Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

Krishna Sharma

Writer Krishna Sharma

Dads are absurd beings when it comes to writing about them. Because you do not find them at home that often, you do not interact with them for as much as you do with moms. And because they hardly show their emotions like moms do, you miss a lot of opportunities when you want to have a candid talk with them.

At least that was the case with my father for as long as he was with us. As high school headmaster he was often away from home on weekdays. And on weekends and holidays he was either at the farmland with other workers or with uncles and villagers discussing and working on the road extension project, and the likes.

I do not have a lot of childhood memories with him since he was gone on a kind of ‘banprasth ashram’ (a Hindu tradition of leaving home for self discovery after raising and settling the family) when I was 12. He returned home after about two and a half decades of his stormy life abroad. He had calmed down a lot when he returned. And he lived the rest of his life with his mother of a hundred plus years and his other-half before he breathed his last peacefully in 2018.

Although he was gone for so long, his good works were left to be remembered during those times he was absent from home and the community. The village in the plains of west Nepal where we had migrated in late seventies from the hills was less developed than where we came from. It had a very narrow road because of the encroachment from row houses on each side. It was also a barn for their cattle. During the rainy season, the road would be simply unwalkable. Dad tried convincing the indigenous Tharu villagers about the widening of the road so that the two bullock carts from opposite directions could easily pass without a hitch and the neighborhood would look nicer and spacious. But they would not buzz. The panchayat was called to endorse the idea. The road was extended in the presence of a local police and the cattle were banned to be kept on the road. The villagers were forced to make the barn of their own behind their houses.

Krishna Sharma with his father

I remember villagers cursing dad. But that lasted only for a while. As he managed to sway them the following Spring to bring sand and stones from the nearby Rohini River and pour on the road, the road looked much cleaner and walk-able even during monsoon. When ‘master jee’ (a nick name the villagers had given to him out of respect) had become a household name in the village, dad was not there.

When he returned, the road he had left was blacktopped. Mom said, even until a few days before he died, she saw him enjoying cycling on the road with one hand on the handle and the other waving at the villagers.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

Confessions of a COVID-coward

Krishna Sharma

Writer Krishna Sharma

COVID-19 has sent me home from my socio-professional life and has hunkered me down for the past one and a half months. And I am not alone in this saga. Entire humanity across the world is at home as soon as COVID took the helm of the outer world. The only person this monstrous disease has allowed to be with me physically is my own Krishna Sharma.

You do not know much about this guy whose parents had chosen his name after a Hindu God so that they could remember the deity every time they yelled at him, literally. Mr. Sharma has agreed to stay with me so that I do not go mad, seeing the sudden uncertainty of life due to COVID. Before you know how I am coping myself in self-isolation, I must tell you what the hell of a guy is Mr. Sharma who I am forced to live with like a person destined to live with his own shadow.

Mr. Sharma and I wake up at the same time every day in the morning at 03:45. A few minutes after he opens his eyes and kisses his face with the palms of his hands. Then he gets up slowly from the bed. He sits with his legs hung on the floor while his hands work as crutches on the bed. He believes the medical professionals who say that one should not immediately stand up and walk after waking up. Then he turns the light on for me in the room, which I hate, and goes to the restroom. After using the restroom, he washes his face with water. Then he looks in the mirror and smiles to make himself feel good. After brushing his teeth, he leaves the restroom and goes straight to the kitchen. He warms the water and drinks almost half a liter of it and then comes back to the room.

At 4 am, he goes to the floor where there is a mat waiting for him to sit by the window. There he does Pranayama for about 45 minutes: Bhastrika Pranayama (Bellows Breath), Kapalbhati Pranayama (Skull Shining Breath), Anulom Vilom (Alternate Nostril Breathing), Bhramari Pranayama (Bee Breath) and Baahya Pranayama (External Breath). Then he does Naadi Shodhana kriya (deepest breathing exercise to purify blood, strengthen the respiratory organs, balance the working of the Nervous system, relieve headaches, migraine, nervousness, anxiety, and stress and improve the concentration level of mind. Then he chants some slokas (stanzas) in Sanskrit wishing for the welfare of the entire mankind and the animal kingdom.

And then he sits with himself doing nothing. He goes into the meditative state. He says he brings all his attention to the tip of his nose and observes the air going in and out of his nostrils (thanks to the 10-day Vipassana Meditation retreat in Delaware in 2015 that taught him this art). He says thousands of thoughts try to enter his brain while he is in this state. “Some enter and try to stay there but I take them out and close the door of my mind and find myself at the thoughtless state.”

“It’s easier said than done to enter into the thoughtless state. However, it is not that arduous to not get it. The simple technique to be in the thoughtless state is to simply close the door through which the thoughts usually enter your brain. There are thousands of thoughts that pass through our brain. The strong thoughts do not let the weak ones to come near them and they usually possess our brain. And the strong thoughts are mostly resulted from our daily routines, daily challenges and the desires. It is thus difficult to remain oblivious from them. However, it is important that we keep ourselves away from such thoughts at least for the time we meditate. The only challenge is to resolve that such stronger thoughts too have no place in your brain as you meditate and are thus, subjected to be out,” he says.

As he meditates, I see him sometimes falling asleep while still sitting. When he opens his eyes, I see him smiling at himself. I like the way he smiles. If you see him smiling at himself you will fall in love with him and never fall out again. Be careful: his smiles are contagious. But they are not as contagious as COVID. The only thing that bothers me is he does not realize that he is with me. He is with himself all the time.

