Interim

“We missed you, DI!” the hostel manager Akshay affectionately told me. I just returned from a lovely 5-day trek in the hills and mountains outside of the Kathmandu Valley. In celebration of my return, he had cooked me chow mein.

Later on that evening, he said, “You know, you are fat now.” I looked at him. “What? Fat?” I used to see overweight folks around Patan and I’d ask myself, “How does one get so big from eating daal, bhaat, and tarkari everday?” Anytime I ate daal, bhaat, shaak/subji, and roti for an extended period of time back home, I would lose weight. And yet, I am now moving in the direction of those who caught my eye.

But no, wait– it is largely Akshay’s fault. He always tries to please my palate, and when he cooks a new dish for me to try, he’ll carefully watch my face to study any registers of like and dislike. By now, he knows what makes my taste buds tick, so he’ll prepare my favorite dishes.

“I can’t believe you would tell me that,” I responded. “No, no, it’s not a bad thing. You’re looking beautiful. Hey, do you want more of the chow mein I made for you?” I accusingly pointed my finger at him. “That’s why I’m ‘fat’. It’s your fault. You are the one who makes me eat all the time!” The next day, when we went to his aunt’s house, Akshay asked her, “Didn’t DI get fat?” His aunt, whom I met at the Nepali New Year dinner they had, said, “Oh, yes. I didn’t want to say anything before, but I noticed that. You look absolutely stunning, DI!” Whatever. Does everyone think that I do not realize they are couching their remarks with complimentary add-ons about how I supposedly look good?

In any case, comments about my getting plump notwithstanding, I’m loving Nepal.

Journalism Advice to Aspiring, Beginning, Mid-Career, and Yes, Even You “Senior” Journalists

From time to time, my job allows me to be privy to initial drafts written by journalists, and I have two things to say about this. One is that I’ve grown very, very suspicious of journalists. Yes, I’ve always been skeptical and wary of the media. But it is one thing to know this because you’ve read about it, and then actually witness the journalistic process first-hand. Some of the work that passes off as “journalism” is so appalling and atrocious- regurgitating falsehoods, unquestioningly repeating inaccurate and meretricious axioms- that there are times that I can’t believe some call themselves “journalists.”

The other thing is- and you’ll know this if you’ve ever worked in journalism- that it’s the editor, and not the journalist, who has created what you see on your newspaper and magazine pages, and websites. Not only are they the gatekeepers of “worthy” news and opinions, but they also make, break, and shape stories. Often, they will entirely re-write a story. Good articles are the result of good editors, not good journalists.

Since I’ve seen the internal mechanisms grinding away to pump out articles on things ranging from reporting, analysis, to commentary, allow me to sound dictatorial and preachy and give a few words of advice to aspiring, entry level, mid-career, and yes, even you so-called “senior” journalists.

Why There is no Development in Nepal

Akshay was livid. The water tank guys had accidentally cut the cable line at the hostel, so he called the cable company to come repair it. They had promised him to arrive promptly. A week had passed, and still, no word.

By the time Sunday rolled around, he was really anxious- a weeklong holiday had been declared in light of elections, which meant that if the cable didn’t get fixed on Sunday, we wouldn’t be able to watch election coverage on TV.

So he called the guys. No one picked up the phone.

He called the headquarters, and the customer service lady gave him a number to call. The line was busy. He called her back, and was given another number. No answer. This ping pong game between Akshay and the customer service representative went on for another 30 minutes, during which Akshay accumulated- we counted- 18 different numbers. He was fuming.

It Feels Like It’s 2001 All Over Again

It was unfortunate that for the entire time I lived in Italy, it was under Silvio Berlusconi’s reign (2001-2006). For those of you who are unfamiliar with Berlusconi, think George Bush- but Italian.

Then, every Italian and their mamma got sick of Berlusconi and booted him out. “Center-left” Romani Prodi filled Berlusconi’s shoes. As liberal politicians are wont to do, he floundered about here and there, and parliament was dissolved. Students of Italian politics yawn.

But we should wake up because Berlusconi is back. “Il Cavaliere” rode in for a third term.

In Lieu of Election Day Prowling…Sightseeing

On Election Day (April 10th), I wanted to prowl the streets of Kathmandu to get a feel of the “election mood,” snap some shots, and witness “history in the making.” I had wanted to hit the city in the morning, but one of the hostel managers*, Akshay**, volunteered to accompany me. “I’ll come with you, Desi Italiana. But at 3 p.m.” I protested. “Three? Most of the people will have voted by then!” He shook his head. “If we go out now, it’ll be too hot. “He’s fun company, so I said yes.”Ok. You can be my bodyguard!”

