Verse

Blog

  • Activism via Social Networking

    Nepalese from all walk of life, students professionals as well as a broad alinces of citizens are now following the slogan ‘Jyala pura liyau, aba sambidhan deu’.

    ‘Jyala pura liyau, aba sambidhan deu’ is organized by Nepal Unites. Nepal unites is an informal group of concerned Nepali citizens demanding the timely draft of the Constitution and the conclusion of peace process. These people share the common ground for activism , digital media.

    This growing mass of Nepal unites (coined as twitteratis; very, very angry youths, white color urbanites from our respected critics) is organizing rallies, events, concerts and interned base campaign to make the law maker understand those ninety five minutes they provided to writing constitution on Nepal in last three years was their incompetence and dishonesty to Nepalese citizen.

    https://facebook.com/nepalunites
    https://www.nepalunites.com/

     

  • Lemon Tree

    Located at Pokhara’s central lake side with spacious indoor and outdoor seating, Lemon Tree has the perfect ambience anyone could ask for after a long day’s sight-seeing in the beautiful lake city. It is warm and has every aspect of a complete Nepali house; made out of bamboo, hay roofs, and hanging pot plants outside. The homely, warm welcome topped off with kitsch tables decorated with red and white linen, candle light and a little vase, is matched by the equally tempting mouthwatering delicacies at this eatery.

    When arriving I could have instantly devoured the sumptuous food but, as it is always exciting to know a little behind the scenes story, I sat down with Gautam Manandhar, the owner of Lemon Tree, to find out where it all began. Gautam has been in the restaurant business since he was 18 years old. Lemon Tree is one of his much successful grandeur, including ‘Jomali’ in Thamel and ‘Don’t Cross Me By’ also in Pokhara. But Lemon Tree is undeniably one of his biggest and most successful ventures.

    While we sat in one of the cozy corners of the indoor restaurant and walked down memory lane with Gautam, one of his recommended dishes of the restaurant was being readied in the kitchen by the head chef, Keshab. Keshab has been the head of the kitchen for 10 years. I understood why he had lasted so long as I sampled the first dish – the fantastic, fresh fish from the lake with garlic sauce. His recipes were the heart of the restaurant. It was amazing. The aroma and presentation was enough to make my mouth water. The meat was tender and juicy with the subtle garlic sauce to compliment it. I was already full when I had gobbled up the heavenly dish, but lunch was not yet over.

    The best part was left for the last. It was their very special Lassi. And trust me it was indeed very ‘special’ because I have never had one like that before and believe me when I say I have had them all; if lassi is on the menu of any restaurant, I will order it, so you should get the idea. The lassi was smooth and cool. If only I could, I would go there everyday to have the glass of heavenly goodness. And like I said before it was the best part of the lunch, especially in the scorching heat. All that in an affordable price of xxxx Rs.  What was even more appealing about the restaurant was that one did not have to wait long for their food to be served. I only had to wait for 15 minutes before my dish was on the table, steaming hot.

    By the end of the whole experience, I was not only full, but satisfied too. Gautam wanted me to have more of Lemon Tree’s finest and I wanted to try them all too but I just did not have a single inch in my belly to spare for another dish. The service was great too. To sum it all, I found Lemon Tree a perfect blend of superlative food and absolutely delightful ambience.

     

  • People of Clay

    I

    Gunjan still plays with her doll.  It is ridiculous; I make fun of her, taunt her, and laugh at her all the time. She is taller than Mother and nearly as tall as Papa but she still has that doll tucked tightly between her hands and waist. Minutes after she carefully lays her doll in its cot as if the doll would wake up if you’re not careful enough. I am beside there kicking my feet in the air, laughing at Gunjan. Mother comes and brings me up to my feet, yes, she nags and shakes her dainty little index finger at me and then she sighs and gives up. It just makes me smile more. And I love having Gunjan by herself, when she is so vulnerable. You take her doll away and put it on top of the cupboard, she’ll cry there for hours. The funny part is, she is just tall enough to reach the doll. But that’s Gunjan, she’d rather sit with her hands pulling at her hair and crying for the doll than tiptoe on her feet to bring the doll back.

