This appeared in Time.com
Mahad Abdullahi Hassan had never heard of Nepal before the day he landed there. When the 28-year-old Somali boarded a flight from Dubai to Kathmandu on May 23, 2007, he was hoping he would finally reach his dream destination: Sweden. He had, after all, shelled out $4,000 to a human trafficker who promised to smuggle him to the Scandinavian country.
Read more:
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Bhutanese Refugees: Repatriation vs Resettlement
Beldangi Refugee camp, JHAPA–Here, in this sprawling refugee camp, Bishnu Kumari Khadka (see pic) exudes a calm that doesn’t beget one whose husband has recently been murdered. Karna Bahadur Khadka, Bishnu’s husband, was stabbed to death one evening while returning home. But his murder seems to be just the tip of the iceberg in this largest concentration of Bhutanese refugees, a group that is increasingly becoming divided over the issues of third-country resettlement and repatriation back to Bhutan.The seven camps scattered across Eastern Nepal were supposed to be a safe haven for the Lhotsampas (Nepali-speaking southern Bhutanese), who escaped the brutal repression of the Bhutanese government in the late 80’s and early 90’s. Now, death threats and criminal activities within the camps have made the refugees qualm, even as Karna Bahadur’s murder brought to the fore simmering tensions between the two groups.
Karna Bahadur’s murder is not the first inside the camp. In April this year, Shanti Ram Nepal, a former camp secretary was murdered. Today, those who oppose repatriation in favour of third-country resettlement have begun receiving death threats by underground outfits. One such organisation is the Druk Leopard, which began pasting computer printouts warning eight prominent refugees of dire physical consequences if they didn’t leave the camps with their families. Their crime: they were accused of betraying the cause of repatriation back to Bhutan and instead compromising on third-country resettlement.
Indeed, third-country resettlement seems to be a contentious issue among the refugees. At least 22,000 have been resettled in developed countries, mainly the U.S., as Bhutan vehemently refuses to negotiate and repatriate any of the 106,000 refugees (UNHCR 2005) from the seven camps. A 2007 Human Rights Watch report commented that refugees who have favoured resettlement have been threatened and intimidated by groups who see repatriation as the only solution.
In fact, the report is quoted as saying, “They (those in favour of repatriation) accuse those refugees who speak out in favor of resettlement of betraying the cause of the refugees and of aiding and abetting the continued oppression of the remaining ethnic Nepalis in Bhutan.”
The report also declared that resettlement simply meant that it allowed the Bhutanese government to get away with the expulsion of at least a 100,000 of its own citizens in violation of international law. The report quoted a camp secretary, Hari Adhikari Bangaley, as saying he had been physically threatened by pro-repatriation refugees. “They have damaged my motorbike. They have surrounded me and threatened to cut my throat.”
The motorcycle is for many the only means to commute between the various refugee camps, and on the evening of Sept. 8, Karna Bahadur was riding one on his way back home from Damak when he was attacked and stabbed by two assailants. “One tried to insert a rod in the front tyre”, recalls his nephew Dambar Karki, who was with Karna at the time, “while the other pushed him to the ground.”
Though Karna’s name wasn’t on the list of the eight refugees threatened by Druk Leopard, he seemed to have rankled someone else. On Oct. 2, the Armed Police Force, which is tasked with the security of the camps, arrested Yadav Gurung and Pahal Man Rai in connection with the murder.
The two confessed that S.B. Subba, chairperson of the Human Rights Organisation of Bhutan, was involved in the murder. According to the Bhutan News Service, a website operated by refugee journalists, Gurung also disclosed that Subba operated the United Revolutionary Front of Bhutan, an underground outfit that claimed responsibility for a series of bomb blasts that rocked Bhutan in early 2008, and was responsible for the murder, along with Gurung’s sister-in-law. Both were at large at the time of writing, and though the motive behind the murder hasn’t been revealed, it increasingly looks like a conflict between two separate schools of thought within the camps.
For Karna Bahadur was also a mediator, a go-between in several of the disputes that routinely cropped up in the camps. On the day he was murdered, he was returning from his nephew’s funeral. Now, people speak about Karna’s funeral—estimates say there were at least 10,000 participants.
Karna, his relatives say, was an ardent supporter of repatriation, which deepens the mystery behind his murder. His younger brother has resettled in the U.S., something he had been opposing so far. But now, with him gone and with four children, Bishnu Kumari says she may favour resettlement.
