Dinesh Wagle's Commentaries

Latest stories – पछिल्ला टिप्पणीहरू

  • Ready to Rock: In the Hills of Annapurna

    Yes, I am leaving Pokhara tomorrow morning for a week long Annapurna Trek. Two American girls, students of photography, will be traveling with me. So I will not be alone. I have never gone to that part of the country before but I am excited. I am hoping to go to Ghorepani, Ghandruk and Landruk. I have been hearing about this trek route since I was in school. I still remember reading that Internal Tourism issue of Sadhana magazine where both the villages Ghandruk and Landruk were extensively covered for being the most beautiful villages in the country. Then Ghorepani. I always remember an article in San Francisco Chronicle that I read two years ago when I think about Ghorepani: Everything adds up in math of chance meetings. The American author of the article talks about a chance meeting with his school teacher in Ghorepani. I don’t know whom I will be meeting!

    I am excited about the trekking. I just want to enjoy the trip. So wish me a good journey!

  • In Fulbari, For Three Nights

    in Lake Side, Pokhara

    I am taking a long breath! After three days of intensive seminar on conflict journalism, constituent assembly, restructuring of the state of Nepal, I am now out from Pokhara’s Fulbari Hotel. (Man, the hotel, that I always wanted to see, is great. I mean the building, the infrastructure, the compound, the scenery, the garden, they are all extravagant. But the only problem is that there are no tourists, no guests, and the hotel is poorly maintained. I know that’s not intentional on the part of the hotel management but you can smell the fungus on the walls and on beds and you can feel the ‘oldness’ as you enter inside the mammoth structure. Food wasn’t very much good because, my understanding is that, chefs have already forgotten how to cook. I don’t blame them. No guests, no food. You forget how to cook. Ditto with service. You have to scream at servers to make your point. They too have, it seems, forgotten the science of hospitality. Drivers of the hotel’s buses are crazy. One folk made us wait for about 25 minutes in the city center (BP Chowk) and he never showed up. We were promised that a driver would come at the Chowk to take us back to hotel. No. We hired a micro bus to get back to the hotel. No problem, I spent three nights in the hotel and I have no regrets. The garden which is called Tapoban is beautiful and the view of Seti river (you can hardly see Seti from other parts of Pokhara) was simply fantastic.

    Okay, the reason behind my Pokhara visit. National Peace Campaign, an NGO, was organizing a conference for journalists on the aforementioned topics. Speakers were Professor Krishna Khanal, Politician and MP Pari Thapa, Journalist Dhruba Hari Adhikari and editor/activist Shyam Shrestha. The other presenter in the program was lawyer Bhimarjun Acharya who, with his Power Point presentation on the election of the constituent assembly, stole the show. That was really useful for me and many others in the conference (total number of participants 34) found very useful. What else to talk about? I always hate listening lectures. This time too, I didn’t like when speakers took more than two hours to explain things. The trip to Pokhara was sponsored. Many participating journalists returned back to Kathmandu this afternoon but I am still in Pokhara. Why? See the next blog.

  • The Mobile Story: I Lost Samsung, I Bought LG

    I am an optimistic person who thinks positive. That is why I am starting this write up by declaring that I got a brand new cell phone. It’s an LG, a switch from a Samsung that I used for almost four years. Friends congratulated me as soon as they heard the news. But the euphoria soon disappeared as they heard my explanation of the new purchase. “You used to have Samsung, haina?” a friend asked. “Yes, I used to,” I replied, “and I lost that last night.” Lost? How? Where? Why? I don’t know why but it is certain that the phone is no more with me. I don’t know how but I have some vague idea about where I might have lost the thing. I am telling here the story because, by now, I am nearly tired of repeating it to different persons. But let me admit it right here and right now that never before I enjoyed like this time telling stories- bad or good- that are related to me and my activities. Please be seated comfortably on that chair because I am afraid the story is pretty long.

    Dinesh Wagle with new LG mobile set

    I am, according to a columnist in a Nepali newspaper, seen “fiddling with the damn” phone that I bought three days ago. This LG handset has a camera, MP3 player, FM radio, voice recorder. Plus, I can also make calls and talk with other people. Pic by “coffee freak’s counterpart”

    Here’s the story. On 25th July, 2006 (Tuesday) at around 9:45 PM, on my way to home, I SMSed (texted) the headline for the story based on the interview of British Ambassador Andrew Hall to Ananta Wagle (no personal relation), the desk in-charge of the last page (Arts and Style section) of Kantipur. Not receiving the delivery report in 5 minutes, I called him and made sure that the headline was received. That SMS and call to Ananta became the last from my Samsung.

    After about 10 minutes, I got off the vehicle, entered inside home, ate dal bhat as usual and turned on the TV.

    I don’t wear watch and I am completely dependent on phone for time. I looked for the phone here and there, under the pillow and inside the quilt, on the desk, over the table and near the computer. Couldn’t find it. I applied the same tactic that I often apply whenever I can’t find the phone: dial the number from home phone. I did that and my phone didn’t ring from a corner of the room. Instead, I heard a surprising message which was enough for me to conclude that the phone was no more in my house: “The mobile that you are dialing has been switched off.”

