<div class="embed-block"><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/133">							<img width="762" height="261" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230228150236/63fe11c39c7e80680e0da4f5jpeg.jpg" alt=""></a>
											Issue #133 21-27 February 2003</div>
The obsession of our leaders with Singapore is unmatched. Every prime minister we have had in the 30 years (some of them serial prime ministers) has promised to turn Nepal into a Singapore one too many times. Why not just build a Nepal that is just and fair for everyone?
Many readers are going through a withdrawal syndrome after the Ass formally stepped down, including the author his-self. This week we revisit one of the earlier <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4308#.Y_guAy8w1KM">‘Under My Hat’ columns</a> which takes a dig at our Singaporean aspirations.&nbsp;
Excerpts from <a href="https://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_133.pdf">issue #133 21-27 February 2003</a> 20 years ago this week:
If, one day, we want to become filthy rich like the Singaporeans, it is pretty clear that we must institute stiff fines for all major and minor misdemeanours and also turn ourselves into a penal colony.
But let’s be realistic: do our army, navy and air force have the capacity to instill fines on every non-flushing Nepali? Sadly, the answer is an unequivocal “no”. So, unlike Singapore, which penalises offenders with fines, we must use positive enforcement by rewarding those who do things right. In Nepal, instead of taking money away from those who litter, we must give money to those who don’t.
Cash prize of Rs 2,000 for the lone pedestrian who actually used the overhead walkway at Bhotahity in the last fiscal year. To be presented at a public felicitation ceremony chaired by the Mayor of Kathmandu or the MP of Kathmandu, whoever is elected first.
The Honest Cop Award in Cash or Kind for the pre-embarkation security check personnel at Tribhuvan Intercontinental Ballistic Airport who doesn’t ask you to open your wallet during the mandatory body search and contribute generously to the Free Lunch Fund for Kathmandu’s Finest.
The columnist who adheres to the highest standards of personal hygiene by not grooming his nostrils in full view of the rest of his staff during the course of writing the above column. This award carries with it a permanent residence certificate for Singapore. Terima Kasi.
From archive material of Nepali Times of the past 20 years, site search: <a href="http://www.nepalitimes.com/" target="_blank">www.nepalitimes.com</a>

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Singha Darbar, not Singapore

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721c5f9c7e80680e0bd48bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3024" height="2160"/><figcaption>Photo: SHAMBHAVI BASNET</figcaption></figure>At Café Soma of Baluwatar on a recent morning, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7205#.Yk_iGchByUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Manjushree Thapa</a> is sitting by herself at a table and is recognisable even from a distance. Not just because she looks exactly like her pictures on Google Images, but because she has an orange notebook in front of her.Pen in hand, she is writing cursive words in blue ink, words that must either be coming out of her in spades, or maybe trickling down like water from ancient stone spouts. Nevertheless, they were words that must have been important to this Nepali writer in the English language.There is much to learn about Manjushree Thapa from an Internet search. The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/onward/">columns</a> she wrote for Nepali Times twenty years ago are fascinating profiles and translations of Nepali writers and poets. The columns introduced the best of Nepal’s literature to the outside world.Now, the Toronto-based writer is introducing her English writing to Nepal. The Nepali translation of the 2016 book All Of Us in Our Own Lives by Ujjwal Prasai and published by Shangri-la Books was launched on Friday in Lalitpur.‘What differs between my current writing process and when I started to write in my twenties is that I must now figure out the pragmatics of the writing life,’ Manjushree wrote last year in an article for <a href="https://www.recordnepal.com/manjushree-thapa-it-never-gets-easier-but-i-love-writing">The Record</a>. She called herself an ‘engaged writer’, and I ask her what she meant.“In Nepal, writers are not just given the space to pronounce on things, but are also expected to. They were part of the first democracy movement, the democracy movements in 1979, 1989, and the conflict years,” she explains. “We were all very much part of speaking out against injustice, or about atrocities or whatever was going on. Engaged writing is a very established tradition.”Manjushree considers herself to be a part of the post-1990 generation where everyone was involved in the process of learning about each other and the country. She says, “A lot of the castes,  communities that had been somehow embarrassed about their past had begun to assert themselves. Now, there isn’t a big existential search for a soul in the way that my generation experienced it. Then, for me, it became inseparable with my own personal search for what it means to live in Nepal, and what it means to be a Nepali. There has been such a strong push for change over my lifetime and things are changing so fast that one of the things it means to be a Nepali is to be totally open to see where things are going to go. For me, this search of self-discovery and self-redefinition is very much central to what it means to be a Nepali.”<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=6836#.Yk_i2shByUk" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Manjushree Thapa</a> is eight novels old. She does not look her age, her skin glows in the morning sun and spurts of laughter resonate in the cafe’s corners. Yet, she confesses that no matter how much experience you have with it, writing does not get easier with time and every book is a creative challenge on its own.There is something confessional and self-aware in Manjushree’s words, in a way similar to her own books, and the way she talks about them.  She talks about the ethical and aesthetic responsibilities of being a writer.“As a Nepali writer, I can write about Nepalis. Or I could be writing about people who have lived experiences different from mine. I feel that becomes ethically challenging. Not that you should never do it. But if you’re going to do it, you need to really put in the amount of work it takes, to really understand someone else’s experiences,” she says.“If you want to write about characters who are not part of your immediate lived experience, then, aesthetically, you need to give them the same complexity, the same beauty, the same importance and value as you would anyone else, and not caricature people, or stereotype. That’s an aesthetic consideration that is very much linked to ethics.”Especially as a writer in the English language, she says, authors already tend to have more privilege because the audience is more international. Perhaps for Manjushree Thapa, some part of the ethical and aesthetic consideration is also part of her decision to provide creative license for translating <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/our-own-lives,3165" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">All Of Us in Our Own Lives</a> into Nepali.“When the novel first came out in English it had a few responses, but not much. Now, once it reaches its target audience, I want to see what the response is going to be,” says Manjushree about the novel that is set around the world of development assistance in Nepal for which the discourse does exist, but mostly not in the language Manjushree writes in.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114111144/63721c639c7e80680e0bd48cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="840" height="628"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“For many years, I’d been wanting to write about the aid world in Nepal because it’s so omnipresent, so important,” she says. “I wanted it to be about how people who seem to have very separate lives can bump against each other and change each others’ lives. This idea of interdependence.”Indeed, All Of Us in Our Own Lives starts with characters who seem far apart with considerable space and indents in between. Ava lives her fortified life away from Nepal, whereas Sapana and Chandra weave their dreams of stars and the moon, and also their futures in a rural Nepal.Gyanu makes his living in the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/shared-stories-shattered-dreams/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">desert of the Gulf</a>, and Indira is a member of that significant segment other of the urban Nepali population: the working housewife. But as the story progresses and the lives of these characters collide, the gaps become smaller. Spaces remove themselves and the characters see how their lives affect others, and how we go on to live our own lives, severing the ties that we had with each other.By the end of the novel, the world feels different again, disparate for some characters as they move away from each other, but stable for some who find solace in the company of others, more so in the company of their own self. Yet, the trace that one person leaves on another is still there. The ripple of even the simplest of interactions remains.Reading Manjushree’s writing is like swimming in a clear, blue pond. Each page is dip into the waters that readers immerse themselves in as the characters introduce themselves. Every sentence has a purpose. Every scene is an imaginary stage that author creates in the reader’s mind.The reader becomes a part of the experience, living the story as their own.But what of Ujjwal Prasai’s Nepali version of the novel? Is some of it lost in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/taking-nepali-literature-to-the-world/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">translation</a>? “A lot of the sections are actually stronger in Nepali than they were in the English,” she replies. “It’s like the story has been returned to the language it should have been written in originally. It suddenly comes to life. Ujjwal has put a lot of work into it.”We circle back to Manjushree’s ‘pragmatics of the writing life’, and I ask her to explain it. She pauses for a while before replying: “There are several aspects to writing. One is the actual nuts and bolts -- the money. But outside of that, there’s an interesting process of protecting your creativity. Nepal is a densely social place.”“There’s a lot going on, particularly if you are at all interested in social and political issues. I still struggle with this, because, in a way, all of my inspiration comes from this society. All of my neuroses”, she laughs. “But it’s very hard to protect the working time and the creative space because it’s not a society that values individual time.”But so much creativity is also being able to read, she says, and it is not as easy in Nepal. “But, on the other hand, in Toronto there isn’t a, sort of, inspiration everywhere. It’s not ideal there either. I feel my source of inspiration is very far away when I’m writing from there, but I have time and space and mental peace to write. It’s a balance I haven’t quite worked out.”Manjushree Thapa signs my copy of All Of Us In Our Lives with the same blue cursive hand-writing and a creased smile. I drive my dirty, black scooty back into the streets of Kathmandu, thinking about impending deadlines, protecting my creative space, and the ripple of the intersection of our lives.The Nepali translation of All Of Us in Our Own Lives by Ujjwal Prasai, is titled ‘एक्लै एक्लै’ by Shangri-la Books.