The police here say they have beefed up security following the murder, initiating foot patrols and installing several checkpoints with bamboo barriers on the road leading to the camp. The police are also taking an inventory of all the motorcycles owned by the refugees. “Refugee camps are by nature vulnerable places, but we’re doing our best to maintain safety,” says Inspector Gandhiv Raj Syangtan, in-charge of the Beldangi-based Armed Police Force.
In the murky milieu of the Bhutanese refugee camps, internal tensions may finally be reaching a boiling point.
Originally published in The Kathmandu Post on Saturday.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Stories about Modern Times
This was published in The Kathmandu Post on Saturday.
Dabbling in Non-Linear
By Deepak Adhikari
Anamolmani Paudel, a journalist by vocation and littérateur by volition, has emerged with his first short story collection Neelima Ra Gaadha Andhyaro. This slim book contains a dozen short stories that revolve around urban life, love, trauma and the disorder of war, science, and cyber culture. But the most overarching element that encompasses these stories is conflict. There is conflict between tradition and modernity, between scientific invention (particularly test tube babies and cloning) and human emotions. Love is the recurring theme in Paudel’s stories.
The stories are mostly set in a thinly-veiled Kathmandu, and Paudel beautifully captures the sounds and sights, colour, and character of urban life. The language is simple yet very evocative. The first story titled Test-Tube Baby Ra Meri Premika, like several stories in this collection, is experimental. In it, he has not only introduced cyber culture in Nepali literature but also questions the encroachment of science in the realm of human relations. The narrator of the story comes across a chat mate in MSN Messenger. The chat mate turns out to be a test-tube baby. After his parents’ (both university professors) disagreement on bearing kids leads to their divorce, he was conceived in another woman’s body. His mother, in a letter which the central character sends to the narrator as an email attachment, explains that as a modern woman she wanted to exploit science’s advancement, i.e. she didn’t want to be impregnated. As a result of this, the chat mate is a test-tube baby. He laments the decay of humanity. Bordering on science fiction, this story with the details of semen banks, vaginal plastic surgery, and the buying and selling of sperm and ovum at times sounds morbid.
In Peeda Nayak, a young man narrates his love story that unfolds in the backdrop of an old campus building. Eventually the lovers part ways. The storytelling technique of this story is similar to the first one. The writer’s obsession with the foetus is repeated in another story titled Anuttarit. After the death of his mother, the protagonist’s foetus is transplanted in his 18-year-old sister’s womb. The unnamed central character is in dilemma: shall I call her a mother or a sister?
The title story Neelima Ra Gaadha Andhyaro revolves around Padam and Neelima. A long time after their separation, Padam calls up Neelima and tries to rekindle the olden days. But the girl turns out to be his former beloved’s clone. This story also has hints of meta-fiction with the mention of Kumar Nagarkoti, the seasoned Nepali fiction writer who is an inspiration to Paudel, who has confessed to Nagarkoti’s influence in his introduction.
The stories depict love lost, love regained, sadness, loneliness, consequences of war, crisis in human bond, and struggle between scientific innovations and human emotions. The author seems to suggest that science’s triumph is a loss of emotion.
Ustai too is an experimental take where Ibsen’s Nora (of A Doll’s House fame) and Nepal’s iconoclastic Charitraheen Chelis are invoked with equal aplomb. This story basically talks about suppression, exploitation, and marginalisation of women in our society. Zebra Cross Ma Ubhiyera deals with the consequences of Maoist conflict. Cynthia is a former Maoist combatant meets a lecturer at the psychology department of a university and shares her story. The story is told in flashback, and is about her fleeing the cantonment when a Maoist comrade rapes her, and her subsequent post-traumatic disorder. Cynthia leaves the mental ward of the hospital. This story is poignant, but it could have been better had the author delved deeper into the lives of the armed fighters and the internal conflicts in Maoist domain.
Though most of the stories provide glimpses into the characters’ small, private moments, some read like soliloquies. Take, for instance, the last story Carnation, Dhunwa Ra Timro Jhajhalko. Written in epistolary form; it reads more like a maudlin expression than a story.
Banki Prashnaharu is a fantasy, in which a headless man, in the backdrop of politically turbulent times, epitomises the Nepali everyman. Neelo Rumal Harayepachhi weaves a tale of love’s labour lost. There are some memorable lines and an abundance of details. But the stories are also marked by repetitions of phrases, metaphors, and similes, even descriptions.
