the exchequer. Oh yes, there seems to be very little possibility that we will be able to keep our dal-bhat tradition alive anymore.

Glimpses of Paradise, Down Memory Lane
Glimpses of Paradise, Down Memory Lane.

Amar Bahadur Shrestha

‘Are we in paradise?’ our Manager asked, ‘ There are angels all around us.’

Well, if blue eyes, blonde hair and fair complexions were criterion for angels, then it did seem that we had arrived in Paradise. The street, a no-vehicle zone, was full of angels, and most were dressed in denims.

The glass doors of our hotel opened automatically,‘ Even the doors open by themselves!’ our Manager exclaimed.

There was an automatic shoeshine machine in the adjoining lobby, ‘And there’s no need to polish our shoes either!’

A vendor machine served tea, coffee and chocolate. All one had to do was drop a five Kroner coin into the slot and place a paper cup below the nozzle. It all seemed magic to us at the time.

The year was, by the way, 1983, and we were in Copenhagen, Denmark, to compete in the 6th World Tae Kwon Do Championships.

A lovely pink faced, cuddly sort of girl manned (?) the front desk. A framed photo of the hotel owner in trekking gear with the Himalayas behind him, stood proudly on the counter. Taking the lift up, we walked the richly carpeted corridor to our rooms, carrying our luggage. There were no bellboys, everything was self-service, and because everything was so systematic, and because everything worked, there was no problem at all.

A laundromat was situated around the corner of the hotel. We took the clothes we had gotten dirty during the course of our journey from Kathmandu to Delhi (RNAC), Delhi to Paris (Air France), Paris to Copenhagen (Scandinavian Airlines), all in all, a nineteen hour journey. The laundromat had about a dozen huge washing machines. Ten minutes later we were out of the laundry with our clothes clean and dry and not a drop of water on our hands. It seemed a miracle. Remember again, this was all twenty years ago, and we were from the backwaters of the world, namely, Nepal.

As we stepped out onto the pavement, a police car skidded to a halt at the kerb. Two gun-toting policemen jumped out, and grabbing a bearded man standing on the sidewalk, handcuffed him. From one of his pockets a policeman removed a glass bottle. A moment later the police car sped off, the drug dealer (according to a bystander) in the back seat.

At most other times, we hardly saw any policemen around. And definitely no traffic police. Of course the roads were all quite broad, rows of trees separated lanes for cyclists, all traffic lights worked perfectly, and I guess, most importantly, drivers are well aware of their duties. So, no traffic police. We did see a police car one other time though. A friend and I were talking to a couple of girls on the sidewalk (there’s a lot of freedom in Copenhagen on such matters), and my friend whispered, ‘ Police.’

I too was a bit wary at seeing the police car cruising down the road, but the next moment better sense prevailed and I said to my friend, ‘ Relax. This is Copenhagen. We’re not committing a crime.’

In fact, we were in a city where affection is displayed quite openly, any place, any time. We made friends with two girls, methinks their names were Michen and Christina, and they became our guides. When we parted in the evenings (we parted quite early because we really couldn’t afford to stand them dinner), they said their farewells with hugs and kisses.

I’ll never forget one of my companions remarking, ‘ Imagine if we were to do this in New Road!’

By the way, this fellow, although the shy type, always made sure he was in line for the goodies by staying right behind me when we said our byes.

As far as the competitions were concerned, they were held in Brondby Hallen, a magnificent stadium. The first fight of the competitions, my shy but hungry for love friend was against a guy from Egypt. I remember him walking up to the ring reluctantly, behind our Coach. He reminded me of a goat being taken to slaughter, the expression he had on his face!

The interesting fights were the ones involving Koreans. The first Korean to fight had a Saudi opponent who threw maybe ten wild kicks before the one single kick from the expressionless Korean knocked him out cold. My fight was on the third day, so I really enjoyed seeing guys being taken away on stretchers. Only, sometimes, a chill would go through me, when I remembered that I too would be facing the music soon.

My fight went off quite well. My opponent, a Swiss, took a tumble in the first minute, result of a good old Gorkhali side kick, and in the next round, clutching his throat, slumped to his knees. Result of a good old Gorkhali punch to the Adam’s apple. That was, as it turned out, a sucker punch, and worthy of a penalty point. The third round he got me twice with turning kicks on the face, I don’t know how I could have been so careless. Anyway, that was the end of the road for me. However, we did get a trophy to carry home, it was meant for encouragement.

Returning home, we stayed a night in Paris, and the hotel we stayed in, I swear, was the eeriest place I have ever known. Dimly lighted corridors, blood red furnishings, sixteenth century furniture, claustrophobic creaking mirrored lift, and Dracula manning the front desk in a tiny lobby. He never smiled so we couldn’t see his fangs, but he was tall, thin, waxy complexioned, balding, and he had, trust me, he had blood shot eyes sunk in deep dark sockets.

None of us slept well, although we returned to the hotel only around midnight as we were too busy walking up the Eiffel Tower (the lift was under repair), clicking like crazy at the Notre Dame Cathedral, strolling on the Champs De Elysee, posing under the Arc De Triomphe. Sadly, the Versailles was closed for some days. So, no Mona Lisa.

A curly haired Frenchman, while in a department store, asked me point blank if I was gay! He had probably noticed the thick silver bracelets I was wearing, remainder of the silver jewelry I had brought from Kathmandu to make a few Kroners on the side.

So, gays were already coming out of the closet twenty years ago!

We left for the airport in two taxis. I was with the coach and the manager in the first taxi. My two compatriots were in the other. At the airport, I noticed a beautiful airhostess walk up to a wall and slide a card into a slot. Then, clicking open a small door, she punched some numbers. From another slot crisp notes came out. I was stunned.

ATM, if you please, and remember I was seeing this two decades ago.

Half an hour later, my compatriots still hadn’t turned up. I was almost sure that they had decided to do the disappearing act, although back then it wasn’t as common as it is today. They did turn up eventually, seems they had to take a U-turn after almost fifty miles because they had left the glittering trophy behind!

Anyway, after that it was all down hill. Landing in sweltering India, waiting out an uncomfortable night at the Delhi airport, catching the morning flight to Kathmandu in a plane with doors that were difficult to close. The poor airhostesses were embarrassed all right. All that pulling and pushing! And, finally, breathing the cool air at Kathmandu airport, although to be absolutely honest, we weren’t happy to be back so soon.