But as the afternoon creeped up, he wavered. “You’re coming, right?” A look of displeasure flashed across his face. “DI, it’s too hot. And I want to lay on my bed and listen to my music!” he complained. True, it was boiling outside, but at the same time, I changed my plans according to him. I looked him straight in the eye. “Look, you said you were going to come. I was going to go out in the morning, but because you said you were coming along, I’ve waited until now. And that’s when people were voting in large numbers! So you are coming.” He started to whine. “But it’s a holiday!! How come I can’t take a nap?!”

Half an hour later, we left the hostel. He was really excited. With a bounce in his step, he said, “Let’s go to the closest polling station…Hey, DI, what do you think about taking a photo of that?” I followed his pointing finger to where there was a group of voters congregating around the registration table as armed soldiers looked on. “No…” I replied hesitantly. “How about that scene over there?” I proffered instead***.

“Election fever” was basically people feasting on paani puri, kids playing cricket in the streets, and people taking advantage of the traffic-free streets since there was a nation-wide ban on transport (vehicles carrying diplomatics–signified by blue license plates- and international observers excluded). It was a refreshing rarity to not have to contend with screaming motorcycles, large swerving buses, the Safa tempos not coming at you from each and every angle, and cars zigzagging through the streets.

With hardly any action to photograph- there weren’t many people out, and even the ones who were were slugglishly maneuvering about because it was so hot- Akshay offered to show me around Kathmandu. He knows that I am scared shitless of crossing the streets and having to contend with all of the vehicles, animals, people, and children coming my way, effectively putting me off from walking about the city haven’t gotten the opportunity or time to discover Kathmandu. Bubbling with energy, he said, “Let’s go!”

Maoists Ride on the Waves of Victory Towards the Naya Nepal

“I don’t even think the election is going to take place,” one Nepali told me. Two other Nepalis, instead, decisively said, “It is going to happen. And let me tell you- the Maoists are going to win.”

Wildly contrasting forecasts made for a very confusing and occasionally gloomy time in Nepal; there was an an uneasy, mixed atmosphere of both cynicism and optimism. Some people thought the Constituent Assembly election- which will entrust the incoming government with rewriting the constitution, of which the first step is to abolish the monarchy and officially declare Nepal a secular republic, heralding a new era of democracy- wasn’t even going to take place. After all, they had been delayed twice. Then, voices whispered that the now deposed King Gyanendra- who threw out the elected government in 2002 and then took total control in February 2005 until the democratic movement in April 2006 ended monarchic rule and placed the army under civilian control- was devising some devious plot to thwart the elections. Perhaps, these rumors went, he would incite violence from behind the scenes and accuse the candidates as culprits; people would then be too fearful, distrustful, or disillusioned with the voting process.

But Nepalis continue to surprise all.

Elections did indeed take place, and the outcome has caught everyone off-guard. High voter turnout was unexpected too. Fear of violence on election day caused many to assume that voters would lock themselves in their houses and would not dare go to the polling stations. Again, wrong. Voter turnout was around 67 percent. Most voters hit the polls early in the day (partly because of wanting to avoid long lines and the oppressive heat in the afternoon, see my photo above), but there is no doubt that Nepalis enthusiastically participated and waited with bated breath. Everyone was glued to their TV sets (those who were not experiencing load-shedding, that is), and as the results rolled in, large demonstrations spontaneously erupted in the streets of Kathmandu, and proud voters waved the red sickle and hammer flags.

Political commentators, ordinary Nepalis, journalists, and observers were stunned when the first votes were being counted and the Maoists were leading by such a large margin. Now, that lead has gotten smaller. So far, they have won 117 seats out of 240 as they squeezed the 74 registered parties, of which the royalist Rashtriya Prajatantra Party, the by now stagnant and redundant Nepali Congress, the bland UML whose platform rode on the Maoists’ tales, and the ethnic-based Madhesi Janadhikar Forum. They won’t capture an absolute majority, but they have emerged as the largest party. The fact that the elites especially were surprised just shows how woefully they were out of touch with people’s aspirations.

The most unlikely people voted for them. I asked one middle class, Bahoun (Brahmin) woman who she cast her vote in favor of. “The Maoists,” she said resolutely.

Let’s see what they can do. Desi Italiana, the king didn’t do anything for us. People have gotten poorer and poorer. Peasants are increasingly slipping into poverty. The people in the countryside have been neglected. And Kathmandu wasn’t like the way it is right now 15 years ago. They seem to have a plan, and if they can push through with it, we will be all for the better. So far, they have done what they say they are going to do.