    Wow that was quite an experience! I had never heard such message while dialing my own number, that too in the middle of the night. Why would I switch off the phone? CNN was still talking about the conflict and what was I doing? What would you do, by the way, when you suddenly realize in the middle of the night that your cell phone, however old it was but with full of important contact numbers and text messages, is lost? Would you go to bed and still manage to have a sound sleep? I didn’t because I had a reason to stay. I hadn’t read that day’s editions of Hindustan Times and the Times of India. I started turning pages. That was a nice way of preparing yourself for the sleep 2 A.M.

    Dinesh Wagle with old Samsung mobile set

    In this photo taken a few weeks ago, I am seen talking (or pretending to talk) on my Samsung phone. I lost it three days ago. Pic by Email Wagle

    Woke up at 7 and dialed my own number. Oh, the phone was working but to my utter surprise the line was cut off by the person at the receiving end. It’s now confirmed that the phone had fallen into the hands of a person (feels like the person is a “he”) who doesn’t want to return the thing.

    Now what could I do other than calling the office of Nepal Telecom and telling them to kill my SIM card. Meanwhile I also called Buddhi, the driver, and asked him if he saw the phone. No, he didn’t. My guess is that I may have dropped the phone while getting off the car.

    I contacted the NT to notify them about the loss. It took me almost 20 minutes to know from them that I physically need to appear in front of them with a copy of my citizenship certificate. I had already carried the citizenship certificate with me. I went to the Jawalakhel office of NT because I had subscribed the connection from there. I paid Rs. 565 to cancel the old and get new SIM card. I saw many other people who had gone there with same problem. Seeing them queuing up for the new SIM card, my reportorial instinct started functioning. I interviewed some folks. The story appeared in Saturday’s edition of Kantipur. As they say in journalism, what is bad for the world is good for the newsroom or bad news is good news, I was happy to be able to exploit my own problem and create a story out of that.

    So I bought a new SIM card and headed for New Road to buy a phone set. I took out money from ATM in Harihar Bhavawan. It feels so good to see money dropping out from a machine after you enter the card and type some numbers. It feels great to have money that is readily available when you need. Wish I had more in that machine!

    I went to New Road and went to the same shopping complex where I had gone with Sudheer Sharma nearly three years ago to buy the Samsung set. There weren’t many choices in the first shop and went up a floor. There I was offered a “brand new model and cool Nokia that just arrived in the market.” I wasn’t interested in a cool model but I wanted something better than the one that I was using before. “This is one from LG,” said the sales boy. “With this you can take photos, play MP3 music, and tune in to FM stations, record voice.” I think he forget to say something like this: Oh..yea, you can have conversations with other people as well! This LG handset had one year guarantee and that was available for Rs. 10,500. Having a camera phone wasn’t my priority as I carry a digital camera (my famous Canon digi cam, don’t you remember?) all the time with me but to be able to play FM radio in the phone was necessary. A very cool friend of mine had suggested me to have a FM tuner mobile so that I can keep track of new songs and news.

    With the new mobile phone, I am being exposed to the latest trends (well, latest compared to my previous experience) in the cellular world. I am already enjoying more features in the new phone though it will take quite some time for me to gather all those phone numbers that I lost along with the Samsung set. I feel that I should have bought a new handset a month ago. Actually I was planning to do that. I was thinking of giving the old set to my brother who said that he would apply for a SIM card as soon as NT opens its pre-paid subscription. Now, I have to buy a new one for him.

    Other than talking over the phone, I think, I will be using the FM radio the most. As I am doing now– listening to the BBC World Service. They are talking about Israel and Hezbollah. Its 11 PM and I don’t think I will tune in to CNN today.

  • स्याब्रुका डाक्टर काठमाडौंका राजदूत

    Andrew Hall, the British Ambassador to Nepal

    दिनेश वाग्ले

    हाईस्कुल पास गरेपछि सन् १९६९ मा हजुरबाका साथीको उक्साहटमा यात्रामा निस्केका अंग्रेज काठमाडौं ओर्लिए । ककनीस्थित बेलायती राजदूतको बंगलामा थकाई मारेपछि ती १८ वर्षे ‘व्याकप्याकर’ अन्नपूर्ण पदयात्रामा हानिए । एन्ड्रयु हल नामका तीनै यात्री दुई साता अगाडि नेपाल आएका छन्- बेलायती राजदूतका रूपमा ।