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Manjushree Thapa’s novel now in Nepali

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209aa9c7e80680e0b5556jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption></figcaption></figure>A character in Buddhisagar’s bestselling 2010 novel कर्नाली ब्लुज (Karnali Blues) has the habit of adding “हजुरको” (‘hajurko’) at the end of his sentences whenever he speaks. Eventually he runs a teashop which takes its name after the same memorable idiolect: हजुरको चियापसल (‘Hajurko Chiyapasal’). To the reader of Nepali, the nuance clicks immediately – a phrase is used so often that it takes on a character itself. But how does one transpose the same effect into the English medium when translating? Michael Hutt, whose translation of Karnali Blues was published in December by Penguin India to rave reviews, agonised over how to render हजुरको into Nepali, trying to find the perfect turn of phrase without misrepresenting it. “‘For you, sir teashop’ just doesn’t work,” says Hutt, a professor of Nepali and Himalayan studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in London. “At first mention, I say something like ‘for you, sir’, so that the semantics will be apparent to an English-language reader, but keep the ‘hajurko’ in the later instances.” Hutt’s other translations of Nepali works include <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3502" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Laxmi Prasad Devkota’s मुनामदन Muna Madan</a> in 1996 and Lil Bahadur Chhetri’s  बसाईँ Basain (as Mountains Painted with Turmeric) in 2008. <figure><img width="439" height="650" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209ad9c7e80680e0b5557jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img width="350" height="525" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209af9c7e80680e0b5558jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Even then, Hutt adds, ‘for you, sir’ may not be the perfect choice, as another reader of Nepali literature may immediately, upon coming across the phrase in the book, quip, “I would have translated that differently.” Nevertheless, Hutt believes that as a translator, he has a serious responsibility to the author and the original text to not distort the intended impact and meaning. For author Buddha Sagar, translation is a joint effort. He says, “The Nepali was mine, but the translation is Michael’s too.” There are no perfect translations of books, and Hutt believes “a sense of compromise must be reached between the original text and the translation”.When <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/On-the-way-up/judiciary-verdict-nepali-english,892" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">translating from the Nepali language into English</a>, says Hutt, there is a character embedded in the Nepali language that speaks to a Nepali speaker or reader but not to English. The levels of politeness and deference between speaker and interlocutor in conversational context, for example, is difficult to take from Nepali and replicate in English because there are not exact counterparts.But taking excessive liberties in the name of ‘capturing the spirit of the text,’ says Hutt, is an act of violence. “If certain aspects of the original language do not come elegantly in translation, one has to accept it,” he says. “The original must not be changed beyond recognition.” One classic challenge, he recalls, was to choose how much Nepali to put into the translation, especially in the cases of nouns for family roles such as father, mother, sister, uncle. Set in far west Nepal, the narrative of Karnali Blues is informed by its society and dialect, and the use of ba, ama, didi and kaka or mama are ubiquitous. This is true for most Nepali writings. Characters often have different words for different family members depending on whether they are from the father’s side or the mother’s.  <figure><img width="1500" height="900" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b09c7e80680e0b5559jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>On top of this, these words do not automatically denote kinship. Many characters are called ama or kaka because they fall in the general category by their age. The effects of these nouns in a text are often impossible to translate into another language, and the meaning may be lost on the reader if they lack a certain familiarity with the culture and society. Quoting Derrida, English language author from Nepal Manjushree Thapa wrote in <a href="http://www.martinchautari.org.np/files/SINHAS-Articles/SINHAS-Vol.4-No.2_Manjushree-Thapa.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">a paper in Studies in Nepali History and Society (SINHAS)</a> published in 1999: ‘A translation never succeeds.’  <figure><img width="1000" height="1533" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b39c7e80680e0b555ajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Coupled with the differences in dialects and syntax, the difficulties when translating are often posed by the intangible aspects particular to languages, such as the tone, the cadence, humour and poetic images. A slight mistranslation can unravel and flatten the entire narrative.Thapa adds, ’[T]here is, in each translator, a persistent desire for such successes, a desire often realised, albeit erratically, unpredictably’. She says this often leads the translator to ‘achieve a certain logic and rhetoric during translation’.In case of Hutt’s translation of Karnali Blues, this may refere, among other choices, to the use of the English ‘sister’, ‘mother’ and ‘father’ in the narration. But their Nepali equivalents are used when the characters refer to each other in quote marks. “Sometimes you have to make these rules for yourself as you go,” he says.Even 22 years ago, Thapa wrote that there can be ‘traces of a desire to show an English-reading audience some uniquely Nepali aspect of the original text,’ as the ‘translator acts as a guide into literary Nepal.’Hutt’s aim is to show that there is a vast body of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-story-of-books-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">creative, literary voices in Nepal</a>, beyond the exotic image of a trekking paradise. “Nepal is spoken for and about by others so much,” he says. “One thing that has always frustrated me since I started reading Nepali is that many foreigners engage with Nepal but never read Nepali or are aware that there are nuanced and complex voices here, which can enhance their understanding of the world and humanity beyond measure.”He is curious to see what the reviewers say of his translation of Karnali Blues. Will they pick up on the universal themes of filial love in a landscape undergoing radical socio-cultural and political changes, or see it as a book translated from a foreign language as-of-yet underrepresented in the global literary scene? Another case in point is Ajit Baral’s English translation of फातसुङ (Faatsung) by Chuden Kabimo. Titled <a href="https://balestier.com/books/literature/song-of-the-soil/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Song of the Soil</a>, the translation was published in October 2021 by the UK-based Balestier Press which specialises in contemporary world literature. “The story of Faatsung is incredibly poignant,” says Baral, who is with FinePrint publishers and brought out the Nepali original. “The novel was acclaimed and loved by readers of Nepali, and I felt that it had to be translated into English.”The plot line of Faatsung focuses on the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/del-ktm%20/giving-in-to-gorkhaland-darjeeling,951" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Gorkhaland movement</a> in Darjeeling, which Baral felt resonates with Nepal’s armed struggle. In addition, Baral’s idea was not to translate and publish the book in Nepal only. “Many in Nepal who read Nepali always have the option to read the book in its original language,” he says. “My idea was to bring the book to foreign readers as well.” <figure><img width="640" height="982" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b69c7e80680e0b555bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>There is an increasing focus on translation in the world at present, adds Baral, and many publishers are now putting out more translated works than before. This is evidenced by the widespread popularity of authors like Haruki Murakami, Elena Ferrante, Olga Tokarczuk, Han Kang and Mieko Kawakami. Speaking in TonguesBut translation itself is not a new craft. The word ‘translate’ comes from Latin translatus ‘carried over, bear across’ and translators have been integral to cultural and intellectual exchanges since The Epic of Gilgamesh was translated four thousand years ago from Sumerian into Akkadian. Many works of Greek philosophers and mathematicians survived in large part due to their Arabic translations. Even in Nepal, Bhanubhakta Acharya’s रामायण Ramayan, which is considered the first Nepali epic, was itself translated from Sanskrit. And while <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/20-reviews-in-20-years/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali literature is relatively young</a>, there are also writers who are pioneers in social realism, psychological fiction and experimental writings, and have made unique contributions to understanding the human condition. Michael Hutt says a certain section of readership, for example in the UK, is now used to reading books translated from different languages. In addition to Russian, French and Italian, writings from Czech, Korean and Japanese are also gaining readership. “There is an entire range of different languages, and people are engaging with those books as literature,” he says, “And they are being evaluated as literature that strikes our imagination and our emotions.”Nepali stories being translated into English and <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/palpasa-café-translated-in-french,1847" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">published internationally</a> in this scene provides readers with a unique geographical flavour. Says Baral: “This increases the probability of more authentic and local stories from Nepal being published abroad as readers there will be able to find something new in them.”Chuden Kabimo, author of Faatsung, also sees the English translation of his book as a positive addition to literature and emphasises the role of translations as bridges. He says, “In translation, it’s not just the book that is being transmitted, but identities, cultures and history as well. This helps mediate the apparent separation between communities and peoples of different nationalities, and help us understand each other better.”It is like borders coming down, he explains, as the story travels from one person to the next, one country to the next. And since its translation, Song of the Soil has now also been added to the BA English curriculum at the SRM University in Sikkim where, Kabimo believes, the story and culture will now also be passed from one generation to the next. <figure><img width="640" height="975" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221114101124/637209b99c7e80680e0b555cjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But there is still a long way to go, as linguistic limitations are compounded by systemic challenges. Whether a translation is good or not depends on numerous factors that include the quality of the original text, the translator’s command of both languages and the skills of an editor. All of these are largely dependent upon the state of literature and the studies and practice of translation, which are currently lacking in Nepal.“Language is the first barrier. Our command of English is not perfect,” remarks Baral, “and in many cases the flair that should come from an English-language text has been lacking in our translations.” Sometimes the text reads too much like Nepali, and is jarring. This calls to mind the English translation of Narayan Wagle’s 2005 novel पल्पसा क्याफे Palpasa Café, which was not as well-received as <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=572#.YhAboC2B3-Y" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">the original Nepali</a>. Knowing both languages is not enough either. Buddhisagar, whose pen name itself translates as ‘Ocean of Wisdom’ says: “Even Google can translate. Translators should also be writers themselves, they should have a sense of poetry and creativity. They must be up to date with their society and the world.”Additionally, translation is not a one-time thing. Citing <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Joke-Definitive-Version-Milan-Kundera/dp/006099505X" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Milan Kundera’s The Joke</a>, Buddhisagar remarks how it has been translated five different times into English. “Translations need periodic polishing,” he says, “But there is not enough conversation on translating in Nepal at present. Even literature has not been taken that seriously.”There is also a gap between the theoretical approach to translating and the actual practice. “Theory is important for background, surely,” explains Baral, “but we need more hands-on experience on how to translate, and what the different options of translation are. Workshops could be conducted so that writers and translators can meet and work together.”One way to address the limitations is to have a good editor who is equally accomplished in the languages. “A sentence can be translated in many ways,” Baral says, “but to have an editor who can pick out the right one from the mix makes all the difference.”Anurag Basnet, who was previously an editor with Rupa Publications and Penguin Books India in New Delhi, agrees. Himself a translator of Nepali and Hindi books into English, he describes his editorial process as starting with going line-by-line with the translator.“That is where the most fights happen,” he laughs. After that, the editor has to ensure that the text stands independently in English. Basnet believes that literary translation is even more important now, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/written-locally-read-globally/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">especially in the context of South Asia</a>, where despite having similar languages, culture and history, we do not talk to each other. “There is a lot of writing happening in the various languages,” he adds, “but there is not as much communication between the languages.”He feels that translating is in a way the best recommendation one can give for a book. As a translator you are trying to convey as precisely as possible the emotion you felt when you read the book, he says, but a big challenge is that translation, while an intense and engaging process, is not yet financially rewarding. “There are almost no supporting mechanisms, either from the government or other sources. This needs to be addressed urgently,” he adds: “It cannot always be a labour of love.”