Then he gets up from the mat. Does some sit ups and stretches his body from toe to head that he had learnt during his retreat at the Osho Center in Kathmandu long ago. Then he goes to the kitchen again after about 15 minutes; Squeezes lemon on a large teacup and then puts a spoon full of honey along with fenugreek and black pepper and pours the hot water and stirs and drinks like coffee. Then he cleans his power glasses that he has started wearing lately. Then he sits at the reading table and picks the book he has been reading for the past three days – The Looming Tower, the Pulitzer Prize winning book by Lawrence Wright which chronicles Al-Qaeda and the road to 9/11.

He is now on Page 415 that describes agent John O’Neill’s funeral in his hometown in New Jersey whose mortal remains were discovered from the rubble of the world trade center on September 11, 2001. His eyes become watery as they move from left to right to left and then to right and so on and so forth. When he turns the page, a few drops of tears roll down from his cheeks upon finding out that his funeral was greater than his life.

He closes the book and then he takes the reading glasses out of his closed eyes.

He is afraid of COVID as hell although he knows fully well that he would, one day, have to leave this beloved earth like O’Neill had some 19 plus years ago and come to me with his signature smile at himself.

I try to explain to him that he should not worry about COVID or even his physical death since physical death is like changing of clothes in the greater gamut of life cycle. But he does not listen to me. He thinks I do not exist. So be it.

Love and being loved

Kamala Budhathoki 'Sarup'

Kamala Budhathoki 'Sarup'

"You have a letter from home," My friend  handed over a damped letter and left to take a hot bath.  I opened the letter. It was from my parents. They love me as the moonlight night. It is raining outside and a slow breeze is entering the windows.

I opened the letter and read, "We can give you love by heart with the help of which we can survive. It is a compulsory need to accept someone's help to lead a life without pain."

The first paragraph of the letter overcasts joys in me 'from an opposite corner of the earth, it provides a great pleasure to read received letter and to write them a letter in return. I am really happy to see the day to day growing relationship between my parents and me.' I started to write them a reply.

"I love you, I miss you." I began my letter of reply in such a way.

I was walking on this road. In the far distance,  I could see cars' headlights. On a lonely and calm road, I was walking silently. I tried to draw the attention  with my words, "you seemed to be talkative but now you are silent. Perhaps, you are tired." My friend said to me.

I remember what she had told -  I remember the morning that we wept while remaining hand on hand. People were walking through your houses. I thought, how could the people be so happy? I could see them laughing in louder sound. "It is better to live and laugh than to be serious all the time," she told me.

My mind ordered me to stop in the second paragraph of the letter. It is raining heavily outside. The night has matured. I kept the letter under the pillow and managed to go to bed.

The sun has already crossed a long way into the day. The flowers blooming in earthen pots gave me a kind of pleasure and mental peace, but the peace inside in the mind, and that outside in the environment, is a very different situation.

The sun is producing heat outside. I wonder and think, what would be the degree of business for a woman?

I began to consult and think about my parent's e-mails. I expect love. There lines in the email provide context and I too intend to enlighten the light of harmony. I have composed some poems and written short stories.  I must increase their number. I thank them for such inspiration. The road is vacant. Children are not making merry in front of the house." E-mail has made me serious and sympathetic. I have decided to make them the principles of life without any comment.

Our relationship might be one part of our life- a never forgettable story. By nature, is serious and takes anybody in confidence without delay.  

"'No one can compromise to cease life, can it ? Be beautiful, kind and respectful' We talked on the telephone in the style of a face to face discussion. The telephone call instilled great pleasure in my mind. My mind concentrated to such things and I remembered the sayings of my parents.  

Who All Are In The Triangle?

Basanta K Lohani

Writer Basanta K Lohani

It was a dark evening of a faded moon on a hot summer Thursday. Perhaps Aryaghat at Pashupati had rarely seen that kind of an ocean of grieving humanity. For the first time, Kathmandu had defied fear and apprehension of the regime after the 1960's royal takeover. The entire city was weeping as people thronged along the street to express their profound grief when the funeral procession went around different parts of the city before reaching Aryaghat. His mortal body, laid on a huge block of ice, was mounted on an open truck, and decked up with flowers. Four leaders were sitting in the same truck, giving their farewell companionship. Only his face perched out that always withstood the tyranny of time and rulers. It looked in deep sleep and eyes in communion with infinity. This way the procession started around eleven in the morning and continued until dusk. And, I was together in it. Looking at some of the photographs I took have now reeled back my memory fresh.

I was in that Jayabageshwori house right from the morning when grieving people came in beeline to offer their respect to the departed leader. His body was kept in the ground floor of the same east facing two-storied house where he had lived since he came from India six years ago. Just an afternoon earlier, I saw him when he was brought back from Bangkok with saline bottle and other medical things attached after his palliative treatment against cancer was thought not to prolong his life even for couple of days more. In the evening, Girija Prasad Koirala was busy in the contingency planning and, thus, announcing the names of the funeral procession management committee from the veranda cum corridor facing the crowd down below in the ground. The same night he died - Wednesday, the 21st of July, 1982. Since then, this day is marked as BP Memorial Day. But the irony is, for the man who fought all his life for democracy and dominated Nepal's politics constantly for forty-six years in his life span of sixty eight, remembering him even on this day by those who are basking on his blood and toil is faint and flickering. That too bears more of a ritualistic overtone. The 25th BP Memorial Day last Friday is the witness to it. I strongly believe BP deserves much more.