    Like I do.

    This one time I found Gunjan in front of Mother’s mirror with lipstick making a clown’s smile on her face. It was one terrible sight but the thing with Gunjan is, she looks at me with that half-scared and half-amused look on her face that makes every disaster so funny that I can’t help but hoot with laughter. And since I cannot help it, it is certainly not my fault that Mother comes rushing absolutely knowing what she is going to see. Oh then, Mother grabbed her by her arms tightly and gave her a good shaking. I laughed because to and fro is sort of giddy. I laughed harder because Gunjan’s hair was all over the place- on her face, on her shoulders, in the air. Bottles of perfume, lipsticks, lotion cases and make-up boxes flew over heads. I screamed then but not because I was scared like Gunjan was. Mother said that she was sick of Gunjan but she cradled her in her arms again and rocked her silently.

    I cannot understand her at all.

    Gunjan feeds her doll even though the mouth is but a black thread sown across her face. The oatmeal and milk dribbles down the doll’s already filthy clothes, to Gunjan’s skirt then to mine. It sometimes makes me so mad that I tip the bowl all over the doll. Gunjan does the same but for a different reason. She does it when she scolds the doll for not eating. The doll used to have a white dress but now that Gunjan bathes it almost everyday in her breakfast, it is yellowish brown now. Her hair used to be soft, brown and curly but now it is frail and frizzy.

    But Gunjan carries it with her all the time.

    Mother had tried getting rid of it once. I told her that Gunjan would be very angry if she did but Mother was determined to get rid of it. Nobody does listen to me, do they? Gunjan threw a wild tantrum. She threw herself on the ground like a mad person. I felt really bad for her. I told Mother again and again that she should return the doll to Gunjan or else she would probably die. Gunjan got her doll back but whenever I want something from her, I threaten to burn her doll. She clutches her doll like I would carry out the threat that very instance. I told you, it is very funny.

    Gunjan is not wrong though.

    Gunjan is older than Mother because she is taller than her. How can that be so? She still plays with her doll. She talks to it all the time. Even in my presence they carry out conversations. I can, of course, never hear the doll reply ‘don’t leave me.’ But I do hear Gunjan tutting at the doll, explaining that she has to go get dressed for a party. I can also see her say, ‘okay, okay, there is no need to cry now, there, there.’ And carry the doll away as if it actually has a weight. Oh dear, she can be a darling at times. Did I ever mention that Gunjan is very pretty? She has these huge eyes, brown curls that she rests on the window sill. Last week, or was it last month? Well, Gunjan had her birthday and Mother made the best sandwiches ever. I ate mine and the doll ate Gunjan’s. It was okay, Gunjan said, because she didn’t feel hungry then. I thought that was pretty stupid of her so I made fun of her. And also made her cry on her birthday. I threw the doll in the little fishpond we have behind our house.

    I ruined my perfect white dress.

    Gunjan still has the doll.

    Mother comes. Gunjan is telling on me. I want to tell on her too but I don’t want her to lose the doll.

    ‘Gunjan. Gunjan! Where do you have it? Give it to me, this instance.’

    ‘I don’t have it.’

    ‘Where is it?’

    ‘Gunjan’s got it.’

    Mother searches me impatiently.

    Mother puts her hand in my pocket and takes away that piece of mirror too.

    ‘Good riddance, Gunjan and her stupid doll’.

    II

    ‘I cried because she wouldn’t give me my doll.  I would run to tell Mum on her. Then I would turn back because she’d get the doll down from the cupboard. I hope she gets her punishment too; Mum is always shaking her dainty fingers at me.

    Gunjan threw my doll in the fishpond behind our house. I cried for it for an hour or so. Gunjan would just laugh louder so I ran to the pond myself. But she was such a dear; she ruined that white dress for me. I got my doll back. I fed it as I watched Gunjan dry her pretty brown curls on the windowsill.