    ‘आफ्नो दोस्रो घर आएको छु,’ पहिलो प्रेस अन्तर्वार्तामा ५६ वर्षे एन्ड्रयुले कान्तिपुरसँग भने- ‘मौका मिल्नासाथ मेरो गाउँ पनि गइहाल्ने छु ।’ त्यो गाउँ रसुवाको ठूलो स्याब्रु हो जहाँ एन्ड्रयुले कूटनीतिमा लाग्नुपूर्व १९७७ मा त्यस क्षेत्रका तामाङहरूमा तिब्बती बुद्धवादको प्रभाव’bout पीएचडी अध्ययन गरेका थिए । ‘गाउँमा साथी छन्,’ अवकाश प्राप्त एकजना गोर्खा सैनिकको घरमा बसेको सम्भिmने मानवशास्त्री डाक्टरले भने- ‘समाचार सुनाइरहन्छन् ।’

    समाचारहरू सकारात्मक छन् । नेपाली समाज, उनले भने- खुला र चलायमान भएको छ । ‘पहिले उनीहरू एक ठाउँबाट अर्कोमा पुग्ने कुरा कठिन थियो,’ मानवशास्त्रीले थपे- ‘पूर्वाधारको फैलावटले जीवनलाई सहज पार्दै नेपालीहरूलाई बढी नजिक तुल्याएको छ । नेपाली समाज समावेशीकृत भइरहेको छ ।’ बितेका दशकमा प्रजातन्त्रले अधिकारसम्पन्न तुल्याएका नेपालीहरू आफ्नो हकप्रति पहिलेभन्दा बढी सजग भएको उनले अनुभव गरेका छन् ।

    ‘(प्रजातन्त्र आउनुपूर्व) जनसंगठन भन्नु नै नेपाली काङ्ग्रेसलगायतका एकाध पार्टी थिए,’ कूटनीतिज्ञले भने- ‘अहिले हेर्नुस् कति दबाब समूहहरू छन् । सबै अबको संविधानसभा चुनावमा आफ्नो हितको प्रतिनिधित्व गराउन प्रतिबद्ध छन् । वास्तवमा यस्तै समूहहरूले हो प्रजातन्त्रलाई दरिलो तुल्याउने ।’ नेपालको यो ऐतिहासिक क्ष्ाणमा बेलायती राजदूत हुनुका चुनौती बुझेको बताउने मानवशास्त्रीले द्वन्द्वलाई पछाडि राखेर विकासको मार्गमा अगाडि बढ्न नेपाललाई सघाउनु आफ्नो कार्यकालको प्राथमिकता हुने उल्लेख गरे । ‘पूर्ण प्रजातान्त्रिक प्रणालीको पुनःस्थापना गर्नु आवश्यक छ,’ उनले थपे ।

    नेपाललाई दोस्रो घर भन्नु पछाडि स्याब्रु बसाइ र केही भ्रमणमात्रै छैनन् । सन् ८० को दशकमा बारम्बार नेपाल आएका एन्ड्रयु १९९१ देखि तीन वर्षसम्म काठमाडौं दूतावासमा डिपुटी हेड अफ मिसन थिए । त्यतिबेलाको कार्य प्रगतिका कारण उनलाई महारानीबाट अफिसर अफ द अर्डर अफ बि्रटीस इम्पायर (ओबिई) सम्मान मिल्यो । उनकी कान्छी छोरीले यहीँको लिङ्कन स्कुलमा पढेकी थिइन्, जेठी तीन वर्षमै आमासँग स्याबु्रमा बसेकी थिइन् । ‘नेपाली भाषा यहाँ बस्दा सुधि्रएजस्तो हुन्छ,’ राजदूतले अंग्रेजीमा भने- ‘उता गएपछि बिर्सिएजस्तो भइहाल्छ । स्याब्रुमा तामाङ भाषा सिकेको थिएँ तर पुस्तक र शिक्षक अभावले पढ्न सकिन ।’ (जेठी छोरी बेलायतमा पढाउँछिन् भने कान्छी स्पेनमा पर्यटन कम्पनीमा काम गर्छिन् ।)

    Andrew Hall, the British Ambassador to Nepal

    पहिलो नेपाल भ्रमण एन्ड्रयुका लागि असरदार सावित भयो । फर्केर स्नातकको पढाइ थाल्दा उनले मानवशास्त्र मुख्य विषय बनाउने निधो गरे । कलेजका धेरैजसो शिक्षक मानवशास्त्री भएकाले उत्साह मिल्यो । सन् ५० को दशकमा नेपाल आएर ‘शेर्पाज अफ नेपाल’ पुस्तकका लेख्ने मानवशास्त्री क्रिस्टोफ भोन फ्युरेर-हाइमेन्डोर्फ’bout थाहा पाएपछि एन्ड्रयु उनले पढाउने युनिभर्सिटी अफ लन्डनको ‘स्कुल अफ आरियन्टल एन्ड अपि|mकन स्टडिज’ मा एमएमा भर्ना भएका थिए । ‘मानवशास्त्र छान्ने र नेपालमा अध्ययन गर्ने निर्णय एकैसाथ भएको थियो,’ उनले भने- ‘पहिलो भ्रमणमै मैले नेपाल आएर अनुसन्धान गर्ने सोचेको थिए ।’