Ashish Dhakal

Taking Nepali literature to the world

It is a privilege to be able to read, understand and appreciate the depth of women’s writing and the expanse of their ideas. But it was several years before I would understand the bias against women’s writing— and in extension, their characters. A popular bookstore raised an outcry when it shared how men are quick to admit they do not read books by women, and research revealed a price disparity in men’s and women’s books of up to 45 %.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7979c7e80680e092deajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="126" height="150"/>It is not only dry data. In conversation, male acquaintances are quick to defend themselves and say they read and like books by women. Yet, why is it that their book recommendations and references are dominated by men, and names of women do not flow from the tongue as smoothly as the men’s?We never feel the need to categorise men’s writing, but how quickly books by women are tied to the limitations of ‘romance’, ‘feminist’, or ‘women-centric.’So often, women’s writing is casually dismissed as confessional and emotional, as though it were not the most difficult thing in the world to be honest and arouse feelings – which is only a fraction of what writing by women achieves. While ‘women’s writing’ is itself a term fraught with several connotations, not all of them appreciative, it has become more crucial than ever to read, talk about, widely share and appreciate the fabulous works of these writers.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Vindication-Rights-Woman-Thrift-Editions/dp/0486290360" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">A Vindication of the Rights of Woman</a>, Mary Wollstonecraft“I do not wish (women) to have power over men; but over themselves,” said Wollstonecraft 230 years ago. When I read this piece, I was astounded at how fiercely a woman had rebelled during such oppressive times, and saddened by how little has changed in the lives of women. It is the collective voice of an entire generation, fueled by the accumulated rage of several centuries. While some ideas in the essay seem misogynistic today, Wollstonecraft’s powerful roar still resonates within many of us. This angst with the world is also duplicated in The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, while Chimamanda Adichie harnesses Wollstonecraft’s urgent call for transformation in her treatise ‘We Should All Be Feminists.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7989c7e80680e092debjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="459"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7999c7e80680e092decjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="400" height="607"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Beloved-Toni-Morrison/dp/1400033411" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Beloved</a>,Toni MorrisonIt is difficult to decide what is more touching in Beloved - style or content. It is an anguish against racism and rage against lopsided history, told through the unforgettable story of a family of slaves. It is also a story of strong mothers and stronger daughters who leave their dreams, voyages and poetry scattered on each page. It is traumatic in content and enviable in style, just like Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing, published more recently in 2016.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.in/Unbound-Years-Indian-Womens-Writing/dp/9382277668" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Unbound: 2,000 Years of Indian Women’s Writing</a>, Anne ZaidiAnne Zaidi has done the unthinkable with this volume that attempts to capture two millennia of women’s writing in the vast literary world of India. Rather than consider it an all-exhaustive anthology, Zaidi thoughtfully terms it a tribute to the sisterhood that wrote steadfastly amidst all odds, and was rarely given space in major literary collections. This is a prototype, a diverse read and a labor of love that other countries would do well to follow.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79a9c7e80680e092dedjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="943"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79d9c7e80680e092deejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="264" height="419"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Kim-Jiyoung-Born-1982-Nam-Joo-ebook/dp/B07LFL9V9Z" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982</a>,Cho Nam-JooWhy are women so angry all the time, a lot of men like to ask. Why have women become so ‘radical’ and ‘fierce’? Kim Jiyoung, now nearly 40 years old, will tell you why. As she navigates childhood, adolescence, marriage and childbirth, she talks artlessly but passionately of the injustices she and her sisters undergo each day. This is the book that abetted the #MeToo movement in Korea, and resonated with millions of women around the world who felt the writer was recounting their own memoir.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/All-us-our-own-lives/dp/9382277374" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">All of Us in Our Own Lives</a>,Manjushree ThapaThis is an ordinary tale of normal people connecting with each other in unexpected ways – but it contains a tiny microcosm of Nepal within itself. All the characters that we watch on television or read about in papers or write a case study about, Thapa manages to bring into the same story. The novel is a critical analysis of Nepal as a failed state, a farce on its development aid, a study of its exclusionary norms and practices, and a celebration of the ordinary joys of life amongst this wretchedness. It is Nepal as we know, love, and hate.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd79e9c7e80680e092defjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="318" height="475"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a09c7e80680e092df0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="332" height="500"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Difficult-Women-Roxane-Gay/dp/1543622941" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Difficult Women</a>, Roxane GayRoxane Gay writes stories, but they are not imaginary – they are as true as our lives. In Difficult Women, she brings together all those women that society finds tiresome or troublesome. These women might crave money and power, or nurse a kink, or worship their bodies. They are all given a safe space, they are all lent voices to speak up. Read this to experience the convergence of the most unapologetic and ferocious women in your lives, which might include yourself.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wild-Swans-Three-Daughters-China/dp/0743246985" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China</a>, Jung ChangThree women, all in the twentieth century, but detailing incredibly different experiences. The grandmother behaves like a dainty queen as a warlord’s concubine, the daughter does not stop toiling while pregnant, lest she be considered a burden to the ‘party’, and the granddaughter has to forgo her studies to serve the nation. It is a critical look at Mao’s China, and the impacts his dictates had on citizens, particularly women. It is a true story, but with far more unbelievable twists and turns than fiction.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a19c7e80680e092df1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="976"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a49c7e80680e092df2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="1008"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Poisonwood-Bible-Novel-Barbara-Kingsolver/dp/0060786507" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Poisonwood Bible</a>,Barbara KingsolverThe sheer canvas of this novel will take your breath away. It fiercely mocks every single thing that imperialism prides itself in. It is a love letter to the beautiful and prosperous land of Congo (then Zaire), and a satire on the white savior complex. It is basically a topsy-turvy account of a missionary family’s struggle in Congo, but is an analysis and commentary on so much more: racism, materialism, gender norms, religion, fanaticism, matrimony and relationships. It is, most bitingly, a revolt against white supremacy, and the exploitation of Africa by the West. The novel deserves to be read for an example of an impassioned, critical, and intelligent display of wisdom and justice.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Song-Sun-God-Shankari-Chandran/dp/9558897280" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Song of the Sun God</a>,Shankari ChandranThis underrated gem is an engrossing account of the devastating aftereffect of the civil war in Sri Lanka. In a searing tone that stays with you long after the novel is finished, Chandran traces the lives of three generations that are led astray by the struggle for power and identity. Her attempt is to recreate the war as a more objective, balanced, nuanced history, with careful observation of socio-cultural and state-inflicted inequalities that led to the eventual deadly eruption. It is a difficult work to read, and a tad dramatic, but an important and absorbing one. Another remarkable novel along the same theme is Madhuri Vijay’s ‘The Far Field.’<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a79c7e80680e092df3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="225" height="225"><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111148/636cd7a89c7e80680e092df4jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="311" height="475"><a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wayward-Daughter-Kathmandu-Story/dp/9388326083" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Wayward Daughter</a>,Shradha GhaleThis is a coming-of-age novel of the quintessential middle-class Kathmandu girl. It is clever in its use of language, unerring in its imitation of the mundane nature of everyday life, and interesting in its fresh approach to a novel. Tangled with the girl’s lives are so many other tales: that of her migrating grandparents and hardworking parents. It exposes the insecurities and contradictions and duplicities within all of us, and brings us so much closer to the land. If you read only one book in this list, read this – because it is the present and future of Nepali women’s writing.

