Post demise of Girija Prasad Koirala

I woke up today to newspapers that were all filled with articles, news, analysis and condolences offered to late leader Girija Prasad Koirala. I among many others have been the one who frequently felt GPK was responsible in one or other ways in the turmoil that is prevalent in the country. Opinions were also building up that no change will take place until GPK relinquishes power and his position as a center of power was broken. GPK on the other hand was far from giving chance for other to rise may be out of fear that his position will be overshadowed or probably he thought no one was capable enough. Whenever anyone tried to raise hood, their political career suffered examples of Saileja Acharya, Krishna Pd. Bhattarai, Sher Bd. Deuba suggest the same thing. Many times he was cursed but he never deterred from whatever he decided. All of us have heard people becoming critical of him, sometimes even cursing him to death. But not many of them felt sad when he left. I wonder how many of us had thought so many people would participate in his last journey. It would be unwise to say all of them had participated because the loved the late leader.

Media now is putting in efforts in creating hopelessness and pessimism as if with the demise of GPK hopes have shattered and doomsday will be soon here. Unfortunately this is the same media that had become so critical of him in recent times. Nothing and no one can be so much of opportunist like media. It is leading bandwagon to portrait the leader as evangelical, someone who only had capacity to take the country out of turmoil, same things that they presented as his stubbornness now has become his confidence, and his nepotism has now become his ability to see right people. The country was in shock to learn that the elderly leader had passed away, catching on the sentiment media led the bandwagon of identifying him as messiah, an emancipator. Minutes later they came up with creative nicknames like “man of the soil”, “man of the nation”, “true leader”, “great leader”, “great human”. I am surprised how creative and enterprising media can be. I am also surprised at the reason they felt he should be portrayed thus. They didn’t look at what the Nepalese felt and had to say about the leader but they took a hint from who was coming to offer respect to him from India. If Indian ministers are coming no doubt he was a great leader. India was first to be grieved to have learnt the demise of the person who they believed was entire Nepal or who knows from whom they could do things they wanted to do here. One of the Indian leaders even went on to say GPK was Nepalese version of Mahatma Gandhi. Either he hated Gandhi or he didn’t know anything about GPK.

GPK did have the characteristics of great leader, he had strong confidence (I had never earlier said he was stubborn), infallible commitment to what he felt was right. Problem was probably in whether what he felt right was really right. He lent ears to few ones entirely dismissing others. Think about how he ruled his party, he was a complete authoritarian. He bypassed party’s mechanism to secure the position of a minister in the minister’s council. He later lifted the incompetent daughter to the position of deputy prime minister irking the dismayed party members. Now wasn’t he also a great bargainer? He played “this for that” and “that for this”, were all those bargains in favor of the country? Indeed he seemed to come out with solutions when there were deadlocks. Unfortunately what apparently looked as solution were only temporary-quick fix the latest being the formation of high level political mechanism. In one aspect he tried to be Gandhi, Gandhi went on to offering whatever Jinnah asked when Pakistan was formed while GPK was doing something similar with Prachanda the President of Maoists Party. His later days inclination to Maoists could have given Maoists confidence in demonstrating what I would like to call “out-of-law” activities and practices. His relationship with the current government was either of a support or threat is again doubtful.

Demise of GPK has certainly left uncertainties behind, but uncertainties have been something that we have learnt to live with the only fact is now even quick-temporary fixes have died out. Politics is an area where predictions enjoy faltering; still we cannot keep ourselves away from making speculations. Being captive of the same, few things look apparent to me as well. First the fate of Sujata Koirala looks bleak; she has lost the shoulders she had so far ridden. If she fails to find a high-profile fool her political career does not look promising, unless she manages to gather sympathy votes. Unfortunately polls are not anywhere near in the future and thanks to short term memory of people sympathy (if any) is likely to fade out.

GPK crushed the hoods of everyone that challenged his position and no succession plan was done. Piggybacking Sujata Koirala took place really late so Nepali Congress is sure to go through the most turbulent phase and extreme of power play. I won’t be surprised if it disintegrates and if it does even it would continue losing its supporters. The leaders in the forefront are not promising at all be that Sher Bd. Deuba, Ram Chandra Paudel, Sushil Koirala. The possibility of paths clearing for younger generation is very unlikely.

CPN UML is already a party with no strong adhesion between members and it will fail to establish itself as a strong party. It also has a bad reputation of a party with no firm stand on anything. People have shown their resentment against the party by defeating their top leaders in the constitution assembly elections. Whether GPK was alive or he passes away CPN UML is already in troubled water, it always has been.