    त्यही सोचअनुसार पीएचडी अनुसन्धानका लागि उनी १९७७ मा सपरिवार काठमाडौं आए । काठमाडौं नजिकैको गाउँ छान्नुपर्ने बाध्यता थियो भने अरूले अध्ययन नगरेको विषय छान्नुपर्ने चुनौती । ‘छोरीलाई केही भइहालेमा तत्कालै अस्पताल ल्याउन सक्ने ठाउँमा जानुपर्ने थियो,’ दुई छोरीका बाबुले सम्भिmए- ‘हरेक मानवशास्त्री अरूले नछोएको विषयमा अध्ययन गर्न चाहन्छ । शेर्पा’bout क्रिस्टोफरले किताब लेखिसकेका थिए, गुरुङ र थकाली’bout पनि कसैले काम थालिसकेको थियो । तामाङहरू’bout कसैले अध्ययन गरेको छैन भन्ने थाहा पाउनासाथ मैले नक्सा हेरंे नेपालको ।’ उनीहरू नुवाकोट र रसुवा नजिकै बस्ने जानकारी बटुलेपछि उनी श्रीमती र छोरीलाई लिएर सम्भाव्यता अध्ययनका लागि निस्के । ‘त्रिशूलीबाट उकालो लाग्यौं,’ उनले भने- ‘दुई/तीनवटा गाउँमा केही दिन बितायौं । गाउँलेहरू सहयोगी थिए या शत्रुवत्, थाहा पाउनु थियो । ठूलो स्याब्रु आएपछि चाहिँ सबै कुरा ठीकठाक लाग्यो । दोस्रो विश्वयुद्धमा लिविया र इटालीमा लडेका एकजना गोर्खा सैनिक रहेछन् । उनलाई वाइन पिउने र स्पागेटी खाने कुराको ज्ञान थियो । पश्चिमी कुरा बुझ्ने कम्तीमा एकजना भएकाले सजिलो भयो ।’

    पीएचडी अध्ययन गरेर फर्केपछि एन्ड्रयु विश्वविद्यालयमा पढाउने कामको आशामा थिए । तर आर्थिक समस्या आउन थालेपछि शैक्षिक संस्थाहरूमा भर्ती रोकिएको थियो । ‘छोरी र पत्नी थिए, म पनि २८ वर्षको भइसकेको थिएँ, जागिर आवश्यक थियो,’ डाक्टरले भने- ‘त्यसैबेला मनपर्ने पत्रिका ‘गार्जियन’ मा विज्ञापन देखें । विदेश मन्त्रालयलाई दक्षिण एसिया विशेषज्ञ चाहिएछ । नेपाली गाउँमा बसेको तथा भारतसमेत घुमेको हुनाले आवेदन दिएँ । तर आस थिएन । अचम्मै भयो, जागिर पाएँ ।’

    यसपालि पनि अचम्मै लागेको थियो, एन्ड्रयुलाई नेपालमा राजदूतका लागि छनोट हुँदा । ‘यहाँ राजदूत खाली भएको थाहा पाएपछि मैले आवेदन दिएँ,’ यहाँ आउनु अगाडि भारतको कोलकातास्थित कन्सुलरमा उपउच्चायुक्त एन्ड्रयुले भने- ‘पाउँछु भन्ने लागेकै थिएन । मेरोभन्दा धेरै तगडा सीभी भएका सहकर्मीहरू प्रतिस्पर्धामा थिए ।’ अन्तर्वार्ता दिइरहेको आफ्नो कार्यकक्षतिर एकसरो नियालेपछि राजदूतले थपे- ‘अचम्मै भयो । यो त मेरा लागि सपना साकार भए बराबर हो । नेपालमा राजदूत हुनु ठूलो जिम्मेवारी हो । म गौरवान्वित र उत्साहित छु, ।’

    राजदूत हुन पाएकामा गौरवान्वित बेलायतीलाई मानवशास्त्र पढेर कूटनीतिमा करिअर बनाउनुपरेकोमा पछुतो छैन । ‘दुवै उस्तै विषय हुन्,’ उनले भने- ‘समाजको अध्ययन गर्ने र बुझ्ने । कूटनीतिज्ञले पनि विदेशी समाजमा बसेर त्यहाँका मानिसलाई बुझ्ने प्रयास गर्छ । बुझेका कुरालाई मानवशास्त्रीले विश्वविद्यालयमा पठाउँछ, कूटनीतिज्ञले आफ्नो देशको विदेश मन्त्रालयमा ।’