About women by women

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4379c7e80680e08f9afjpeg.jpg" alt="Author Nirajan Kunwar" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: SAGAR CHHETRI</figcaption></figure>When Niranjan Kunwar talks about Bollywood, his body language shifts: he sits tall, his face brightens up, his hands flit about in flowery circular motion, and his speech quickens.“I sometimes joke with friends that I have a PhD in 90s Bollywood and they believe me. Because if you asked me who won the Filmfare Award for best actor in 1993, I will tell you, ‘Sharukh Khan, of course, for Baazigar.’” He laughs.Born on June 9, 1981, Niranjan always knew he was different. When being sent off to boarding school, instead of the usual reluctance, he was eager to leave his parents. As a young boy, he was close to his cousin sisters and dressed in their skirts and performed for them. “I feel like I have lost that part of me,” he says. “I want to reclaim it.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd43b9c7e80680e08f9b0jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar childhood photo" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd43e9c7e80680e08f9b1jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan childhood photo" width="1800" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In December of 2020, amidst lockdown and pandemic, Niranjan’s memoir, Between Queens and the Cities, became the first queer memoir in English to be published in Nepal. Although readers may expect the typical coming-of-age or a coming-out story, the memoir is not that.Poet Ocean Vuong once said that queer lives in literature always seem exhaustible because their stories end when they come out of the metaphoric closet. In the same vein, Niranjan’s memoir is instead an honest and heartfelt record of the important, confusing and mundane parts of one queer life set between Kathmandu and New York City, that is not representative of all Nepali queer stories in and neither does it claim to be.Niranjan says, “I chose to write nonfiction because I knew that I wanted to document this story as ‘real’ and I wanted to visibilise it, as most queer stories are often made invisible.”He writes: No one counts our blessings. No one blesses us. We exist outside religion, outside society and culture. We are too Western or too wild. We don’t fit into their traditions. Their rituals don’t guide us. There are no magical mantras for us. Their divine deities don’t do anything for us. Our Dashains and Tihars are forever incomplete. The puranas don’t mention us. No one tells our tales.No one writes poems about our courtships, our commitments, our crimes. Our longings don’t turn into lyrics. No one composes lines about our heartbeats. No guitar strums for us. There is no harmonica; no piano converts our musings into music.In this month’s Lightroom Conversation, Niranjan and I talk about the fears and gifts of being queer, about rescuing hidden selves, re-authoring certain dominant narratives, and about male anger, the complexities of that emotion that we often do not talk about.Niranjan Kunwar: There’s a story that my relatives recount how I wanted to be a cow herder when I grew up. In a way, I had a streak that was a bit unusual; I wanted to be adventurous. I wasn’t attached to my parents. When I was going to Budhanilkantha at age nine, I was eager to say goodbye to them. The appeal for me was the school’s sprawling jungle and all the new friends I would make. And whenever my grandmother used to go to our village in Chitwan, I would follow her. There, I would graze cattle and run around all day.Muna Gurung: Tell me more about Chitwan. What was there?We have an old house there and my grandmother would visit regularly. We would go on a local bus, the roads were bad and I would get carsick. But despite that, I would fight with my parents if they didn’t let me go with her. There was no electricity in the village and I liked that because we would eat under the light from a lantern and there were delicacies like khatte, which was puffed rice deep fried in butter. I realise now that I feel calmer in nature and it was a striking juxtaposition with my life in New York, a culture that had very little space for animals, nature, pets. I used to love animals, but in the city, I felt myself hardening. It’s like in literature, we read about how the city hardens you. I guess that is also the queer experience, that sense of distance that is created between you and yourself.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4419c7e80680e08f9b2jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar family" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But there is one line in your book where you say that you had forgotten about the ‘gifts of being queer’. What were and are the gifts of being queer?  As a child I was very influenced by my three female cousins and Bollywood, so I would frequently wear their skirts and dance for them. They also encouraged that behaviour and I remember walking all the way to Chabel Chowk to get a Bollywood film tape in a skirt! When you’re a child, adults accept that, but only to a certain extent. Even in Budhanilkantha, I would wear skirts and perform, but then when the bullying and teasing starts, that’s when you begin to suppress and conform. By 9th and 10th grade, I had begun to conform and even act ‘macho’.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/featured-videos/between-queens-and-kathmandu/">Between Queens and Kathmandu</a>, Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4449c7e80680e08f9b3jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar Budhanilkantha School" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The thing is, the story of young boys dressing up as girls is not uncommon. I have countless cousins and nephews who do that, and it is celebrated even. But as you said, only to a certain extent, after which they have to become a ‘boy’. Sometimes my family also rationalises a young boy’s ‘femininity’ as simply the remnants of their previous life, as in he must have been a woman before. This is making me think about how perhaps in many janajati cultures, gender queerness is more accepted. For example the maruni dance where men dress up as women and dance is an important part of most Gurung cultures and even celebrated. But that too is perhaps only relegated to that space. I don’t know how much of this has been investigated.You write that because you read a lot as a child, your queerness did not feel strange to you. What did you read as a child that affirmed your being? I would listen to my grandmother tell stories from the Mahabharat or the Ramanyana, but I was especially taken by the month of Swasthani, when my grandmother would read one chapter of the Swasthani tale a day and I would also read chapters with her. The stories were always full of possibilities like gods chopping off heads, or people reincarnating and becoming different; that immediately is a message that one can change form or travel far, or have magic powers. What does that mean for kids?And then I encountered Western literature and it was about humans living very different lives in very different worlds. When I was a little older, I made sure to buy every single Filmfare and Movie magazine.  Whether you call that reading or just studying pop culture and glamour, or looking at stars being themselves, it was a queer activity. Because fashion is also about people transforming into someone else, or something they are not. Today, I feel like I have lost this side of me, and I want to reclaim it. This reminds me of what the artist Alok Vaid Menon once said in a workshop. They asked, “What part of yourself did you have to destroy in order to survive in this world?” I think we all have to do that and it’s a sad realisation, but I think many marginalised groups, especially women, can relate to this question.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4469c7e80680e08f9b4jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar dancing" width="405" height="469"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>What did you have to destroy? My feminine side. Whether it’s Bollywood, Filmfare, wearing skirts and dancing as a girl, I think I have it in me. I am definitely not ashamed of it. I think it is a really powerful thing if an individual can be a man or a woman, it’s a skill and that’s also what is actually needed in this world today–the fluidity rather than the rigidity. There was one time that I dressed up in drag in New York and even then, I remember I was not completely at ease. The flipside of the question is how much anxiety and fear there is for marginalised people, starting with women. And because of this fear, so many things are hidden, invisibilised, not talked about. That is why I really appreciate younger Nepalis now who are out there in public being bolder than I am or I have been.On being bold, when you wrote this memoir, you were filling it with people who are connected to you in real life, how did you balance what to reveal and what to conceal?  I chose to write nonfiction because I knew that I wanted to document this story as ‘real’ and I wanted to visibilise it, as most queer stories are often made invisible. Although I also know that writing about someone’s life comes with ethical questions and one has to ask for permission, I didn’t do that because I knew that I wasn’t going to reveal any personal details of the characters in the story. But this begs the question, why did I write it? We teach in primary school that we have to write about things that give us strong feelings. While writing about my family, I began to write about certain family dynamics that was bothering me and I didn’t think about censoring, I just had to write it out, but it was only later in revising that I began to get anxious about these issues of sharing sensitive information. But how do you ask for permission from your family? It’s a tricky thing.I can imagine, I mean, the father character. You explicitly write about his anger and your own. It was one of the things that drew me into your memoir because we don’t talk about anger as much as perhaps we should. I struggled a lot with anger. Anytime I was in despair or depressed, my frustration would just short circuit to one person: my father. There was a time I remember when I was in New York, and say, I got really hungry, I would get angry at my father. If I missed a train, I would immediately think of my father and feel rage in me. And that I knew was not ‘normal’ because he was not even there and it was not his fault. So, what was that about? That needed investigation. When emotions don't get processed properly, or when there's depression and a history of not talking about it, the repressed stuff comes out, you know. I knew it was unfair to him, and that it was no one’s fault. So, I had to write them out and put things in front of me so that I could sift through them and understand better. Some of it was my fault and my immediate situation having a stressful job in New York, or that I was drinking too much… some of those, I had to take responsibility.But sometimes anger is also important or useful because it moves things, it is an energy.Some people have told me that sometimes when I am angry, I am my most honest and articulate self, and I say what needs to be said. Sometimes, anger can be a shortcut to get to the truth of a matter. The outburst that I wrote about in the memoir, it needed to happen because it was repressed emotions that had not found an outlet. I was a very angry child but I grew up never being able to express myself. And in New York, instead of finding an outlet, I was distracting myself with alcohol and clubbing. I didn’t write about this part in the book, but the morning after that outburst, my father came into my room and said that it was the first time he had seen that side of me.The outburst was almost necessary.Yes, and just the day before, I had another huge blowout with my father. So, I’ve had this anxiety with my memoir because my relationship with my father has shifted and it is better now. When I was writing, I felt like I didn’t care about anything or anyone, I only knew that I had to tell my story honestly. But later, the anxiety started brewing. Even throughout the book launch, I was anxious because I hadn’t told my father about the details of the book and I didn’t know how he was going to take it if he found out. It is also sad because I have written a book but I can’t even share it or celebrate it with him. That is, in many ways, I guess a very queer aspect about having written the memoir. But after this recent blowout, it is almost like that anger ate up that anxiety and I was able to own a little more of myself. This time round, I feel a lot more justified and I don’t feel anxious like before.What I also loved that you were able to show to the readers was the tenderness of the father character and not just his anger. For instance, when he says “goodnight” or comes into your room the next morning after a blowout. It is a language, a gesture, a slight vulnerability. The accountability issue is what gets me, though. I would be fine with my father having an anger issue if he were to come around and fix it. You must fix what you break. If only he knew how to apologise. But that just does not happen.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4489c7e80680e08f9b5jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar teacher USA" width="1434" height="1434"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Poet Nibha Shah said that we are not taught how to love, and I was thinking, perhaps it is the same with apology, too.  And how much we need that education. This is why I wanted to become a primary school teacher. One of my first encounters in the US was in a preschool classroom where the kids were learning, through story books, how to treat one another and the people in their communities with respect. I immediately saw that it was completely lacking in my life and in Nepal. It really moved me and when you think about family dynamics or even politics, I maintain that we learn our behaviours in the primary school classroom. If you don’t learn how to listen or respond to each other with respect, you won’t automatically learn it in parliament or after you get married. It’s too late by then. There are many of us who didn’t have this education or opportunity, and it is just something that we have to carry with us and try to do better.Lightroom Conversation is a monthly page in Nepali Times that features interesting figures in Nepal’s literary scene. <a href="http://www.munagurung.com">Muna Gurung</a> is a writer, educator and translator based in Kathmandu.

Muna Gurung

Niranjan Kunwar: Queering the story

<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110914114/636ba62e9c7e80680e073707jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="676" height="486"/>Two Indian writers, Manu Joseph and Prajwal Parajuly have been nominated for the long list of the Emile Guimet Prize, awarded annually to a book by an Asian author and translated into French.The prestigious award is administered by the Emile Guimet Museum in Paris. Parajuly was nominated for Fuir et revenir, the translation of his widely acclaimed debut novel about a family reunion from hell, <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/review/Of-family-and-reunions,1220">Land Where I Flee</a>, and Delhi-based Joseph for Miss Laila armée jusqu’aux dents, published in English as Miss Laila Armed and Dangerous. The books' translators are Benoîte Dauvergne and Bernard Turle respectively.Parajuly is from Sikkim and had earlier written a book of short stories in 2013, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Book-Review/One-of-us,274">A Gurkha’s Daughter</a> which catapulted him to fame in India. He was praised for his original voice, and his simple story-telling style.Land Where I Flee is Parajuly’s first novel, and its translation has been received well in France. It is a story of a reunion of three siblings with their family matriarch for her 84th birthday, an important landmark in Hindu-Nepali traditions. Domineering, her grandchildren had kept her at arm’s length and they dread the ceremony. The plot revolves around Parajuly’s well developed characters who we get to know intimately, and who are all microcosms of the subcontinental mindset.2020 seems to be a good year to be an Indian writer, they have continued making news abroad after Avni Doshi’s Booker long listing.The Emile Guimet long list this year also includes Pakistani writer Fatima Bhutto for Comme Des Lions. The winner will be announced at a ceremony in the Emile Guimet Museum in September. Previous winners have included British writer Rana Dasgupta, South-Korean author <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/nov/25/at-dusk-by-hwang-sok-yong-review">Hwang Sok-Yong</a> and Natsu Miyashita from Japan.Other writers on the 2020 long list are: Shion Miura (Japan), Cho Nam-Joo (South Korea), Shiga Izumi (Japan), Tsering Dondrup (Tibet), Fang Fang (China), Hye-Young Pyun (South Korea), and Liu Zhenyun (China).