Call me old-fashioned but I like the linear storytelling format with a well-constructed plot and clearly-drawn characters. I’m a big fan of O. Henry-esque stories, especially a surprise ending. Seen from this viewpoint, Paudel’s stories are essentially in a formalist vein. And with a decidedly post-modernist leaning.
Dabbling in Non-Linear
By Deepak Adhikari
Anamolmani Paudel, a journalist by vocation and littérateur by volition, has emerged with his first short story collection Neelima Ra Gaadha Andhyaro. This slim book contains a dozen short stories that revolve around urban life, love, trauma and the disorder of war, science, and cyber culture. But the most overarching element that encompasses these stories is conflict. There is conflict between tradition and modernity, between scientific invention (particularly test tube babies and cloning) and human emotions. Love is the recurring theme in Paudel’s stories.
The stories are mostly set in a thinly-veiled Kathmandu, and Paudel beautifully captures the sounds and sights, colour, and character of urban life. The language is simple yet very evocative. The first story titled Test-Tube Baby Ra Meri Premika, like several stories in this collection, is experimental. In it, he has not only introduced cyber culture in Nepali literature but also questions the encroachment of science in the realm of human relations. The narrator of the story comes across a chat mate in MSN Messenger. The chat mate turns out to be a test-tube baby. After his parents’ (both university professors) disagreement on bearing kids leads to their divorce, he was conceived in another woman’s body. His mother, in a letter which the central character sends to the narrator as an email attachment, explains that as a modern woman she wanted to exploit science’s advancement, i.e. she didn’t want to be impregnated. As a result of this, the chat mate is a test-tube baby. He laments the decay of humanity. Bordering on science fiction, this story with the details of semen banks, vaginal plastic surgery, and the buying and selling of sperm and ovum at times sounds morbid.
In Peeda Nayak, a young man narrates his love story that unfolds in the backdrop of an old campus building. Eventually the lovers part ways. The storytelling technique of this story is similar to the first one. The writer’s obsession with the foetus is repeated in another story titled Anuttarit. After the death of his mother, the protagonist’s foetus is transplanted in his 18-year-old sister’s womb. The unnamed central character is in dilemma: shall I call her a mother or a sister?
The title story Neelima Ra Gaadha Andhyaro revolves around Padam and Neelima. A long time after their separation, Padam calls up Neelima and tries to rekindle the olden days. But the girl turns out to be his former beloved’s clone. This story also has hints of meta-fiction with the mention of Kumar Nagarkoti, the seasoned Nepali fiction writer who is an inspiration to Paudel, who has confessed to Nagarkoti’s influence in his introduction.
The stories depict love lost, love regained, sadness, loneliness, consequences of war, crisis in human bond, and struggle between scientific innovations and human emotions. The author seems to suggest that science’s triumph is a loss of emotion.
Ustai too is an experimental take where Ibsen’s Nora (of A Doll’s House fame) and Nepal’s iconoclastic Charitraheen Chelis are invoked with equal aplomb. This story basically talks about suppression, exploitation, and marginalisation of women in our society. Zebra Cross Ma Ubhiyera deals with the consequences of Maoist conflict. Cynthia is a former Maoist combatant meets a lecturer at the psychology department of a university and shares her story. The story is told in flashback, and is about her fleeing the cantonment when a Maoist comrade rapes her, and her subsequent post-traumatic disorder. Cynthia leaves the mental ward of the hospital. This story is poignant, but it could have been better had the author delved deeper into the lives of the armed fighters and the internal conflicts in Maoist domain.
Though most of the stories provide glimpses into the characters’ small, private moments, some read like soliloquies. Take, for instance, the last story Carnation, Dhunwa Ra Timro Jhajhalko. Written in epistolary form; it reads more like a maudlin expression than a story.
Banki Prashnaharu is a fantasy, in which a headless man, in the backdrop of politically turbulent times, epitomises the Nepali everyman. Neelo Rumal Harayepachhi weaves a tale of love’s labour lost. There are some memorable lines and an abundance of details. But the stories are also marked by repetitions of phrases, metaphors, and similes, even descriptions.