Politician and Writer B P Koirala

I think some are born with great mission in life. Bisheswar Prasad Koirala was one such personality who grew with politics and struggled all his life to accomplish his mission. And, his mission was to uphold 'the dignity of a common man.' When he was just a boy of class nine in a school at Varanasi, (born there on Tuesday, September 8, 1914) he was imprisoned for opposing the British rule in India. The second time was in the jute mill strike in Dharbhanga. By 1937, already a graduate in law, he formed his own study circle and started giving political lectures. Some of his fellow students became India's national leaders and Chandra Shekhar even became the prime minister. He underscored BP's leadership with me while in Aryaghat after the BP's funeral procession thus, "BP was not just my Guru and the leader of Nepal, he was one of the greatest leaders of the entire subcontinent."

BP came to Nepal in 1946 calling for democratic movement and since then until his death he became the dominating personality in the Nepali politics. This became possible because of a beautiful blend in him comprising his charisma, intellectual depth, vision and revolutionary character. His 29 day hunger strike in Katmandu's jail in 1949 and his Satyagraha in 1950 rocked the nerve of Rana rule. Finally, his leadership in the armed struggle of 1951 overthrew the Rana oligarchy, bringing democracy into the country. BP remained in power as the home minister in the first democratic government for ten months and as Nepal's first democratically elected prime minister for seventeen and half months from May 27, 1959 till King Mahendra took over the government on December 15, 1960. Rest was all struggle for freedom and democracy either in jail, in self-exile or in court. The most important thing is BP had to struggle in the most turbulent period of history. He had to fight when time was unfavorable. But the way a great man as he was, he continued his struggle unabated.

I have always described BP as one the four great leaders and revolutionaries of Nepal to have shaped its history. My first chance to meet him was in Agni Prasad's house in Butwal in 1979 when he was on a campaign trail for democracy. I was running a dairy industry there for the last seven years. It was suffocating indeed in the district and King Birendra's announcement of holding national referendum on May 24, 1979 had opened the vent that had propelled me to campaign for the multiparty democracy. In this process, I left my job, came to Kathmandu and plunged into journalism and then in teaching. At this point, I had a long meeting with BP when I went to his house for an interview that was published over twenty-six years ago in the vernacular Paristhiti I edited then. He was very courteous to receive me with smiles all across his face and climbed down the stairs all the way to bid good-bye.

Since then we developed a beautiful relationship that lasted until his death. What struck me most was his smiling face. He continued meeting people in the lawn forming an outer circle to avoid infection until he was able to do so. I remember a story that he narrated to me sometime in December 1981. When he had undergone chemotherapy in Bombay, the doctor who administered it had advised him a few days' complete rest. But the very next day, he went to receive his wife, Sushila Koirala, at the railway station, and there he happened to come across the same doctor. "Oh! It's you, how come? What a deceptive face" said the doctor with a voice mixed with awe and surprise. BP retorted, "Well doctor, I am first a politician, so don't worry about my face”

BP was such a wonderful man who had incisive understanding in a spectacularly wide range of human activity, pursuit and emotions. From the main hall that mostly used to be crowded, he later took me to the quietness of his bedroom. I still cherish many hours over the period that I shared with him in his small and barely furnished west-facing bedroom through the main hall. He even came to our place for dinner where he told the members of our family assembled before him how he had learnt to make sweets in Sundarijal jail.

For the sweetness of freedom and democracy, the values that BP cherished and lived for are what his own men have almost abandoned, causing a greater anxiety in this difficult period of our time. BP's national reconciliation is as relevant as ever before though its dimension has changed. BP deserves to be remembered more genuinely, loudly and profusely at least in the BP Memorial Day so that his struggle for democracy and his cherished values to sustain it can guide us in the difficult days ahead. Surely, democracy is not to be used to turn the country into a looter's paradise. Nor is it to be used as a facade for translating authoritarian motives. This is precisely where BP is the tallest because he practiced what he preached. In democracy, a common man's dignity becomes an individual's collectiveness. BP once said, "Nepal's situation can be symbolically expressed by a triangle, one point of the triangle is the king, another point is foreign powers and we constitute the third." The question now in the making of a new Nepal is: who all are in the triangle? There hangs the tale of our democracy.

(Courtesy: 'The Rising Nepal' Tuesday, July 21, 2006)

Tears of a DNA Carrier

Krishna Sharma

Dad passed away. He was 74.

I am not going to sugarcoat him here now that he is gone and tell a lie that he was the best dad. Everyone around us knew he was not that good of a dad. He was just my dad, an ordinary and an imperfect man. He fathered me and two sisters. It's his DNA I am carrying. And I am fighting a battle to keep his good characters and dispossess the bad ones. I hear former president Barack Obama has been doing the same thing. And that is what most people do. And I encourage you to dispossess the bad DNA that may have passed onto you from your dad and keep the good ones that he possessed. This is how humans evolve -- physically and intellectually. 

No matter how uncaring he was to us all, he was our dad. The good news is he did not hurt us like some other bad dads have done to their children. It’s true that he did leave us when we needed him the most. Yes, there were some wounds that were created in his absence. But I am sure, at the core, he did not mean to create them for us. He was rather a good dad in the sense that he helped us realize how it feels to live without a dad and become mature from very early on.

It is one thing that I never got a chance to walk beside him or listen to stories from him or play with him or go to bazaar with him while he paid for the stuff and I carried them. He had left us on our own when I was barely 12. He was alcoholic. He was hell of a good rum runner. Sadly, He never tried enough to gallantly fight and defeat the demon named alcoholism.