Prajwol Parajuly nominated for French book award

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109141136/636bad589c7e80680e077f8bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Nepali Times issue #1</figcaption></figure>The <a href="http://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_001.pdf">#1 print edition</a> of Nepali Times of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/1">19-25 July 2000</a> shows that even though much has changed in Nepal in the past two decades, a lot has remained the same. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. Reports and op-eds published in that very first hardcopy issue are as relevant today as they were then. Most of the protagonists are the same.The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10979#.XxAi8KEza70">front page analysis</a> of the first edition looked at the impending state visit to India by Prime Minister Girija Prasad Koirala. Among the contentious issues he was going to take up with Indian Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee: the Kalapani territory occupied by India. The dispute flared again this year, and sank bilateral ties to a new low.Then, as now, the Indian media had been primed before Koirala’s visit with official leaks about alleged infiltration by Pakistani agents to ‘turn the Tarai into Taliban territory’. The allegations were included in an Indian intelligence report ‘Nepal Gameplan’, and our report said that Koirala’s challenge would be to use his personal chemistry with Vajpayee to convince him that Nepal would not allow any extraneous threats to India from its territory.Both Koirala and Vajpayee are long gone, but India-Nepal relations are still strained —this time over suspicions of growing Chinese influence. The same issue of Nepali Times had an <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10983#.XxAjfqEza70">interview with UML General Secretary Madhav Kumar Nepal</a> on page 3 in which the opposition leader said: “What is surprising is that Koirala is the same person who said he would not visit India until Indian troops are withdrawn from Kalapani, and he is rushing there.”<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10980#.XxAjxaEza70">The Editorial</a> of the first print edition of Nepali Times laid out what would be the new paper’s mission statement: ‘A newspaper does more than hold a mirror to society. It becomes a mirror itself. There is a belief that literature is generally not read, and journalism is often unreadable. This newspaper will seek to be informal, lively, clear and direct.’In his column <a href="http://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_001.pdf">‘State of the State’, C K Lal</a> lamented the cynicism in Nepali society: ‘Despair hangs as thick as diesel exhaust in the Kathmandu air. Nepal’s nabobs of negativism hold forth in their nay-saying nooks. Cynicism is at least a reflection of exaggerated self-worth. Despair is much worse, it is a state of having lost all hope.’ Locked down for four months, Nepalis are once more drifting from cynicism to despair.The first issue also included <a href="mes.com/news.php?id=10990#.XxAk86Eza70">an investigation</a> into a scandal at the Kathmandu office of the UN Population Fund (UNFPA) in which an expat official was secretly sacked for embezzlement. Reporter <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=10992#.XxAlC6Eza70">Hemlata Rai</a> wrote about how grassroots democracy was beginning to deliver health, education and other services.Another <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11001#.XxAlLqEza70">intriguing story</a> was about reports that underground Maoist leader Prachanda had visited UK on an Indian passport to attend a meeting of the Revolutionary International Movement (RIM). Water resources expert <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11082#.XxAlSKEza70">Dipak Gyawali</a> argued in a commentary that it made more sense for private power producers in Nepal to design projects to sell electricity for domestic value-added use than exporting it to India.COVID-19 is the main global health issue today, but 20 years ago it was HIV/AIDS, and the paper carried a report on anti-retrovirals not being affordable to people in poor countries.<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11090#.XxAmmqEza70">Manjushree Thapa</a> started her column Nepaliterature in which she profiled writers in the Nepali language with translated excerpts of their work. The July 2000 issue had these lines from Bimal Nibha:Comrade Baburam Bhattarai is busy leading the People’s WarI, dragging along my broken slippersAm wondering —as are many othersI’m an ordinary person who writes the news who writes poemsWho drinks tea and rushes offA worker who delights and weepsWith ardor and effort (nothing exceptional about me)Am I not also engaged in a people’s war, Comrade?Nepali Times also got rights to serialise chapters from <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11089#.XxAlmqEza70">Desmond Doig’s</a> book In the Kingdom of the Gods, and the first installment carried his description of Jang Bahadur’s Mughal-style Kal Mochan temple, which a western visitor once said was ‘too ugly to describe’.The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=11099#.XxAmBKEza70">Funny Side Up</a> satire column became a fixture on the back page with the first one on legalising corruption. Taxing bribes and slapping 13% VAT on baksheesh, it was suggested, would be a good way to raise government revenue.From this week, the ‘10 Year Ago’ column in Nepali Times will be ‘20 Years Ago’. It will look at Nepal from two decades ago, and how the country was getting mired deeper in conflict, political disarray was eroding democratic gains, tourism was being affected by the uncertainty.The COVID-19 lockdown is a fitting time for a retrospective – when the media itself is facing a crisis of survival. The media in Nepal has historically been threatened by the extreme right and the extreme left. It had survived the economic crises during the earthquake and Blockade. Legacy media was trying to cope with the digital transition. But never  has it had to face such an existential crisis.  There are serious implications for journalism as well as for an open society.As the past two decades show, journalism is indeed history in a hurry. And those who do not learn from it are doomed to repeat it.The content of the past 20 years of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-grapples-with-bringing-workers-home/">Nepali Times</a> is available in a searchable archive. The ePaper can also be accessed by issue through the <a href="http://www.digitalhimalaya.com/collections/journals/nepalitimes/">Digital Himalaya</a> site.