Call me old-fashioned but I like the linear storytelling format with a well-constructed plot and clearly-drawn characters. I’m a big fan of O. Henry-esque stories, especially a surprise ending. Seen from this viewpoint, Paudel’s stories are essentially in a formalist vein. And with a decidedly post-modernist leaning.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Human-Elephant Conflict in Indo-Nepal Border
My recent story on rampaging elephants in eastern Nepal, published in The Kathmandu Post on Saturday.
A Trunk Full of Misery
BAHUNDANGI, JHAPA, OCT 17 - Beneath the idyllic charms of lush paddy fields, looming green hills, rickety buses, and old wooden houses, lies a feeling of fear and trepidation. Here, in this impoverished village on the eastern fringes of Jhapa, night brings a horror that cannot be conquered by the human spirit, nor can it be subdued by wishing it away.
For a decade-and-a-half, residents of this village bordering Darjeeling district in West Bengal have endured the terror and mayhem of wild elephants that venture into their village mostly during the summer. “They come in droves, sometimes numbering 60 to 70,” says Shyam Karki, a school teacher. And leave behind a trail of wanton destruction and chaos.
Ask Gauri Maya Tamang, whose husband Surya Bahadur was killed by a rampaging pachyderm in 2005. Surya heard about the arrival of an elephant near a tea plantation a few metres away from his house. The 38-year-old went with other villagers to drive away the elephant that was dismantling a banana tree. Surya was the first to reach the place. But when the giant turned its head and chased the villagers, Surya was the last person, and the first within the reaches of the tusker’s trunk.
Gauri replays the story in anger more than in sorrow. The previous night, Surya had hosted a dinner party for his sisters—one of whom had more than an average fear of elephants. Surya went to chase the behemoth to ward off his sister’s fear. But it cost him his life. With her 21-year old son’s support, Gauri now shoulders the responsibility of bringing up three teenage children. “Life is hard without their father,” she says, standing in the doorway of her tin-roofed house built on a small patch of land.
Wild elephants are infamous along this belt of the subcontinent for their crop-raiding, especially during the harvest season for maize and rice. Elephant herds migrate from the Dooars jungles in northern Bengal to eastern Nepal. There have been border tensions because of the pachyderms’ relentless plundering.
Bahundangi—a village on the banks of the Mechi with a population of 50,000—has lost at least 24 inhabitants to the unruly giants in the past 15 years. According to Kul Deep Giri, the village secretary, this year alone, nine have been injured, 13 houses demolished, and nearly Rs. 10 million worth of crops have been destroyed by the elephants. “There’s not a single house which has not been damaged (by the elephant) in some way or the other,” says Arjun Karki, a local social worker.
There are other complaints apart from the loss of life and property. Anup Karki, secretary of the Nepali Congress’ Village Committee, says everyone knows this is an elephant-terrorised village, which makes it difficult for them to “sell their lands”. “Everyone wants to leave; unfortunately, no one wants to buy our land,” he says. In the shop where he is sipping tea; other villagers nod in approval. The presence of the pachyderms has brought on another vexing problem: The eligible bachelors in the village have a tough time finding brides as “no one wants to send their daughters to a village terrorised by elephants”.
It’s not that efforts haven’t been made to stop the elephants from entering the village. From shouting and screaming at the top of their voices, to beating drums, to even keeping bees as a deterrent (a study in Africa had shown that elephants tended to avoid bees. Unfortunately, African bees are more aggressive than the ones found in Nepal)—everything has been tried. Now, a nine-km long electric fence is being constructed along the Mechi river.
For those living on the frontier, the 1,600 km long porous open border between India and Nepal is both boon and bane. “Our life depends on the open border,” says Arjun. He points out that the necessities of the villagers’ daily life—from rushing to a hospital in case of emergency to buying daily supplies—depend on the towns across the border. But for those who’ve lost their kin to the marauding elephants which trample everything in their path as they cross the Mechi into Nepal, the open border is a reminder of misery and pain.
Eighty-year-old Dhan Bahadur Thapa is one of the victims. His wrinkled, sun-bronzed face is a portrait of pain: he lost a newly-wed son and daughter-in-law to the elephants. Nine years ago, his son Shambhu, then 21, fell in love with Durga, a 16-year old from Duwagarh, Darjeeling.