For Maoists, they in real terms have lost their guardian. GPK could have helped them clean their international image, he was the one with whom they could whine time and again for smallest of the things. He was also someone who had lolly-pops for them regularly. He thus in some way controlled their behavior and placated them when they cried. They might be more undisciplined and we will have many more bandhs awaiting us.

Current government might stay for a while as it will take some time for differences in Nepali Congress to surface. When GPK was alive, the NC members seemed to have full support for government while GPK had hinted that an alternative was possible (may be he thought the path for his daughter would be clearer) and this was also viewed as their way of showing their displeasure to the ailing leader.

India might have already engaged itself in identifying the replacement of GPK or to influence the turn of events in its favor. We can only wait and watch who India picks as its man.

Destination Biratnagar

Waiting for the flight in the airport is one of the detestable things for me and this time the destination itself would bring my excitement down. Its not the destination but the climate that made my destination undesirable otherwise I am someone who love the expanse Terai, the paddy fields expanding beyond the limits of my sight, the whistling breeze that would spell life into the beautiful greenery, the cows returning home and the monotonous ringing of the bells tied around their neck. I love watching them walk, I watch with great amusement the size of their belly little protruded after grazing for the whole day and more content are the eyes of the shepherd expecting the amount of milk he can get. In the early mornings, inside the small tea-stalls the sight of people squatting holding small glass of tea gives an impression how one can find pleasure in smallest of the things. The tweeting birds in the early morning along the wires that follow the road may be to its dead-end, make the morning musical.
Thank god, the flight was in time almost exact except in the runway we had to wait for almost 15 minutes to wait for a VIP who would arrive late at the cost of our time. Time has no value in this part of the world, if you can’t make it today, make it tomorrow, we live by that principle and it is that simple. If we can’t do it next generation will do it, what a wonderful way to shirk our responsibilities. In order to avoid the curses of the waiting passengers we were not told why we were made to wait for no apparent reasons. The authorities knew the passengers were well-prepared for delays.
Anyways the plane took off and as it gained altitude the city looked smaller and smaller, the houses tiny and tiny. The roads looked like lines on the palm of a huge hand. I felt like shifting the crowdedly clustered houses to somewhere else in my palm like the mythical “Hanuman”. I wished I could rebuild the city. The plane penetrated the clouds and the hide and seek started. I could see white clouds like balls of cotton randomly dropped over the earth. Thicker the clouds more excited I was to jump down into them, lay on my back, legs bent one leg over another, my head pillowed on my hands, to look at these flying planes. In my thoughts I was no older than two twin sisters who sat in seats in front of me on the other side. Unlike them I just didn’t say “In aeroplane the conductors are ladies.” This innocent comment from these kids is still ringing in my ear and I cannot resist smiling. I wonder how the attendant would have reacted to this, how much of energy would it have taken for them to maintain their fake smiles. By, the way the attendants were more beautiful than the last time. However the fakeness in their smile grabbed my attention more than their beauty. Prabably that was the painful part of their job. In my last flight the hostess hadn’t said “Namaste” to every passenger, they only brought their palms closer and didn’t even smile. I wonder if we had paid more for the ticket this time.
The plane flew over the rivers and I would try to see their source but they would vanish inside the clouds. The terai was enveloped in clouds most of the time but as it became clearer, I was overjoyed to see the green paddy, no clusters of houses. The majority of the houses I could say almost made me forget we lived in concrete structures. The small huts looked like scarecrow in the huge fields. The bread-basket of the country was welcoming us with the open arms. The Koshi river looked ferocious and it had already engulfed a huge area leaving a large number of people homeless.
We were in the ground after rising to 13800 feet and the temperature of 30 degree Celsius at 5:00 PM made me worried about the day that was to follow. The drizzle that followed brought some solace and I was pleased to feel the terian water in my cheeks. Honking of rickshaws, streets dividing the houses into two sides, sights of women in their bicycle, speed of the vehicles, shapeless smoke rising from the huts, coconut trees, confirmed that I was in Biratnagar or in any other plain. It was hot but not as scary as I had anticipated. The shops opened till late in the night and late till morning took me by surprise. The country certainly has variation. At 7:00 I had to walk to quite a distance to find a shop open to get a tooth-brush which I had forgotten to bring. To my wonder the street looked lonely except for few bicycles carrying the school students. Like villages I had expected even the city to rise early but many chimneys were already belching smoke, the smell of the firewood made me want tea. Tea in small glasses, teas darker in color and teas rich in milk, alas not a single stall is open. Small biscuits dipped in the local tea tasted great. The stalls had this biscuits in thick bottles and they sold it in individual pieces.