    त्यो त एन्ड्रयुले गर्ने नै छन्, एकपटक फेरि त्यो पहिलो नेपाल भ्रमण उल्लेख गरौं । ‘हजुरबाका साथी’ सर क्रिस्टोफर समरह्याएस सन् ५० को दशकमा नेपालमा राजदूत थिए जसले काठमाडौं दूतावासका एकजना कर्मचारीलाई लेखेको पत्र बोकेर तन्नेरी आएका थिए । नेपाल घुमेपछि मोरक्को पुगेका १९ वर्षे त्यहाँ बिदा मनाउन गएकी बेलायती युवती क्याथीसँग ‘एकै नजरमा प्रेममा’ परे । लगत्तै प्रेमी जोडी नेपाल फक्र्यो । ‘उनको बिदा कम थियो,’ प्रस्टै लजाएका एन्ड्रयुले ती रोमाञ्चकारी दिन सम्भिmए- ‘त्यसैले हतारमै म अघिल्लो वर्ष पुगेका ठाउँहरूमा पुग्यौं ।’ त्यो भ्रमणमा नेपालबाट प्रभावित क्याथीले बिहे गरेपछि एन्ड्रयुको पीएचडीका लागि त्रिशूलीबाट ठूलो स्याब्रुसम्मको थुप्रै पदयात्राहरूलाई स्वभाविक रूपमा लिएकी थिइन् । ‘अब त बूढो भइयो,’ राजदूतले फेरि लजाएजस्तो गरेर भने- ‘बूढो भएको सोच्दा डर लाग्छ । पहिलेकै जस्तो जोसले हिँड्न त नसकिए पनि अवश्य पुग्नेछु ।’

    >> Click here for the English version of this article.

  • One Hundred Years Of Solitude

    Wagle with one hundred years of solitude

    I was trying to fix my hair but Email was quick enough to capture the moment. This photo later reminded me of another photo taken nearly a decade in hostel by Ujjwal in which I am seen fixing hair in the same manner. That was part of photo session in the hostel. (One Wagle telling the other: Hero huna khojeko hola ni!!)

    Wagle Monologue

    This evening at around 10:30 PM while reading today’s issues of the Times of India and the Hindustan Times 30 minutes after arriving home from office, I suddenly realized one thing: that I read a lot and write a lot but both reading and writing are limited to newspapers. I read a lot of texts in newspapers and I write a lot of texts for newspapers. What about books man? After all reading books makes a man wise and I definitely want to be wise, if not wiser. Actually, by the time I got enlightenment, I had already finished reading both of the newspapers. I quickly threw a glance at my bookshelf and found Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years Of Solitude underneath the television set. “Oh…” I told myself, “I should read this book.”

    I occasionally buy books but I hardly read them. I had bought this book months ago and, to be honest, I had taken this book in the US when I visited that country in April. When I saw a young girl, in tight half pants and a small (I don’t know how to describe that), let me say, jumper in-flight to Detroit from Tokyo reading something, I pulled out this book from my handbag and started turning pages. Before turning the seventh page, I think, arrogant airhostess of the North West Airlines started serving juices. Of course, drinking was more crucial than the story of one crazy Jose Arcadio Buendia as I would be flying continuously for about 13 lazy hours. Then I had to take a nap, and then had to eat, and then go on dreaming again and then there it was: Detroit.

    Wagle with one hundred years in solitude

    So today I decided to read the book from the beginning because I had forgotten the details and specifics in those initial pages. As I reached the 10th page and the clock approached 12 midnight, something from inside me started telling me that I should wake up, open up the computer, and start writing something while listening to the music (and I am listening to The Bee Gees’s Stayin’ Alive). As I was opening the computer, the same force also told me that I should photograph myself holding the book. What a nice idea. (I am pretty good at photographing myself!) As I was trying to do just that, my brother Email popped into the room and he was like ‘what the hell is going on here pal?’ I know he was tired of studying textbooks and was wandering here and there inside the house. When I handed him the camera without uttering word (but flashing a smile) he said, “It seems like I am here on time.” Yes, he was. Take some snaps brother!

    [This whole blogging thing has become an addiction to me in the last two years and recently I am trying to drastically reduce the time I devote to blogging and focus myself in other works. I am being successful in some sense but sometime, like today, like now, I can’t resist the temptation of blogging. As I said, it’s been addiction and I am sure it takes time to get rid of any addiction.]

    Okay, so my determination of reading this book to the last page is what I would like to declare here now. What a time man! Its midnight and some one had said a few days ago that if you wish anything good at this time, you will succeed. I know there will be very little time for me to read books especially in the next few days as I have to several stories for my newspaper and its Saturday supplement. But I have decided to do this.

    Wagle with one hundred years in solitude
    This one is the self portrait! Don’t know where I am exactly looking at.

    I had an incident with Marquez. Several months ago, I had translated a story from the Economist for ‘Kala ra Shailee’ (Arts and Style), the last page of Kantipur, newspaper where I work. It was about his book “Memories of My Melancholy Whores” and while translating the story I used the writer’s middle name (Garcia) all the time in the article. A few days later, Kantipur published a critique on language used in Nepali newspapers including Kantipur. Though there was no byline in the translated piece, the translator (I knew who that was!) was thrashed by the critic for not being able to know the real name that referes to the Spanish novelist. “To say Garcia’s this and that is like saying Prasad’s ‘Muna Madan’ instead of Devkota’s ‘Muna Mandan’,” he had written. [Do we say William’s ‘Hamlet’ instead of Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’?] He had suggested that I should have written Marquez’s ‘One Hundred Years Of Solitude’, not what I had written: Garcia’s! “Okay,” I had told myself and to one of my friends in office. “At least I learned a new thing today.” (Marquez mero bau pani ta hoina ni. And Khairez also do the same mistake while writing Nepali names.)