Shambhu found love across the border, but death too came from across. Two months into the marriage, an elephant trampled upon Durga first, then on Shambhu. “At first, it grabbed Durga and killed her,” recalls Dhan Bahadur. “We thought at least Shambhu survived but he didn’t.” Toothless and wheezing, his wife Jag Maya sobs at each mention of her son. The landless couple’s sole property now is a pair of male-buffaloes that they rent for a living. Their remaining son works in the Gulf. “We don’t know whether we will be alive tomorrow, for elephants can come in any time in this part of the world,” says Dhan Bahadur.
A Trunk Full of Misery
BAHUNDANGI, JHAPA, OCT 17 - Beneath the idyllic charms of lush paddy fields, looming green hills, rickety buses, and old wooden houses, lies a feeling of fear and trepidation. Here, in this impoverished village on the eastern fringes of Jhapa, night brings a horror that cannot be conquered by the human spirit, nor can it be subdued by wishing it away.
For a decade-and-a-half, residents of this village bordering Darjeeling district in West Bengal have endured the terror and mayhem of wild elephants that venture into their village mostly during the summer. “They come in droves, sometimes numbering 60 to 70,” says Shyam Karki, a school teacher. And leave behind a trail of wanton destruction and chaos.
Ask Gauri Maya Tamang, whose husband Surya Bahadur was killed by a rampaging pachyderm in 2005. Surya heard about the arrival of an elephant near a tea plantation a few metres away from his house. The 38-year-old went with other villagers to drive away the elephant that was dismantling a banana tree. Surya was the first to reach the place. But when the giant turned its head and chased the villagers, Surya was the last person, and the first within the reaches of the tusker’s trunk.
Gauri replays the story in anger more than in sorrow. The previous night, Surya had hosted a dinner party for his sisters—one of whom had more than an average fear of elephants. Surya went to chase the behemoth to ward off his sister’s fear. But it cost him his life. With her 21-year old son’s support, Gauri now shoulders the responsibility of bringing up three teenage children. “Life is hard without their father,” she says, standing in the doorway of her tin-roofed house built on a small patch of land.
Wild elephants are infamous along this belt of the subcontinent for their crop-raiding, especially during the harvest season for maize and rice. Elephant herds migrate from the Dooars jungles in northern Bengal to eastern Nepal. There have been border tensions because of the pachyderms’ relentless plundering.
Bahundangi—a village on the banks of the Mechi with a population of 50,000—has lost at least 24 inhabitants to the unruly giants in the past 15 years. According to Kul Deep Giri, the village secretary, this year alone, nine have been injured, 13 houses demolished, and nearly Rs. 10 million worth of crops have been destroyed by the elephants. “There’s not a single house which has not been damaged (by the elephant) in some way or the other,” says Arjun Karki, a local social worker.
There are other complaints apart from the loss of life and property. Anup Karki, secretary of the Nepali Congress’ Village Committee, says everyone knows this is an elephant-terrorised village, which makes it difficult for them to “sell their lands”. “Everyone wants to leave; unfortunately, no one wants to buy our land,” he says. In the shop where he is sipping tea; other villagers nod in approval. The presence of the pachyderms has brought on another vexing problem: The eligible bachelors in the village have a tough time finding brides as “no one wants to send their daughters to a village terrorised by elephants”.
It’s not that efforts haven’t been made to stop the elephants from entering the village. From shouting and screaming at the top of their voices, to beating drums, to even keeping bees as a deterrent (a study in Africa had shown that elephants tended to avoid bees. Unfortunately, African bees are more aggressive than the ones found in Nepal)—everything has been tried. Now, a nine-km long electric fence is being constructed along the Mechi river.
For those living on the frontier, the 1,600 km long porous open border between India and Nepal is both boon and bane. “Our life depends on the open border,” says Arjun. He points out that the necessities of the villagers’ daily life—from rushing to a hospital in case of emergency to buying daily supplies—depend on the towns across the border. But for those who’ve lost their kin to the marauding elephants which trample everything in their path as they cross the Mechi into Nepal, the open border is a reminder of misery and pain.
Eighty-year-old Dhan Bahadur Thapa is one of the victims. His wrinkled, sun-bronzed face is a portrait of pain: he lost a newly-wed son and daughter-in-law to the elephants. Nine years ago, his son Shambhu, then 21, fell in love with Durga, a 16-year old from Duwagarh, Darjeeling.