Just another evening in office

My small room is sparsely lit. The bluish light has created a kind of cosmic ambience. I am in love with that small bulb at the upper corner on the left of the entrance that keeps trying to make my room look brighter. When the faint stream of light evades the bulb, I feel like the protestors slipping in through the barricade into the restricted area. I love this rebellious nature light. It has spread like the light that escapes from the corners of unrelenting clouds after a rain. May be it is not only the rebel, its mischief as well. When I was young, very young indeed not even ten, we used to tie handkerchief around our eyes and we had to catch our friends. In those games children life myself used to escape under the spread arms of the blinded person. He/she used to get hold of the preys but alas he would only embrace the air, the abundant air, air that could not be embraced. The lights are escaping from underneath the cover of that bulb, the cover that has given the light the bluishness. The wall clock arms are aligned against each other at 5 and I assume its 25 past 5. I could have doubted the clock but I don’t, I trust it. In these two years, I never had complaints with this clock. I never asked why had it been punctual, always active and running. In this loneliness, I am wondering for the first time if that’s the peon who regularly changes the battery. Probably it’s the same peon who brings me a cup of tea every morning at 11:00. Why is he so punctual? May be that is the reason he never wants the watch to sleep.

I don’t know when the sounds went to sleep, I remember something falling on the other end a while ago and after that somebody yelled. I don’t remember hearing anything after that. Silence looms in this part of my huge office soon after it strikes 5:00, sometime even earlier. I always hear the cheerful voices of people rushing home. They are always in hurry, like the tumultuous school students. I like those sounds, most of them meaningless. In my school a teacher used to say “When one speaks its an opinion, when many speak its noise”, it was more than 30 years back, I must have been 13-14 years then. Once I asked out of nowhere, unprepared “Why not ‘when one speaks its opinion, when many speak its rebellion’”? Back in those days, thrashing students was part of teacher’s duty, when I spoke that something reminded my teacher that duty of his which he had not obliged in last 45 minutes. I gave him chance to carry out his duty. I could not complete my math’s homework because of the welts, thanks to myself for reminding my teacher his duties. The other day, I was made to do 100 sit ups and my math teacher thought my ears were some ugly flowers which he wanted to pluck. Thanks to him my ears pained for almost a week. Somewhere at that point I lost my voice, never raised any questions, just listened to opinions, in spite of that I did get few more thrashings.

I think I can still feel the welts today, I became an introvert. Anyways, I find the light meets my personality. In these years I have not been to many rooms of my department, and I get confused in the names of my colleagues. That has also come with advantage though, my life has lesser interventions, I have to bring less fake smiles, I rather slay from front rather than backstab, I know my enemies better and I get my work done. The cigarette is getting smaller and smaller. The smoke rings twirl and vanish. I like the smoke rings struggling to exist, struggling to outlive their age. When I put the cigarette in my mouth to inhale the smoke, the edges of the cigarette go red. They burn and sulk, I feel like a master. I share the feel of Dagny Taggart (character from Ayn Rands ‘Atlas Shrugged’) proud at being able to tame the forceful flint of fire between my fingers. The papers under the paper-weight want to blow away with the air from the moving fan on the other side of me. The release of smoke has been strangely in sync with the fluttering of the paper as if the paper were excited to see the smoke rise higher and higher, as if it was cheering the paper. By the time the smoke vanishes, the fan would have faced the other side and the papers lie motionless on the table. My legs are on the table, one leg over another and the dark brown socks has given my feet strange look. I enjoy sitting this way specially when there is a cigarette in my hand. At this point of time, even ethics would have gone to take some rest. I have realized that for last few days I have regularly stayed in office after it sounds quiet, just to enjoy the puffs of smoke, to put my legs on the table one over another like a tyrant. My tyranny is against myself.

I was in my room when one of my bosses steno came to my room. Unlike many other stenos, she has this good habit of knocking at the door before scaring you off with unexpected presence. I had the same position as I have now except I didn’t have a cigarette. Had it been somebody else I would have dropped my legs but since it was her I didn’t. I feel she likes this care-free attitude, she leaves with a smile looking back, trying to appear seductive. That is when I want to have a heart full of laughter. She thinks I am hitting on her and possibly she enjoys this.

I can hear somebody’s footsteps, probably it’s the guards locking the rooms, my cigarette’s bud is on the ashtray. It’s time to go home.