Before alcohol consumed him, he was a dutiful son, a bright student, a famous school headmaster, a social reformer and an activist. While I was religiously mourning his death at a house he had built and raised us, his friends would visit to express their condolences and say “he never said ‘no’ whenever anyone he knew would ask him for any favor that was within his reach”.

Life is not easy. It takes a lot of sacrifice and dedication to get what one wishes. He consumed everything we had and when there was nothing left he left. He returned home in Nepal after 26 years of self-imposed exile.

He traveled from the light to the darkness and emerged from the darkness to the light again like Washington Irving’s symbolic character ‘Rip Van Winkle’. But by the time he emerged to the light, his vision had failed to be guided by the light and connect the dots that he had missed.

We brought him to the US in 2010, a year after he had returned home. Enrolled him to the rehab at Falls Church in VA. He used to nod his head like a child when I had to act like his father and remind him why it was not good to smoke or drink every day at that age. Trust me, it is painful to be a guardian of one's own father. It often pained and my heart felt like it was bleeding when I had to tell him all those things instead of listening to his good lectures that he was very capable of delivering. He could not improve. He smoked and he drank and he failed to keep the promises and failed to make the house tobacco-smoke-free. And he said he loved to be at a place where he could do what he wanted and returned home to Nepal in 2011 to ruin what we had gathered.

He loved to hurt himself to the flames of spirit but he hurt none by any means. He may not have shown the love an average father shows to his kids but I was and am proud to be his son. Love is not about getting. It's about giving. It is his good DNA that I am getting and keeping.

I am sure he has gone to heaven for his goodness. May his humble soul Dwell in Peace.

Krishna Sharma with his Dad in front of Washington Post, Washington DC, where Mr. Sharma worked for a couple of years. His dad had also worked as a journalist for Aaj, a Hindi vernacular, under the pen-name of Hiranya Birahi in his early days.

On Poet and Playwright Avinash Shrestha

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

I always had interest in reading poetry and playwright by a famous poet Avinash Shrestha. Avinash Shrestha believes in the meaning of life, love, and death in a realistic approach. Shrestha's poetry and plays are not too complex and they reflect the life, our moments. Shrestha always tries to show the reality of the life. He writes to appreciate moments of life.

Avinash Shrestha's poems draw attention to the very simple things of life and human relations. We choose poetry, stories and plays as an appropriate medium for the expression of feelings and personal observations.Whenever I read his literature, I believe that his writing creates a sense of love on the relations in human life.

Poet and playwright Avinash Shrestha has written hundreds of poems, plays, and stories. He is one of the most intellectual and prominent poets and playwrights in Nepal. He was also an editor for Samakalin Sahitya, the popular literary journal of Nepal Academy. Similarly, he also served as the Editor for Garima, the monthly literary magazine for Nepali writing published by Sajha Prakashan. He is also a story writer in Nepal.

Poet and Playwright Avinash Shrestha

Writer Avinash Shrestha has perfect ideas. Shrestha's writing style is unique and it represents the truth. Some of his poetry and plays raises some interesting beauty. First, we are going to find that word, "life" in his concept of the beauty because I believe that the poet knows much more than the philosophers about it. Shrestha is using life, "reality" and love and the practical possibility in his great works of art, dramas, and poetry. I know that Shrestha's writing suggests that the life is more than "struggle", which for me is the "truth" in reality. He had also been able to use his highly specialized theory on his poetry.

There is a strong connection with our life, our belief, and our mind. Love, it seems the most beautiful results from our happiness within the life, causing most beautiful feelings. The poet's abilities exhibited are not hard to understand. I think that the poetry results from different subjects, but that is apparently the case. His poetry has existed and love has been a factor in our condition. In addition to being a poet and playwright, Shrestha writes novel too.

Avinash Shrestha's writing is purely beautiful that comes from the moment of life. Social transformation is a major part of his concept. The current popular subject of his writing is the effect of love on life. 

Dr. Khagendra Luitel And Nepali Writing

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

Kamala Sarup

Dr. Khagendra Prasad Luintel, a leading Nepali Writer, and Critic, is a Professor of Nepali language and literature at the central department of Nepali in Tribhuvan University, Nepal. Dr. Luitel has published more than three hundred research articles about language, literature, culture, and education in various national and international journals. His satires, memories, travelogues, short stories, and poems have been published in various national and international literary journals.

Dr. Luitel had also written a book of criticism on different genres of different popular writers of Nepal. He also completed the research project of Nepal Academy on the topics 'Modern Nepali Criticism', 'Poetics and History of Nepali Poetry', and 'The History of Nepali Novels'. All three books were published by Academy.

Recently, Dr. Khagendra Prasad Luitel’s book ‘The History of Nepali Novel’ was awarded as the best book under criticism category in the Washington DC.

Dr. Khagendra Prasad Luintel is a good writer. He works professionally. One of the areas of appreciation for his writing is he is truly dedicated and has maintained his continuity for a long time in writing. He has both creative and critical insights.

Writer and Critic Dr. Khagendra Prasad Luitel

Dr. Luitel has developed professional relationships with various institutions in terms of promoting Nepali language and literature. Research is another area, which he enjoys. He has guided several Ph.D. scholars for their research. He also did some research about the contribution of diasporic literature to Nepali literature. 

Simplicity in expression is one of the characteristics of Dr. Luitel. The literature and research of Dr. Luitel are very easy to read. His critical analysis is the true reflection of the book and intention of the writers. Dr. Luitel has always been closer to the writer's heart.