    [Okay, my psycho monologue is finished. Its already 12:24 and I just discovered that my wireless dialup is not functioning. It gets connected but data is not being transferred. Weird. So I will be posting this text and those photos tomorrow- oh…it’s already ‘tomorrow’ (Thursday July 13)- later today.]

  • Happiest Person And The Best Thing In The World

    Why I am Happy?

    Wagle Monologue (A psycho blog)

    I don’t know why but I am happy and satisfied these days. For example, today I am supper happy. It’s not because I had to write only one story, that too barely five-hundred-words long, for my paper. I was happy even yesterday when I had to write a 26-hundred-words story. It’s not because I have been promoted recently and I don’t really give much attention to rumors that they are increasing salary in the office. It’s not because I have won a lottery. (Oh.. buying tickets hoping to become lakhpati or SMSing at crappy numbers isn’t my preferred way of wasting money. That I do by riding cabs in Kathmandu.) It might be because, I think (and guess), I wasn’t really unhappy in the last several weeks to be precise.

    I can say with a great deal of accuracy that I was the happiest person a few days ago when finished a story for Koshilee, the Saturday supplement of Kantipur, about the night life of Kathmandu. For me, writing story (yes, I am talking about news story dear) is a painful process. It’s an art, a craft that needs so much careful consideration that every line and words should be put one after another the way they should be put. There is no any definition of writing a good story but then there is no specific method of creating a piece of art too. Words are like bricks. They need to be placed the way bricks are put while building a house. Writing story is like building a house. And on the mental level, it’s slightly more than that. Its equivalent to that of labor process a woman goes through while giving birth to her child. Oh… what a process that, being a male, I have to go through every day and night. I feel proud while undergoing that process and I get strange pleasure while penning a story. I wish I could split myself into two Dineshes and see the Dinesh in action from a quiet corner. Man! That must be a fun. One Dinesh watching the other who is going through the labor pain!

    Okay, I was talking about being very happy while finishing a story a few days ago. You see so many things, meet so many people, listen so many things and you have to bring all of them in a one-thousand-word story that too in such a way that a reader will not even think about diverting his eyes from the lines. That’s a tough challenge. For that you need to have a craftsmanship. I don’t claim to have that in the best form but I try to act like having one while doing stories. You have to do that man for you are the one who is writing what you are writing.

    Hurricanes (no less than Katrina in intensity) go inside my mind while I think about the lines, headline and even lead and ending lines of the story that I will be writing about in the next few hours. If I have to do that in the same day, I do that while in tempos or buses while returning from a program or interviewing people. In other cases, I do that while I am about to doze off in the middle of the night. I can recount so many instances when I have risen up suddenly from my bed, grabbed the diary and noted down lines for the story. Okay, I have started about lecturing on how to write a story when I just wanted to say is that I was very happy a few days ago when I finished writing a story. The happiness had nothing to do with the subject of the story but the way I presented it.

    So I searched on the internet to find out “the best thing in the world” and ended up on a page from Poem of the Week page. Here is the poem:

    THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD

    By Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

    WHAT’S the best thing in the world ?
    June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
    Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
    Truth, not cruel to a friend;
    Pleasure, not in haste to end;
    Beauty, not self-decked and curled
    Till its pride is over-plain;
    Light, that never makes you wink;
    Memory, that gives no pain;
    Love, when, so, you’re loved again.
    What’s the best thing in the world ?
    — Something out of it, I think.

    Ha..ha.. Waw.. “something out of it, I think”. What a line! But I don’t know why I Googled for the best thing when I really meant to look for the happiest thing (man) in the world (Moon and Mars included if there is anyone out there!).

    I reached on a Yahoo! Answers page where people had discussed on the question weeks ago. There are quite a few answers but I think I liked this one, by Iconic, the most:

    “Hapiness is a state of mind and relative to our own thoughts, emotions and desires. The happiest person in the world could be you.”

    I also agreed with Toothfetish: “[T]he one who can think positive in all situations. smn who is able to be happy from the things he got. [Someone] who doesn’t think about income, success, popular needs of people etc.”

    Shabang says, “[T]he ultimate optimist.”

    I have no doubt that I am a super optimistic person!

  • Around Los Angeles Pubs

    Probably the best part of my stay in LA was my visit to various bars and pubs in the city and Arthur Rhodes is the man who introduced me to the regular lifestyle of LA. The student of UCLA and an aspiring filmmaker (and writer of an article about me in UCLA Asia Media web site) took me to different bars and arranged meetings with his friends. I had a chance to interact with young Americans folks and feel the beauty of Hollywood Hills, thanks to Arthur.