Shambhu found love across the border, but death too came from across. Two months into the marriage, an elephant trampled upon Durga first, then on Shambhu. “At first, it grabbed Durga and killed her,” recalls Dhan Bahadur. “We thought at least Shambhu survived but he didn’t.” Toothless and wheezing, his wife Jag Maya sobs at each mention of her son. The landless couple’s sole property now is a pair of male-buffaloes that they rent for a living. Their remaining son works in the Gulf. “We don’t know whether we will be alive tomorrow, for elephants can come in any time in this part of the world,” says Dhan Bahadur.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Battle for Bhutan
Recently, I was in Bhutanese refugee camp in Beldangi, Jhapa. The camp area looked tense due to the recent murder of KB Khadka, former camp secretary. I'm working on a story about refugees. Below, I've reproduced my story on a Bhutanese leader's wife's struggle to find the whereabouts of her husband who could be in jail in Bhutan.
Also check this fine piece on Bhutanese refugees in New York at NY Times.
A Lone Battle
By Deepak Adhikari
Kathmandu, April 29—On a recent morning, a diminutive woman wearing long, black and blue Tibetan skirt and a white sweater arrived at the Bouddha monastery’s gate to talk about what seemed like a one person mission. Prayer flags fluttered as she sat to speak amidst the incessant chanting of om mani padme hum that emanated from the several cassette and CD shops in this tourist destination.
The serenity of the Buddhist temple could hardly hide the severity of Karma Zangpo’s predicament: her Bhutanese refugee husband Tenzing Zangpo was rearrested by Indian police immediately after being freed on bail from a jail in Guhawati, the capital of Assam state in northeastern India. And, she was witness to the bizarre incident on April 6 when Mr. Zangpo, the General Secretary of Druk National Congress (Democratic), without having a word with her, was whisked away in a van to an unknown location.
Ever since that day, Karma has made it a point to fight for her husband’s release, albeit with a little achievement but a lot of hope. She has sought the help from DNC leaders, Bhutanese leaders, fellow refugees and media. Her tiny telephone diary is scribbled with phone numbers of supporters from Kathmandu, Jhapa in Nepal to Siliguri, Sikkim and Guwahati in India. After sending her 12-year old daughter Sangye and 8-year old son Minjure to nearby Pegasus School in Boudhha, the 48-year old embarks on the solo mission to find out the whereabouts of her husband. She fears that the Assam authority might have deported Zangpo to Bhutan where he is likely to face extreme form of punishment, even torture.
The 49-year old leader who was on his way to meet his in-laws in Arunachal Pradesh in Indo-Bhutan border was arrested on November 10 from Guwahati under the Explosive Substance Act and Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967. He was arrested along with Sabin Boro, a leader of National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB), a separatist outfit active in northeast India. In an attempt to sensationalize this arrest as a link between Bhutanese refugees and the terrorist group that was uprooted from Bhutan in early 2003, Indian police projected Mr. Zangpo as a terrorist involved the serial bomb blasts in and around Guwahati in October last year.
“I even asked him if he had committed such acts (of terror) being a devout Buddhist,” said Karma who herself follows Buddhism. But, he denied any wrongdoing, she said and recalled him reiterating his commitment to fight for his country. A member of Sarchop community from eastern Bhutan, Zangpo had met Karma 15 years ago in Arunachal Pradesh where she had gone to visit her maternal uncle. At that time, he had already been a refugee registered in Timai camp in Jhapa, one of seven refugee camps run by UNHCR in southeastern Nepal. Until last year, they had lived in Birtamode, Jhapa from where Zangpo often travelled to India (they have even secured a travel document from Indian Embassy in Nepal for all four family members). In Kathmandu, Karma ran a restaurant to support her family while her husband kept himself busy in party works. Without her husband to support, she has sold the restaurant.
Hem Lall Bhandari, a Harvard educated advocate pleaded on behalf of Zangpo. It didn’t take long for Bhandari to prove his client’s innocence. After the expiry of the 90 days in Guwahati central jail, he was granted bail by Subhabrata Datta, Special Judicial Magistrate (CBI Court) on March 20.
His wife stood bailer at the court depositing IRs 10,000. The court passed the release order on April 3 but Zangpo was released on the evening of April 6 only to be rearrested shortly. “How long can he remain in jail when there are court orders for his release,” asks advocate Bhandari, a native of Sikkim.
Similar questions must have occurred to Karma, all alone in Kathmandu.