Kunda Dixit

20 years ago this week

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b793c9c7e80680e0646efjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744"/><figcaption>Pragati Rai. All Photos: MONIKA DEUPALA</figcaption></figure>As a child, Pragati Rai was called fattyauri, someone who would not stop talking. “I did not like that when a daughter was born in family, they would say, ‘Oh great, a bottle of whisky is born,’” she says to me when we meet in her home in Thecho. “I knew from very early on that these things didn’t sit right with me, that I had to speak about them somehow.”Born in 1977, Pragati grew up in Khotang along with a younger sister and four brothers. Although she is widely known for her first novel, Lekhak Ki Swasni (The Writer’s Wife, 2014), Pragati burst into the Nepali literary scene with a slim collection of powerful poems called Badi Bigyapti (Baadi Press Release, 2009), written after she had witnessed naked Badi women protest outside Singha Durbar demanding their right to citizenship in 2007. In the titular poem, Pragati writes:My name is nakedMy people are nakedWhere I stand, therethe ground is seen as naked, todayI have been made into a promiscuous woman, sir!I cannot cover my shame withthe sari of democracyPeering into the empty vessel that is your assurance, I cannot wait for the road to freedomListen to the word of someone who has been made naked for generations, or–Listen to the dangerous decision of this disgusting name:If you do not want to make me like you, sirI most certainly will make you like me. https://youtu.be/owxitV1LRp8Last year, she published her second novel, Birseko Mrityu (Forgotten Death, 2019), and Pragati has just completed writing her third novel, Thakra (Stake), which is forthcoming later this year.In this month’s Lightroom Conversation, Pragati and I talk about the process of building a novel, how to tell women’s stories to reluctant audiences, the importance of humour in writing, and why it is necessary for women to write their own stories and be their own writers.Pragati Rai: It’s like making a child swallow medicine. The medicine is bitter, so you will have to put some sugar in it. You have to trick that child into consuming something they never wanted in the first place, but that we all know is very good for them. That is how I wrote Lekhak Ki Swasni. At first, I was writing this novel called Saya, and it was just a long stiff lecture on ‘women’s issues’, and how men and the state ought to behave. I guarantee you that no one wants to read a novel like that, least of all, men.Muna Gurung: So you made it sugary.Yes, with Lekhak Ki Swasni, readers think they are reading a story about a writer and his family drama, but what they do not realise is that they have gone through an entire book and in the process, they have actually read and closely experienced the pain of being the wife of a writer. Lekhak Ki Swasni was actually a short story I wrote while waiting for my husband to come home for dinner. He said he was on his way but hours went by and he never showed up.He is also a writer? Yes, he is an established and award-winning writer. But we live separately now. He is with someone else. People keep thinking that the novel is about our life together but it is not.How did you meet? I was fourteen and my friend took me to his house. His village was just over the hill from mine. He was in ninth grade and deeply heartbroken. The girl he had fallen in love with had just been married off to some lahure. My husband was inconsolable and spiraling into depression. His family thought this was the best time to find him a wife. My friend was his mother’s niece and she had apparently told my mother-in-law about me and how I like to write poems. My mother-in-law explained to me that theirs was a family of writers and if I ever wanted to get into writing, they had all the connections. She also said I could venture into music, education, art… I agreed to marry her son, and  so I stayed put.You stayed there that night and never went back home?Pretty much. I slept in my mother-in-law’s room for a long time and then after a while she sent me to sleep with my husband. He and I barely talked. I was enrolled in 8th grade then and a month into the academic year, I was pregnant, so I stopped going to school. My ama sent for me, but I did not go back home.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b793f9c7e80680e0646f0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Did you know this big step you had just taken?I had absolutely no clue. I just thought that I had secured my future of being a writer, or doing something in this one life I have. But nobody told me about children. Up until I had my first child, I didn’t fully understand what was going on with my body.It must have been terrifying. It is hard to be afraid of what you don’t know. But you know, my aama, I guess was far-sighted. After my second son was born, she told me that a day will come when I will become very unattractive to my husband because he would be much more educated than me, an 8th grade drop-out. She told me to come home right away so that I could go back to school, I was 18 then. I took my sons and went home to my mother. After SLC, I went to Kathmandu where my husband was already beginning to establish himself as a writer.Read also: <a href="http://Nibha Shah: Nepali poetry’s mansara" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nibha Shah: Nepali poetry's mansara</a>, Muna GurungYou said in an interview elsewhere that many people would not know who Pragati Rai is, but that they would know Lekhak Ki Swasni. It is ironic now knowing that your husband also writes.   I was always known as my husband, the writer’s wife. Even when I wrote a good poem, my name hardly came forth. They all thought he wrote my poems for me. Or if I spoke at an event, he would receive a call at home from one of his ‘boys’, who would say to him: Oh,  Pragati spoke well today. You’ve done a good job schooling her. And the worst was this one time when I saw a short review of Badi Bigyapti in a national daily, and I was surprised to see they had quoted me when I did not remember being interviewed. Later, my husband tells me that the newspaper had called and he had spoken to them.That is terrible. I was furious.How else was it like to be one of the two writers in a marriage?Maybe people think that writer couples spend their days writing together in some blissful reverie. None of that is true! (Laughs). If two people in a family are in the same field, there is bound to be some sort of competition, it is only natural. I would share an idea with my husband and find that a part of it has somehow made it into his book, and vice versa. Some days I would want him to listen to my stories, but he would be busy trying to share his with me. Writers are obsessive people. But you know, when you are with a writer, you can say something using minimal words and trust that the other is able to extract, elaborate and expand as needed. Writers are also more open than other kinds of people, I think. When we separated, my husband told me honestly about his lover. Plus, this was not the first time he had strayed in our marriage. I always knew about his affairs because he would tell me, or write about them. Many male readers have also asked me why I did not make the writer husband character in my first novel a politician, or someone with another profession -- but my husband never once questioned that decision. I appreciated his openness.Maybe it is also because you tell the entire story with so much humour. I laughed out loud in so many of the scenes. I think humour can be one of the hardest things to write.My baba was a comedy man. For instance, when we did not listen to our ama, she would scream at us: Must I repeat the same thing to you twelve and twenty-seven times before you begin to listen? And our baba would step in and say, Your poor mother who does not know math is now having to put together twelve and then twenty-seven—that is half of her day gone right there!  We would laugh and then go do whatever she wanted us to do. I realised early on that humour can make difficult situations a little easier. So in making my first novel, I spent a lot of time carefully weighing out the serious scenes against the humourous ones and deciding where and how to place them so that my readers would follow along and do what I want them to do. (Laughs).