    III

    I wiped my tears. I feared the food would get salty and soggy. It is my daughter’s birthday. My daughter, my only daughter, how pretty she looks with her brown hair on the sill. I cannot cope up with it anymore. My daughter, she laughs tyrannically to herself and cries madly. I had hoped to bring her up as such a lady. And she still plays with her dolls. Gunjan still plays with her dolls.

    I had carried the tray outside. Below the huge tree sat my dear daughter talking to herself in the little mirror she carried. The same mirror that she carried along with her doll. The mirror and the rag of a doll, she always walks around with. Tears welled in my eyes again. I had gone back to the kitchen. Through the window I suddenly saw Gunjan throw her doll in the fishpond and I was somewhat relieved to see the last of that doll but suddenly she herself jumped after it some time later. I screamed.

    I got rid of the mirror but the window is still there and so is the pond.

    IV

    I cannot answer. I am a doll.

  • Bollywood is a time machine (no kiddin’)

     

    — Ashesh Maharjan
    https://amaharjan.wordpress.com/ 

    Hindi movies are crap. And I know it isn’t the first time you are hearing this, they really are, except for few (very few). But here I am taking this challenge to write against this cliché. No kiddin’.

    Hindi movies have a special place in our (Nepalese) hearts. Cheesy as it may sound, but it’s true. Whether you like it or not, whether you admit it or not, it has become a way of life for almost all of us. I don’t mean bollywood movies when I say ‘it’, I mean our secret admiration for the cheap, corny bollywood movies. Now, don’t tell me you don’t, once in a while, feel like doing nothing but sit back relax and watch a hindi movie channel. The fact that those channels stretch an hour long movie into what seems to be for ever with their advertisements matters less. You just want to get hold of the remote and turn off your mind and watch. The ‘mind turning off’ part wasn’t figurative, you can literally turn it off since you already know (not guess) what’s next in the movie.

    I’m a huge fan of, say, Ron Howard or Steven Spielbergh. And I’m not kiddin’ when I say I watched this movie, as recently as a few months ago, in which the so called ‘hero’ is a dancer, singer, super-man, every good thing you could possibly imagine, and of course romantic at the same time. My point? Is that I don’t ‘not watch’ them. Reason? I feel damn good. Not good as in ‘wow!!! WTF’ good, but ‘good day, sunshine’ good. Now, don’t get me wrong, no, the director of photography of these movies aren’t at all masters, most of them are crap. Well, I know you are dying to know (LOL) where my talk is heading. Ok, here is what I mean.

    Imagine yourself as me. No don’t do that. Imagine you as yourself but you are a 10 year old and you feel swell as hell because you just learned how to ride a bicycle by yourself though you sit on top tube instead of the seat coz you aren’t tall enough. You rush to tell your sister that you didn’t even notice you were riding by yourself and that you are ‘awesome!’ Your sis gives a damn coz she is a Sharukh Khan fan and Zee TV’s showing ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’. And you go and lay flat on the couch and start watching, though the sound of people cycling and playing cricket just outside your room in the courtyard makes it impossible for you to fully hear the movie. These are the days when movies start making sense for the first time in your mind. These are the days when you have your first of crushes on a girl in your school. Not because she is a John Petrucci or a Blink-182 fan, but because she doesn’t cry on the way to school or she has neatly cut fingernails.

    The movie ends’¦ You stretch yourself up (coz hindi movies are at least 2 hrs long and with the advertisements they are 3 to 4 hrs at the very least) and you dab your tired eyes and you open them to find yourself in the present.

    Enough of time traveling. Basically, what I mean is that it’s obvious that hindi movies are the first movies that we relate to. We weren’t born movie critics. We can’t watch the first movie of our lives and tell that the plot of the movie was shitty and all. So, we have no choice but to feel fine watching these movies of our times missing our sisters and our brothers (he was the one backing up my bicycle LOL).