While reading Dr. Luitel, I find varieties of characters. He has the ability to cover wide ranges of the subject. His stories carry great details. The writer is fully aware of those details and knows exactly his obligations to literature. I have gone through his biographies. From his biographies, I learned that he knew all about the best books. His writing focuses on the contemporary time and reflects life.

He was awarded several medals, prizes, and certificates for his contribution to Nepali literature. Having read so much about his writing and his famous books, I can say that he is a dedicated writer and critic of Nepali literature. While appreciating his contributions to Nepali writing, I wish him all the best for his future literary works. 

On Poet Ramesh Kshitij

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

Ramesh Kshitij is a prominent poet and lyricist from Nepal. He wants to write about the beauty and chooses the subject that suits most of the common people. I think some of the questions related to life that Ramesh raised in his poems need to be addressed to know why they are important. Poet Ramesh has some suggestions on why the beauty should include as a good source for poetry.   

Poet Ramesh Kshitij

Poet Ramesh asked, ‘Why are the poems and stories used to test life? How are words and problems diagnosed by a poet? What words and poems are used in the time? What is to be done to achieve a beauty for the life?

Ramesh said that the updated documents related to requirements for world literature will be released soon, which he is very much interested in because it tells him how far he has to go to bring his beautiful poems. As we know, we were not far behind in the discussion on literature.

Poet Ramesh believes that writing poetry can’t be a task for everyone. Some writers may want to stay only to listen to the poems, and they may decide not to choose to write. Personally, I always like to read Ramesh Kshitij because his point of view in his poetry is quite informative. Ramesh has been writing lots of poems. He talks about the common issues and matters related to our daily life. This way, Ramesh can get the actual beauty to the readers.

I met the poet Ramesh. I really enjoyed reading his poems. I discovered that his poems were trying to find a new way in the life. I noticed that his new poems meditate on life. I believe that the true poems must reflect the contemporary time, and Ramesh’s poems do the same. When I smell a flower, my mind immediately enters into Ramesh’s poems. His poems have given me a strong poetic trust.

I still remember few more things related to Ramesh’s poetic journey. To me, going through Ramesh's writing is just like watching the life and flowers. Mostly Ramesh deals with compassion, love, life, and beauty in his poetry. The other thing I like about Ramesh is he loves his friends.

On Poet Dinesh Adhikari

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup 

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

Dinesh Adhikari is a famous Nepali poet. Along with several books of poems, he has written songs for motion pictures and has produced ten solo music albums. Dinesh Adhikari's poems are full of feelings, and love. In every creation, he always prefers to experiment in terms of using new thought.

The day following my wedding
We set out on a walk
Suddenly
The sky, in turmoil, turned grey
And clouds began to thunder
And the rain began to pour
Not a place in sight nearby
For shelter from the rain

We had but one umbrella
And that too a tiny one
I tilted it towards her
To shelter her from the downpour
And she, with love
Pushed it gently towards me
The rain stopped
And we took turns
I looked at her, she looked at me
By then neither was I any dry

He is a poet, who often writes about the different concept of life. His poems touched me and I am impressed.

What the poet says is so true about learning life, learning relationship and learning love. It is beautiful. I especially like the sensual aspect of his poems where we repeat the words. His poems have the feeling of a romance, love and time. I found his poems very beautiful and clear, where his heart is speaking. I am an admirer of his work. It is a matter of due appreciation that he has made such a brilliant effort in favor of Nepali literature field. I deeply appreciate his initiative work.

Poet Dinesh Adhikari reading his poem

A poet who won the Madan Puraskar and Sajha Puraskar for poetry, wrote a little poem that writes:

In the middle of our walk
Somewhere, something happened
Suddenly
Again the sky turned grey
The clouds thundered
And the rain began to pour
For shelter from the rain
I looked at her he looked at me
By then neither was I any dry
Nor was she underused
Instead
We were both wet to the skin
The day following our wedding
When we set out on a walk

This is really a magnificent poem. It has such personal touch. Dinesh Adhikari is a talented poet who has creativity and beauty of life. Poet Dinesh Adhikari deserves an applause for his unforgettable efforts. The history of Nepali literature will definitely evaluate his noble attempts. His poems have owned many people's heart.

Dinesh Adhikari said, ‘I believe writing is an individual affair yet publicizing it is its inherent quality. Driven by this conviction, I make a deliberate and conscious attempt at the simplicity of expression and protection of the artistic aspect’. He further said ‘I feel literary creation has the character of a free flowing river. Just because there's water, a pond cannot be a river. Literary creation is not a stagnant pond.’

And when the rain receded
We were haggling still
With the wretched umbrella
A rib broken, cloth tattered
A twisted, crooked vertebra
We were both completely soaked
Individually concerned
Wedding solemnized
And the first year over
Once again
When went out on a walk

Born in Kathmandu, he has written some five hundreds songs and two thousand poems have been published. His books are ‘Sprinklings from within’, ‘Songs of the Earth’, ‘Early Voices’, ‘Unending Journey’, ‘My mind My own Courtyard’ and ‘The Labyrinths of the Mind’.

There are special poems that he writes about life. Those poems are like a candle that shows the obstacles in our way so that life is easier to deal with. Poems ask, have we ever walked beside the life? His poems draw attention to the very simple things of life, relationship and spiritual philosophy.

Poet Dinesh Adhikari chooses the poems as a medium to express our thoughts, feelings, and observations on human situations and norms of human behavior. The poet examines the person's life, memory, love, and happiness successfully.