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79439c7e80680e0646f1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1620" height="1080"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Who are your readers?I write for our parents’ generation, my generation and those who will come after me. People from my grandparents’ generation, I do not even try. Their  thinking is set in stone. I wrote for women, but I quickly realised that the problem is that not enough women read. So what is the point of writing for women when our audience is clearly male? Women in Nepal have written for decades but the reason we still struggle to be heard and seen is because we are writing for women, which makes it easier for male readers to snooze. If we write for men in the manner that pleases them, then our stories become heavily edited, and ultimately incomplete.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/featured-videos/bimala-tumkhewa-putting-kinema-on-the-map-of-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bimala Tumkhewa: Putting kinema on the map of Nepal</a>, Muna GurungWhat about stories about women that men have written?I feel like exactly how my character Numa feels about the way her husband writes. Numa is not a writer, but she finds that her husband, Sushant’s words lack something. Women must write their own stories, men can try, but it will be incomplete. For instance, I remember reading Abhi Subedi’s powerful article once where he writes about replacing the concept and language of  maiti ghar with that of afno ghar. It is a beautiful idea because why must we call our husband’s home our home, or afno ghar, and the place and family we were born into and grew up in and around our maiti? But what Subedi never brings up in the article is the importance then, on a policy level, for women to be able to claim that space as indeed, afno ghar. Where is it in our law? What kinds of property rights does a daughter have in her father’s home? Changing a word is a good start, but it is not the end of a larger problem.I also found the way you write about Numa’s desire as a sexual being very refreshing. I love that she lifts lines out of her husband’s unpublished book and sends it to Prabhakar in a flirty text. You don’t always beat around the bush with some lofty metaphor, you write clearly and unapologetically. (Smiles). I wanted my readers to know that women, too, have desires. I especially wanted my male readers to know that they are always replaceable in a woman’s life. Many of my male friends who have read the novel do not like the character of Prabhakar. I think they see themselves as the husband character and Prabhakar as Numa’s boyfriend, and therefore a threat. The novel I just finished, Thakra, is actually a sequel to Lekhak Ki Swasni, so we will follow the same characters in a different future. My male readers urged me to get rid of Prabhakar in the third novel. But I assure you, he is going nowhere. In fact, there is a scene where Numa is told by her father-in-law that since she cannot give them a grandson, that it only makes sense for her husband to remarry. Numa is hurt by this and she gets drunk with Prabhakar one evening. Some readers, I know, are not going to like that. (Laughs).<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79469c7e80680e0646f2jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>How long did it take for you to write your last novel? Two years–I have not worked for money in those two years. I am deep in debt, so I must begin to work again now that the novel is done. It took me 7-8 years to write Lekhak Ki Swasni because I was working then at a school first as a teacher and then later in the exam department, typing up papers. I had a computer where I worked and I had created a folder for my novel, and I would steal some time everyday to write it. My colleagues soon found out and complained to my boss. He began to bring me large piles of random papers to type, just to keep me busy, I think. Every hour, he would walk in and ask if I was done. In another universe, I would have just put my head down and said, No sir, not yet. But instead, I would snap at him with Do you think I’m a photocopying machine? (Laughs). I was incorrigible. They even made me sign a sheet of paper that said, “I will not write during work again.” But the very next day, I wrote.So you finished your first novel while working there? No–later, someone deleted the folder and I lost everything. I had to write it all over again. We had a computer at home, but there was something electrifying about stealing time to write at work. When I came home, I never wanted to write. (Laughs). Just when the school was about to kick me out, I left for Korea to work with my new novel in a pen drive.When was this?2010. We were struggling financially. I felt like it would be a good idea to go abroad and make quick money. My husband wanted to join me, but his writing career was taking off and I knew that going to Korea would ruin it--all that effort for nothing. So he stayed back with our two sons, who were already in their late teens, early 20s by then. In Korea, I had to do manual labour in the agricultural sector. My roommate was a woman from Myagdi and super strong. She would work all day and be fine at night, whereas I would have all sorts of joint and muscle ache. There was a computer in our room, but she was always using it to chat with her husband. I never got a chance to sit at it. I remember complaining to Sudha Tripathi didi that I was not able to write because I didn’t have a computer. She clicked her tongue and said, Why don’t you just sit on the floor and write on a notebook with your hand? Why do you need a computer to write? I took her advice. Eventually, my employer kicked me out of work because I was spending my nights writing and he would see my light was on all night; and in the afternoon I was unable to work. For three months, I stayed back in Korea, unemployed trying to finish my novel. Everyone was scolding me. When I think about all the things I went through to write this novel…it is a lot.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-literatures-thulnani-toya-gurung/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Toya Gurung: Nepali literature’s Thulnani</a>, Muna Gurung<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b794a9c7e80680e0646f3jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="5616" height="3744">What happened after you finished writing the book?I experienced the deepest kind of satisfaction–that I had arrived on this earth and left a small signature.A signature, that’s a powerful image. My mind keeps circling back to the naming and how common it is for women to not have proper names. Twice a year, my family sets out a feast for our ancestors, and we invite them to come and eat. My baba has a long list of their names and when he goes down the list, I notice that the men have proper names but their wives are just their names plus a ni. So, Gopal’s wife is Gopalni. How we continue to rob women of so many things, starting with their names. I say it in my poem, Rukh (Tree), how our great-grandmothers gave up their lives in the name of tradition, and when it was time for our mothers, they gave up their names, it was a price they paid to uphold their traditions, any tradition. We keep following in each others’ footsteps, one generation of women after another. We may alter things here and there, but unless we uproot that tradition, nothing will change.Lightroom Conversation is a monthly page in Nepali Times on interesting figures in Nepal’s literary scene. Muna Gurung is a writer, educator and translator based in Kathmandu.  www.munagurung.com<h2>The Basket</h2>Pragati Raitranslated by Muna GurungAfter she gets the basket,the little girl forgets everything elseShe forgets food, forgets her motherAfter she gets the basket,she forgets her mother’s lap–A mother has no right over a daughter who has left her lap.The little girl has a basket to fill,she forgets everything elseWhen she places a flower in the basket,she likes the moon better,When she replaces the flower with the moon,she likes the stars more...And even more than the stars, she begins to likethe wind, water, butterfly, cloud and what else–She has only one basket,but she has so many things to keep in itShe keeps one thing in the basket, takes it out for anotherKeeps, takes, keeps, takes, and suddenlyevening sets inThe little girl begins to cry, the basket is emptySeeing the basket as life,The little girl’s mother begins to cry with herIn the midst of trying to fulfill each desire,life remains empty.And so–In between her sobs,The mother tells the little girl:Fill the basket with one thingthe rest, keep as memories that fill your heart.