Courtesy: The Kathmandu Post/April 29, 2009
Also check this fine piece on Bhutanese refugees in New York at NY Times.
A Lone Battle
By Deepak Adhikari
Kathmandu, April 29—On a recent morning, a diminutive woman wearing long, black and blue Tibetan skirt and a white sweater arrived at the Bouddha monastery’s gate to talk about what seemed like a one person mission. Prayer flags fluttered as she sat to speak amidst the incessant chanting of om mani padme hum that emanated from the several cassette and CD shops in this tourist destination.
The serenity of the Buddhist temple could hardly hide the severity of Karma Zangpo’s predicament: her Bhutanese refugee husband Tenzing Zangpo was rearrested by Indian police immediately after being freed on bail from a jail in Guhawati, the capital of Assam state in northeastern India. And, she was witness to the bizarre incident on April 6 when Mr. Zangpo, the General Secretary of Druk National Congress (Democratic), without having a word with her, was whisked away in a van to an unknown location.
Ever since that day, Karma has made it a point to fight for her husband’s release, albeit with a little achievement but a lot of hope. She has sought the help from DNC leaders, Bhutanese leaders, fellow refugees and media. Her tiny telephone diary is scribbled with phone numbers of supporters from Kathmandu, Jhapa in Nepal to Siliguri, Sikkim and Guwahati in India. After sending her 12-year old daughter Sangye and 8-year old son Minjure to nearby Pegasus School in Boudhha, the 48-year old embarks on the solo mission to find out the whereabouts of her husband. She fears that the Assam authority might have deported Zangpo to Bhutan where he is likely to face extreme form of punishment, even torture.
The 49-year old leader who was on his way to meet his in-laws in Arunachal Pradesh in Indo-Bhutan border was arrested on November 10 from Guwahati under the Explosive Substance Act and Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, 1967. He was arrested along with Sabin Boro, a leader of National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB), a separatist outfit active in northeast India. In an attempt to sensationalize this arrest as a link between Bhutanese refugees and the terrorist group that was uprooted from Bhutan in early 2003, Indian police projected Mr. Zangpo as a terrorist involved the serial bomb blasts in and around Guwahati in October last year.
“I even asked him if he had committed such acts (of terror) being a devout Buddhist,” said Karma who herself follows Buddhism. But, he denied any wrongdoing, she said and recalled him reiterating his commitment to fight for his country. A member of Sarchop community from eastern Bhutan, Zangpo had met Karma 15 years ago in Arunachal Pradesh where she had gone to visit her maternal uncle. At that time, he had already been a refugee registered in Timai camp in Jhapa, one of seven refugee camps run by UNHCR in southeastern Nepal. Until last year, they had lived in Birtamode, Jhapa from where Zangpo often travelled to India (they have even secured a travel document from Indian Embassy in Nepal for all four family members). In Kathmandu, Karma ran a restaurant to support her family while her husband kept himself busy in party works. Without her husband to support, she has sold the restaurant.
Hem Lall Bhandari, a Harvard educated advocate pleaded on behalf of Zangpo. It didn’t take long for Bhandari to prove his client’s innocence. After the expiry of the 90 days in Guwahati central jail, he was granted bail by Subhabrata Datta, Special Judicial Magistrate (CBI Court) on March 20.
His wife stood bailer at the court depositing IRs 10,000. The court passed the release order on April 3 but Zangpo was released on the evening of April 6 only to be rearrested shortly. “How long can he remain in jail when there are court orders for his release,” asks advocate Bhandari, a native of Sikkim.
Similar questions must have occurred to Karma, all alone in Kathmandu.
Courtesy: The Kathmandu Post/April 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
This appeared in Ekantipur:
A Fine Balance, the second novel by Rohinton Mistry, a Bombay-born writer now living near Toronto, Canada, moves between the four characters caught in the whirlpool of events unfolding during the emergency imposed in India by Indira Gandhi in 1975.
These four unfortunate characters are Ishvar Darji and Omprakash Darji, uncle-nephew duo who hail from an impoverished Indian village; these cobblers-turned-tailors struggle in the unnamed city by the sea (a thinly veiled Bombay), Dina Dalal, a widow from middle class Parsi family, and Maneck Kohlah, a Parsi teenager from mountainous village in northern India. The Emergency looms large like a shadow in the life of these four central characters. The 603-page novel that was the finalist for a Booker Prize revolves around them.