As a poet, I would say, Dinesh Adhikari is musical. His poems are like a movie. His poems can make you cry and they can make you dance. The time influences his poems, and at the same time, his poems influence the time. His poems carry courage, they are bold, and they follow dreams.

Love, Life, Literature and Poet Gopal Parajuli

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

Kamala Budhathoki Sarup

‘The world goes on creating newer things. Literature is a creation, not theory. The law of nature is to create new things. To neglect creation is to go against nature. In literature, a writer goes with an experiment in thought, subject, language, style and so on. Every creator should create new things in a way understandable to the readers whose nature of perceiving things and level of cognition changes in accordance with several social facets. Every creative change brings happiness to man. My writer is committed to renovate old values and construct new values in accordance with the changing time. In my view, I am satisfied with my work to come up with new conception and vision. In my every creation, I always prefer to experiment in terms of using new thought, subject, language, style and other associated aspects’. Poet Gopal Parajuli said. 

‘The world's picture has changed after first and second world war. After 9/11 incident, the world witnessed yet another holocaust of terror. This has a definite impact in man's mind. Time has not been moving with certain direction. The aimless movement of time has made man's future more uncertain. The question of peace and security is a big question mark before us. With Nietzsche's declaration of the death of god, the world is left alone without any savior. In such a crucial time of mental crisis, I have searched God within man and declared a new god. In my book of 'Naya Ishwarko Ghoshana' the god is personified to man. My assumption is that the man with the power of divinity can lead the world and can play the role as god, and at the same time can protect the universe with His greatness and strength. I have projected this new thing in my book. This very fact perhaps might have provided this opportunity. I think I have not been deviated from the lesson that I learned from GEETA’ Gopal Parajuli further added.

Gopal Parajuli was awarded by various prestigious prizes. He was the winner of the First prize in All Nepalese Literature's Competition in 2031 (B.S); winner of All Nepal Poetry Anniversary of 2038 B.S.; winner of Deepa Janamat Puraskar; the winner of Sajha Puraskar in the field of Nepali literature.

Poet and playwright Gopal Parajuli

Some of his popular publications well are: Golardha Ka Dui Chhew (Drama), Prithivimathi Aalekh (series of poetry), Sadak pachi Sadak (Drama), Dishahin Aakash (series of poetry); Himalmathi Aalekh (series of poetry), "Samayako Prasthan" (collection of poems).

Gopal Parajuli said, ‘I reject theoretical concept in literature. As an experimental writer, I want to explore new things in my literary work. I like to present new things as time dictates and demands. To achieve my goal, I have developed my philosophy in writing through which I go with my writer. To observe life and the world through literature and to explore peace, happiness and pleasure for mankind and to explore oneself from there is my philosophy. The main aim of my life is to seek peace, pleasure and happiness for mankind. Many words have lost their meanings and the meaning of truth has been changed. This has compelled man to seek meaning in each step of their lives. For me the only quest is about the truth. Even in western writings that I have gone through, I found the same thing. Hence, it is due to the truth I am maintaining my linkage with western writing.’

‘After the Nietzsche's declaration of the death of god, the world is left alone without a human leader. The world after the declaration is going ahead randomly, almost in the disorderly way. To set the world in order, and to restore peace harmony and happiness a dynamic leader's arrival is necessary in the world. At such a time, I have challenged Nietzsche, and declared a new god within man. Thus, challenging Nietzsche, I am going a step forward establishing avant-garde trend in my writing.’ Parajuli added.

‘This is the age of globalization. As a pioneering magazine of language and literary and cultural studies in Nepal, Garima, has been crossing the border of nation with Nepali writers who have assimilated themselves in the flow of international writing. Some of the Nepali writers have touched upon the arena of postmodernism and have brought postmodern trend in their writing crossing the border of modernism’. He said.

Literature is an endeavor of searching the space of sentiment and feeling. The feeling and sentiment connect one person with another. Science and technology can never and in no age, can ignore the feeling and sensibility of the creator. The heartless science and technology can never challenge this truth of a creation. In this age of science too, Milton is known as England, Homer is known as Greece, Vergil is known as Rome, Frost is known as America, Bhanubhakta is known as Nepal. A writer writes simply because he can create emotion, sentiment, and feeling in his creation.

Ex-editor of the Garima, Gopal Parajuli further said, "The feeling, emotion, and sentiment of man never dies. These are the elements of spirit. Man lives in feeling, emotion, and sentiment before and after death. The feeling of spirit after death makes a man positive towards life. I am positive towards life, so towards spirit.’

Some people may argue that literary creation as an outcome of continual endeavor. Creation is essentially an outcome of inherent ingenuity. The living creation cannot be created by an endeavor. Inherent ingenuity is the must. A writer is born not made.

The conflicting powers should be made weaker to make their ideas much stronger. The opinions and ideas of others should be regarded. Then only peace can be restored in the country and the nation can be rescued. In this process sacrificing the vested interest of the interest group is the uttermost.

‘Flow of information is at their fingertips and the future is in their hands. So, emerging generations should be responsible to the time, nation and the world. They should feel that they are the responsible citizen of the world’. Poet Parajuli said.

Poet Gopal Parajuli further added. ‘I am pleased to mention that Madan Puraskar, the most prestigious award has been conferred on my literary work 'Naya Ishwarko Ghoshana' (The Declaration of New God). I feel this award came my way in recognition of my approach on new and experimental writing in Nepali literature. I hope this will create my distinct and more pronounced identity in my field of literature.’