Pragati Rai: Her Own Writer

20 Reviews in 20 Years

<figure><img width="1500" height="1000" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101136/636b75179c7e80680e0623cfjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photos: RATO BANGALA KITAB</figcaption></figure>Instilling a habit of reading in children supplements what they learn in school, but reading aloud to children by parents, teachers or even other children, is a way for them and adults to bond and to share experiences of wonder, joy, and discovery.When children are able to turn the pages of a book but not yet to read words, they often tell stories from memory or make them up as they go along. These are all essential steps in the inculcation of a reading habit. Following words on the page as a parent reads aloud helps children to understand the connectedness of the spoken and written word.Reading aloud to and with children has benefits far beyond the development of language and literacy skills. A study in the journal Pediatrics found that shared reading and play between parents and children has long-lasting impact on the children’s social and emotional development, helping to curb hyperactivity, aggression, and difficulty with attention. READ ALSO:<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/?p=40917&amp;preview_nonce=eff7cfab97&amp;preview=true" target="_blank" rel="noopener"> This author is an alien</a>, Sanghamitra SubbaThere is in fact a performance gap in school between children who are readers and those who are not. Children who have books in their lives from before formal schooling have better vocabulary, comprehension, and communication skills, and these set them up for success in school, says early childhood development expert Meenakshi Dahal.“Parents who do not speak to their children in proper sentences hinder their child’s verbal fluency, communication skills and even reading skills,” says Dahal. “The lack of proper communication hinders a child’s reading ability and the lack of reading ability hinders the development of communication skills.”A recent campaign by children’s publisher Rato Bangala Kitab (#ReadAloudwithRBK) encourages parents to post videos on social media platforms reading aloud to children. Says Monita Gurung of RBK: “We wanted reading to be a part of the family’s daily life and reading aloud is an easy and fun way to do that. The new generation of parents is aware of the benefits of reading to children, and the culture of reading is picking up.”Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/bal-sahitya-mahotsav-children-literature-festival,2034" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Children’s literature</a>, Stéphane HuëtPedagogues say there is a clear correlation between children’s reading habits and their performance in school. And the benefits to learning go beyond that.  Reading helps children develop a love for literature, which results in the child becoming a reader. <img width="1000" height="761" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101136/636b751a9c7e80680e0623d0jpeg.jpg" alt="">“A good reader becomes a good writer and a person who can think deeply and see different perspectives. The child develops empathy and a stronger understanding of the world and becomes a life-long learner,” says Milan Dixit, principal of Rato Bangala School. Children’s publishers have been publishing more books in Nepali so that there is more available for children and parents to read. Illustrated children’s books like Didiko Scooty by Diwakar Chhetri have been very popular, and RBK is releasing its first colourful board books for very small children that cantake rough handling at the Bal Sahitya Mahotsav on Saturday.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/read-and-let-read/">Read and let read</a>, Anil ChitrakarRead More Nepal’s Kartikeya Ghimire says reading aloud to children not only arouses interest in books and language, but is an interactive experience. He adds: “Through reading, parents can also impart values like compassion and empathy.”As popular children’s author Bruce Coville says, (see box, and overleaf) there are no negatives to reading aloud to children. There are only positives. <h2>Why read to children?</h2> Kids, especially around the ages of three and four, have a sponge-brain for language. They will take as much as you can give them and if you starve them of reading aloud, you starve them of words that they need for the future. The way we impact the world as adults is mostly through words, whether spoken or written. If we do not have a mastery of language it will be much harder for us to convince and persuade and thereby change the world around us.So you need to pour words into a child’s brain. Rich and creamy language. It needs to start early on. They need to hear their parent’s voices. It is also a great bonding experience for the parent and child, and sometimes a child will want to read the same book again and again and again. The fate of anybody who writes a well-written picture book is that parents will have read it 75 times a week.As children grow older they are hungry for your time and attention. Reading to them is a great way to give them that, and it gives them confidence in school with their own language. There are no negatives about reading aloud to children, only positives.And stories teach ethics, morals, behaviour, and decision-making. Reading aloud shows children that you also value reading and value literature. If a child never sees you reading then they will never take it up themselves or see the importance of it.Bruce Coville

literature