    Downtown LA from Beverly Hills
    Downtown Los Angeles as seen from Beverly Hills Pic by Wagle

    First bar we went to was Barney’s Beanery (established in 1925, the bar, I was told, is Los Angele’s third oldest) in West Hollywood. I went there after spending some time in a coffee shop surfing wireless internet in Arthur’s Apple laptop. That was great. While he was taking me around the city, we were talking about Nepali politics and journalism (and blogging of course) for his Asia Media article. Asia Media’s editor Angliee Shah had introduced me with Arthur when they came to see me in Omni, hotel where I was staying in. Arthur turned out to be a pleasant surprise for me. A student of Anthropology in UCLA Arthur wants to get himself involved into the study of politics. He is also working on a documentary project that, he said, will incorporate the conflict of Nepal as well. I can’t forget his efforts to take me around the town in his car which wasn’t in really great condition because, Arthur said, friends ruined the machine while he was away from the country (in Sri Lanka).

    So I was talking about Barney’s Beanery. The bar was crowded with young souls and on one table near the entrance gate were Arthur’s friends. All in their mid 20s, they were, I think, the perfect group of American youth I wanted to talk to.

    They were drinking beers and talking with each other on every possible topic available.

    “Be brutally honest with me,” one boy started talking with me knowing that I was from Nepal, the country of Mount Everest. “Be brutally honest with me, okay? Tell me who really went at the top. Edmund Hilary or Tenzing Norgey?”

    God! What a tough question! He was drunk but not to the extent that he didn’t know what he was saying. He knew what he was talking about. So he started looking at me giving me the impression that he was eagerly waiting for my answer. “Well, they both said that they reached at the top together,” I said. “Team effort.”

    “Yes, team effort,” he said and took another sip. He seemed to be satisfied with my answer. We talked about a few other things.

    Then came another man near where I was seating (they were constantly changing their seats and moving here and there). He was wearing a baseball cap and talking about the game. “Why the World Series is called so?” I asked him. “Are there any countries other than US and Canada that play World Series?”

    “Hum,” he said. “This is quite a misnomer actually.” After saying that he plunged into a deep thought.

    It was getting late as I had to wake up early in the morning. So we decided to get back to the hotel.

    Next evening we went to another pub called Jones and I ordered Margarita Pizza. We were three. Arthur’s friend was with us. She was working as a waitress in a bar near Hollywood Hills and was planning to go to South America soon.

    “This is the real LA bar,” said Arthur as I was struggling to hear his voice amidst the loud rock music. “Loud music, dark setting and carefree waitresses!” Yes, it was dark inside and the atmosphere was definitely different than other bars I went to in LA. Hum, waitresses were carefree too. “You see the service is terrible. They don’t care about you,” Arthur said. “All they care about is their dream. The dream of being a Hollywood actress or singer one day. They are here to be a celebrity.” And they think that being waitress is a transitional phase.

    By the way, before I forget, I would like to mention about the Ethiopian food that we ate in the afternoon. But I really don’t know Food, a kind of bread and vegetable, was great or the waitress who served the food to us. I could see Arthur trying to flirt with the girl who had left her husband back in Ethiopia. I was too shy to flirt and my shyness must have made Arthur not to go further. Okay, Ethiopian food? Yes, its not Ethiopia but Ethiopian food. Arthur told me how he thought about having Ethiopian food when one of his friends told him about that. “Come on, I thought Ethiopians were undergoing famine!”

    Visiting A Gay Bar
    After Roberto, another gay came to see me all the way from San Francisco. Joe was Roberto’s friend and we were in touch via email for quite some time. The rich hunk who said he was planning to buy a hotel in downtown LA was driving a fancy car equipped with satellite navigation systems in top speed. We went to a bar where gay couples were having fun-filled talks and drinks. That was quite an experience.

  • Small is Beautiful: From Artesia, Los Angeles

    (Wagle: The following observation was written immediately after visiting Artesia, a southern LA town, also known as Little India. South Asians live in significant number and we the visiting journalists were taken there to see how they live. About 39 journalists from South Asia, Africa and South East Asia were divided into two groups. I was in the second group and visited the town on second day. We also watched a town hall meeting of South Asians where people talked about problems they faced and expressed their grievances. After visiting the town, we returned back to the offices of Annenberg School of Communications in downtown LA (on the 34th floor of a building), wrote about the visit and read out the write-up in the evaluation meeting mediated by former L A Times reporter Victor Marina. By the way, that was the tallest building I have ever gone to. My ears started popping out air as the lift was heading up fast pace. Just like in a plane!)

    South Asian Town Hall Meeting
    South Asian Town Hall Meeting in Artesia, Los Angeles
     Pic by Wagle

    I though America was about only those Americans and those tall buildings and those beautiful beaches filled with Baywatch-styled Pamela Anderson. After seeing that town hall meeting this afternoon, I have to conclude that America has that spectrum which reflects the problems similar to that of my part of the world: ‘injustice’ and inequality.

    Everyone in the meeting was trying to find their own space in the larger American society that they complain of being racist.