Another young man from the Tarai, who could not vote because his residency is in Biratnagar while he lives in Kathmandu, passionately prayed that the Maoists would win:

Telephonic Trips

Since I don’t have a cell phone yet (I need to unlock my cell phone from Amreeka and get a Nepali SIM, which is not feasible right now because I don’t have the necessary documents to buy one), I’ve been giving people my work number.

Last week, when I returned to the office from eating roti and tarkari (subji) at a nearby dhabba, the secretary notified me that I had received a phone call from “Brasile.” Brasile? I don’t know anyone in Brazil. “Brasile? Are you sure?” I asked her. She nodded. “Yes, Brasile.” I was intrigued: Who could be calling me from Brazil? Thinking that I was internationally desired, I was secretly pleased.

Turned out that it was my friend from Italia.

Yesterday I was walking back to my desk, and the secretary beckoned me to her. “Desi Italiana Ji, there is someone from New Delhi who wants to speak with you.” Remembering last week’s debacle, I guardedly looked at her and inquired, “Are you sure it’s someone from New Delhi?” “Yes,” she said assertively. I took the phone, and a deep, masculine voice greeted me:

Some Belated Pictures

Let me just truthfully point out that I am, sadly, not a good photographer, as much as I try. Not only are my angles decidedly not good, but as my luck would have it, someone or something always walks right into the frame just as I am about to snap a shot. Which makes for a lot of lost time as I wait around until the scene is clear, patiently hoping that said people/pigeons/dogs/etc. get the hell out of my way.

The first four photos are from my 12 hours in Hong Kong, whereby I was miserable due to carrying my monstrously heavy laptop. But the sights made up for it. There are three photos of Hong Kong’s harbor because as you know, I love the ocean.

The last photo is of Patan Durbar Square. I took this photo early in the morning from the window of the guest house that I was staying at, a time that I look back at wistfully because I had my own bathroom, which meant I didn’t have to deal with other people’s bio-products. Such good times in those days.

Hong Kong

Patan Durbar Square

Moazzam Sheikh’s Reading in Berkeley

Moazzam Sheikh, who wrote a wonderful short fiction story called “Monsoon Rains,” will give a reading in Berkeley on April 12 @4pm at Eastwind Books, 2066 University Avenue by Shattuck.

I always support writers who tread subversive territories, especially when it comes to taboo themes like sex politics*. Oh, how I miss the Bay Area and Bay Area Desis!

Details:

The Idol Lover and Other Stories of Pakistan is a collection of sexually charged tales from Pakistani born, S.F. based writer, Moazzam Sheikh. These stories attempt to question and destabilize the notion of static Pakistani and/or Muslim identities as they come into (social or sexual) contact with their “other”. The stories unfold against a backdrop of colonialization, class issues, sexual politics and ethnic tensions in Pakistan (pre-partition Lahore), India (Kashmir) and the Middle East (Palestine) while exploring the immigrant’s dilemma in the United States. Through these stories we are reminded that when people are uprooted, part of their culture travels with them, carrying along forms of oppression. These stories, in which the reader encounters three-dimensional Muslim characters, come as a breath of fresh air in the face of the US media’s incessant effort to essentialize and racialize the Muslim.

*No, it’s not because I’m a pervert. I just think that any subject is up for grabs, especially the ones that poke at moralists, purists, and prudent social mores.

Elections in Nepal

When I first arrived here, the capo dei capi (the boss of the bosses around my office) told me that I had come to Nepal during an exciting and historic moment: Nepal will have its Constituent Assembly (CA) elections on April 10. Apart from writing the constitution, the move will theoretically bring Nepal towards being a republic*. All of this week has been declared a national holiday.

Hopefully, the elections will not turn violent, though judging from past, the possibility is not too far-fetched. There are armed soldiers** everywhere in Kathmandu to thwart any potential clash, but the army has also been known to be a little too trigger happy (it’s a strange sensation to be sitting in the bus and seeing a soldier aiming a rifle right at your window as you roll by his post). Kathmandu has been immune from violence so far, but approximately 51 election related incidences have flared up elsewhere in the country: intimidation and threats against opponents, and a bombing at a mosque in Biratnagar by the “Nepal Defense Army” which wants to see Nepal restored as a Hindu kingdom. And even if this is a momentous event, a couple of Nepalis have told me that they are not going to bother voting because they don’t trust that the elections will be fair and free.

But even if the elections take place peacefully, the “democratic process” is going to be messy.