Sugar Dad

Krishna Sharma

Writer Krishna Sharma

About an hour after Kisan Upadhyaya’s interview with American Conversations went on air last Sunday on Channel 30 and on social media, I received two calls from New York and California with a request to help connect with Kisan, the guest of the TV talk show. They wanted to invite him for motivational speech for their clients and employees respectively.

While passing the information, Kisan informed me that he was also receiving scores of phone calls and comments in his Facebook page that said that they were in tears when they watched him crying on the show. He also informed me that the sale of his lost and found memoir "The Last Orange" in Amazon was going up.

I did not know men crying in public still makes a buzz in social news media.

Amrita Lamsal, like many others, shared the interview link on her Facebook wall and wrote “Like all that glitter can’t be diamond, all those who give birth, can’t be mothers …”

The reference was: Kisan being betrayed twice by his own mother. Betrayal not just once when he was four year old but also the second time when he discovered her after 42 years. "I was darn wrong to think that mothers are mothers. My mother could not be my mother in a truer sense. How can a mother who has found her son after 42 years, complain that he was not bringing anything for her from the USA? The unrequited love I had for her was nothing for her. She wanted me as her sugar dad. Oh, God!"

The point I am trying to make here is why people cry when they see others cry. The easiest answer could be they find themselves in the crying person's shoes and thus express themselves emotionally in a similar way.

I don’t know for sure whether after-a-not-so-happy-reunion with his mother, Kisan’s journey of love in life has halted or not but he is not the only person who feels like a lone wolf in the kingdom of love. Those who cried while he cried, including myself, are also deceived by some of those they loved. Otherwise, tear is not something readily available to roll down so easily from one's eyes.

Kisan’s story reminded me of an unwritten saga of my cousin brother whose beautiful life withered before my own eyes some two decades ago. I feel sorry that I could not be of any mediation. I was struggling myself. All I did for him many a times was to let a few drops of tears fall before I would even know that I was crying when he was crying.

This cousin brother of mine was a very smart kid in his school and early college life in Lumbini. During early nineties of the last century when Nepal had just begun to open up before the rest of the world, he was selected from Lumbini zone for a debate competition in Kathmandu. He also made it to the final round to represent SAARC youths from Nepal to Colombo, Sri Lanka at the sideline of the 6th SAARC Summit in 1991.

It is true that his parents worked hard to bring food to the table for six people in the family. But they were not as poor to ask him to earn for himself when his college life began. College tuition was way cheaper than the school fee of that time.

All of a sudden, he felt left out. He felt discarded. He felt unloved. He got frustrated. He started spending more time outside with people who had failed in life and had picked up bad habits. His time with the family was lessening. Both the sides failed to bridge the relationship that was falling apart. They nursed their own vain egos.

Binge drinking with friends, gambling and watching Bollywood movies in cinema halls became rituals of his daily life. Then somehow he managed to fly to South Korea under work visa. His job there was to work hard, save money and send home. Every time he called, his mother, brother and sisters would put pressure on him to send some more money.

They would be happy if I sent them money. If I delayed sending money when I would be sick or had to buy something for myself they would start talking to everyone. His dad, however, was an exception. He always wanted him to succeed and be a good person. He never expected money from his son.

“They never asked me how I was faring; whether I was sick or not. They never said they missed me during festivals. I would call them the day before Dasain and all I would hear back would be how they had prepared for the Day, what they had bought for the festival and why they needed more money. I had become a sugar dad for them. Just a sugar dad… Nothing more. Nothing less,” I could hear him sob when he called me one of those days and expressed the sorry story of the gulf of ever widening family ties, breaking family values and churning social mores.

This story does not necessarily hold true to many families with similar situations. Families love their kids and they really miss them when they are away from home in connection to their pursuit of higher education or employment opportunities.

But there are families that treat their kids in the gulf and other nations as the money making machines -- sugar dads or sugar moms. These young men and women are left to dry without love. And those who could not be sugar dads or sugar moms are forgotten completely. Their calls are not even answered.

We hear no conversations on love or the past that was full of love and family and social values when family members talk these days. All families talk today in Nepal’s households is whose son is in which country and who sends more money and who has built big and beautiful houses and whose wife dons herself with the most jewelry in her body and whose husband or son or brother rides on the most expensive car.

It’s no secret there are many Kisans in the streets of Kathmandu or other metropolis areas struggling hard to survive. But the well-kept secret is there are more unloved Kisans within the families across the nation.

Many may discard this story as an emotional outburst based on one single story of a person or a family. But there is no guarantee it will not replicate into another family's saga in their vain pursuit of riches.

Before we lose family values in the name of rooting out poverty and gaining material ownership, lets think more closely as to how this contributes to family's and country’s overall emotional health.

I am sure, answers are not easy. But they are certainly not unachievable.

Let's talk about love. Let's talk about our childhood that were filled with love. We don't have to lose anything by talking about that. We can talk about money before we end our conversations. But first, let's say that we care for each other.

(The link for Kisan Upadhyaya’s interview with American Conversations is -  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0a0OnYURXVc&feature=youtu.be )

Dementia and Free Soul

Krishna Sharma

Writer Krishna Sharma

Certain moments of life can’t be sincerely communicated. Words become fluffy and flimsy. They fail to be photographic in expression, no matter how hard one tries to capture them from the deepest lens of one’s heart.

I cannot exactly express the feeling that weighed on in my heart when I met my beloved grandmother of 101 years this past April at my home village of Makrahar in Lumbini. Her purpose in life had come to a halt and she was challenging death to come and take her away. “Sad part is that I sincerely ask death to come and take me. It just would not come!,” she would report to me rather glumly. Sadly, her love for her own life now seems to have emptied.