    Two Nepalis were quietly watching the procession of the meeting where several other people from the [South Asia] region were echoing their sentiments. Back in home, life for them is difficult for various reasons but even after being able to come into the world’s most powerful economy, those difficulties have started haunting them in new forms.

    That was the perfect venue for them to express their common grievances and express solidarity with each others’ problems. They were dreaming of better life in Big America and voicing that desire among each other and via a live radio broadcast (about the meeting) to other Americans. And they were consoling themselves as well.

    Look at that 37-year-old Mexican security guard who was stationed at the main entrance of the town hall where South Asians were organizing meeting today. “You know what the most interesting thing is,” he said without agreeing to reveal name. “I am providing security to these people from other part of the world who are also talking about immigration.”

    South Asian Town Hall Meeting

    South Asian Town Hall Meeting in Artesia, Los Angeles
     Pic by Wagle

    He is full of secrets but doesn’t want to reveal them all. Some of those secrets include supplying call girls to the rich customers in a hotel like Omni where I am staying now in the expenses of the US taxpayers. He has met Hollywood celebrities many a times and claims to know the inside stories that he doesn’t’ like to reveal to me. “But let me tell you,” he said confidently. “Brad Pitt’s real name is a little bit longer than that.”

    He claimed a few papers in Los Angeles including the Los Angeles Times have written about his story. (He was in the hall with his mother, he said, in uniform, learned English real hard by watching TV and is thankful to Jesus, the only God, for being able to stay in a beautiful country like America.)

    At one point, he seemed like a real professional. “You know what,” he said. “My story is interesting and costs you a hundred dollars.” That was great, I told him, but I wasn’t interested to know more about him. Realizing that I wasn’t going to pay for story, he wanted to push me away. “Okay man,” he said. “Enjoy the trip to America. Go away now. You are bothering me.”

    “Oh..yea? I was bothering you? Okay, thanks for all the cooperation, man!”

  • Romantic LA

    romantic los angeles...a kissing couple

    This is in downtown Los Angeles, near MOCA (Museum of Contemporary Arts) where we saw a couple busy kissing each other. A man was filming the romance in a video camera. (Remember this is downtown LA and Hollywood is not far from here. But we didn’t see anyone directing the couple!) It was around 4:30 PM and we were just returning from Artesia, a town of South Asian majority in south of Los Angeles, observing a town hall meeting. Our presence didn’t seem to pollute the romantic environment. The girl on the left (in khasto) is Maysoon Mohamed Osman, a journalist from Sudan, who couldn’t resist the temptation of watching the romantic couple. And she wasn’t alone, to be honest. That was very new for us and folks tried to tease the lovebirds. But lovebirds were unaffected by any comments passed at them.

  • Driving in Los Angeles With Roberto In-charge of Wheels

    The first day in LA

    Within an hour of landing at the Los Angeles Airport, I was in Santa Monica Beach experiencing the cool breeze and cold water. Thank you Roberto! Roberto is my friend whom I met in Kathmandu some 8 years ago. He had come to our house and I had gone to Pokhara, Chitwan and Lumbini with him. He is a proud gay and lives in between Palm Springs and San Francisco. “I love to live in my house in PS,” he said. “But the health insurance in San Francisco is more reliable and attractive.” That is why, he said, he spends much of the time driving between the two cities. Road is his third home. I mean his car that has a bed, a refrigerator and other household stuffs. “The situation has changed after the September 11,” he said. “It’s very hard to sleep inside the car because of police restriction in parking many places.”

    After he picked me up from in front of the Omni Hotel, Roberto headed to the southern part of the Santa Monica beach where I touched the sea water for the first time in my life. I walked around the beach wearing Roberto’s sandals. “Take this,” Roberto picked up a stone from the beach and handed that to me. “This is a souvenir to you.”

    Roberto wanted me to go to as many places of the city as possible. He was ready to take me anywhere because he had promised me to take around the city. We went to a Chinese restaurant, filled out bellies and the late night city tour started. We went to Hollywood. Oh…the Kodak Theater (where they distribute the Oscars) was so small that I couldn’t believe I was in front of the building. We went inside a few shops where, Roberto said, celebrities shop. “You don’t believe me?” he said. “Just check the price tags boy.” He was right, the price was for celebrities.

    I wanted to go to Gay bars but there was no time. It was already 11 PM and I was damn tired because of the flight and the time change. (LA is three hours ahead of D.C. where I had started my day in early in the morning. To stay awake till 11 PM in LA on that day meant not sleeping till 2 AM in D.C.)

    Roberto was also new to the downtown LA and I knew what that meant when we got lost for about half hour while trying to get back to the hotel. The road was like a deep web and if you miss a turning you miss the whole route. Roberto was repeatedly consulting the maps but that wouldn’t work. He asked people on the road and we were like two crazy men doing unwanted adventure on the streets of Los Angeles. (In fact, even people in the city find it difficult to navigate through the downtown web of roads). Finally we found the route and the hotel. The first day in LA was fruitful and quite adventurous as well.