Except for her diminishing body and fading memory, there was nothing that had changed much when I had last seen her three years ago in 2011. She could see, listen, talk, take shower by herself and walk with us bare feet on the pasture land, although with frequent stops.

She never aged before my eyes, partly because she was already in her late sixties, fixed in her look, when I was still a child; and partly because she never really did seem to change. She looked the same to me when I was a teenager; when I was a young man; and even the last time I saw her when I was 39 and she was in her late 90’s. There was a little bit more halt than I could remember. She was little bending over. But the look was still the same: a skinny long but oval face with silver hair on her head and bright brown eyes fixed above tear bags that had become a little bigger than they were the last time I had noticed them. Her lower eyebrows were no more as they had bothered her eyeballs so much that they were removed permanently through a surgery.

Dildhara Sharma is 101. The onset of dementia 
started since January 2014

When we would call her over the phone she used to make us feel guilty as she would say, “I don’t want to die before I see you all one more time.”

Saddest thing is she is not telling this anymore now. Dementia is taking toll on the remaining part of her life. It took three long hours for her to recognize that I was her grandson. But then within a few minutes she would totally forget her beloved grandson and granddaughter-in-law, and the great grandsons and daughters and would start talking to us about the times when she was a child growing up in the hills of the western district of Gulmi as if we were her childhood friends.

However, at times, she would be in her perfect mental order. While I and my brother were talking about Nepal’s new Prime Minister Sushil Koirala, she would jump from her bed and would express her surprise.

“Now, Sushil is the Prime Minister of Nepal?” she would ask in disbelief.

Then she would add, “He has come to this house some 30 or more years ago along with Girija Prasad Koirala. I remember offering milk tea to those tall people on that balmy evening. They looked really restless since they had seen their cadre being killed on that very day.”

Koirala duos with a few party workers had in fact visited our house to see our grandfather in 1980 after they had narrowly escaped the murder attempt orchestrated by local Panchayati gangsters. Local youth leader Mr. Alok was brutally murdered on that fateful day in Surajpura, Rupandehi which is barely five kilometers east from our village.

A vegetarian by family mores, she had startled her in-laws when she followed along the Sanskrit verses while tending cows as her in-laws chanted them clad on white dresses. She hailed from a family which valued education for girls. She must have been the source of inspiration that my grandfather started talking about educating girls soon after returning home from Venaras in India. He was a scholar from Venaras Hindu University who helped spread the value of education for life among villagers in Gulmi. He is still known to the locals in Gulmi as andha pandit – a blind priest – who had but founded his own library named after him – Keshab Pustakalaya which was then not very well organized but open to the villagers for outreach on a condition that the books were kept intact while being read and are returned as soon as they are read or used for religious purposes. When our family migrated to the plains of Lumbini, the library was handed over to the local school where my father had served as headmaster.

Late Keshab Raj Sharma, the founder of
Keshab Pustakalaya in Gulmi. All the
books were donated to local Prithvi
High School when Sharmas migrated to
the Rupandehi in late seventies.

She was such a strong democratic character that local leaders of various strata would always come to get her endorsement and receive her blessings before they would even start their election campaign. After winning elections, they would make it a point to first visit to her to share the news.

She was so strong hearted that when a group of Maoists reached her to stop me from writing against them in 2003, she told them to go do whatever they wanted. She must have been inspired for democracy seeing her own younger brother (now deceased) Ghanashyam Ghimire who fought against Panchayat regime on behalf of Nepali Congress. He was jailed for revolting against King Mahendra’s bloodless coup and had to spend the rest of his adult life bedridden after the police loyal to the monarch broke his back while he was found escaping from Palpa jail in 1960.

Family and society was always first for her. Although religious, she never intimidated others on the basis of what caste they belonged to. The most fascinating thing about her is that she always stood for truth and she took no sides. My mother and my wife are fond of her especially because she always treated them as her own daughter and granddaughter. Now that Dementia makes her confused and unable to remember people and names it brings tears to our eyes.

However, when she sees us crying, she says, “I think you belong to me. You are crying seeing me this old and dying. …No sobbing anymore. It makes you weak while it makes me sad.” The onset of dementia had started giving her hard times since last January. Memory loss and impaired judgment are what she is suffering from.

Once she starts losing language and is unable to perform some daily activities such as using restroom on her own, taking shower on her own and returning home from a walk, life would be really tough on her honest soul. However, the best part is that her soul would continue to be free and out of touch from worldly affairs that are not so good.

According to World Health Organization (WHO) and Alzheimer’s disease International report 2012, there were 35.6 million people globally with dementia, including Alzheimer’s.

With the United States adding one Alzheimer’s patient every 67 seconds, especially among baby boomers, the government and the Congress are mulling to develop a foundation for Alzheimer’s fund to better address the issue.

While this is my family saga I have witnessed over the years, there are hundreds of thousands of others who go unnoticed in a society like ours where senior care is a far cry, functioning mental healthcare is a distant dream and government initiative is not yet on a priority list. With changing life style, living patterns and families being nuclearized due to necessities and comfort this story is likely to be every household’s story for a foreseeable future.

Let’s hope the Constituent Assembly will take into account the need for more social welfare funds for the elderly before the government’s budget is given a green signal.

Somebody has said, “God protects insane, children and the aged.” Let’s pray, whoever said this was right.

(This article is dedicated to many grandparents like my own who are hardly noticed with the palpable condition in Nepal. - Writer)