Dina is a vivacious young widow who lives on her own after her husband’s death. She lives on an apartment left by her late husband Rostum who was killed in an accident while cycling to fetch ice-cream for the guests at his home party. Ishvar and Om are the victims of the cruelty that is caste system in India--they have fled the caste-violence of their village. Maneck, fed up with the ragging and filth of hostel is a paying guest at Dina’s. The tailors are hired by Dina who supplies clothes to Au Revoir Export Company. Thus, necessity forces these four characters to share a cramped apartment. But they also share their stories that are marked by sadness, loss, poverty, hunger and other tragic aspects of life.
Mistry reveals the theme of the novel through the character of Valmiki, the former proofreader at The Times of India who loves to quote WB Yeats:
“You see, you cannot draw lines and compartments, and refuse to buzz beyond them. Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.”
The novel--first published in 1995--is divided into 16 chapters; each chapter has a title such as City by the Sea, For Dreams to Grow, In a Village by a River, Sailing Under One Flag, Return of Solitude etc. It has a prologue dated 1975 and ends with an epilogue of 1984. This time frame reminded me of Aravind Adiga’s story collection Between the Assassinations that is set in the period between the murder of Indira Gandhi and her son Rajiv Gandhi. When one of the characters, Maneck returns from Dubai after working for 8 years towards the end of the book, we are told that Indira Gandhi is killed by her security guards. Maneck encounters a country ravaged by communal violence whereby his Sikh cab driver has to shave his head and beard fearing the backlash. The novel ends as her son Rajiv takes over.
What struck me most with Mistry’s story is whenever I thought the characters have finally overcome all the obstacles, terrible things happen to them. When a defiant Om finally agrees to get married, the two tailors embark on a journey to search for a suitable bride. But soon, they are caught in a state sponsored terror. They are forced to undergo sterilization spearheaded by Sanjay Gandhi, Indira Gandhi’s infamous son. As if it was not enough, Ishvar’s legs have to be mutilated whereas Om is castrated. In the very beginning of their work with Dina, both of them are arrested and taken to a rally to attend prime minister’s speech.
It is no exaggeration to say that Mistry is a master storyteller. The descriptions are vivid, the dialogues sharp and the narrative well constructed. The chapters dealing with the struggle of Dukhi, Ishvar’s father in the feudal, superstitious and tradition bound village are very poignant, hence superb. Dukhi’s shack is put on fire by high caste people killing the family members except Ishvar and Om.
Though the character of Maneck, unlike other three, is not well drawn, there are others who complement the story. There is Ashraf Chacha, the amicable mentor of Ishvar and Narayan who pay him back by saving his family from massacre during the Hindu-Muslim riot following the partition of India and Pakistan.
There is Rustom, who meets Dina in a concert; they fall in love and marry despite the objection from Dina’s family. His fondness for cycling leads to his death. Ibrahim, the rent collector who indulges in looking back at his life with regret and bitterness because his malicious job involves threatening the tenants like Dina. The plethora of characters adds to the story that is both evocative and condensed. It also has characters like Rajaram who changes his profession only to deceive people, Monkeyman who kills the ruthless Beggarmaster—the latter runs a begging industry and even justifies the disfigurement of beggars’ organs. There is Dina’s nagging brother Nusswan.
But ultimately it’s the four main characters that are at the heart of the novel.
It is said that it’s better to read Charles Dickens (with whom Mistry is often compared) to learn about Victorian England; similarly, one should read Shakespeare in order to know about life in Elizabethan period. Echoing these lines, I would recommend a reading of A Fine Balance to know what life was like for ordinary Indians during Emergency in India. Though at times dark and melancholy, it’s a rich, rewarding book.
A Fine Balance, the second novel by Rohinton Mistry, a Bombay-born writer now living near Toronto, Canada, moves between the four characters caught in the whirlpool of events unfolding during the emergency imposed in India by Indira Gandhi in 1975. These four unfortunate characters are Ishvar Darji and Omprakash Darji, uncle-nephew duo who hail from an impoverished Indian village; these cobblers-turned-tailors struggle in the unnamed city by the sea (a thinly veiled Bombay), Dina Dalal, a widow from middle class Parsi family, and Maneck Kohlah, a Parsi teenager from mountainous village in northern India. The Emergency looms large like a shadow in the life of these four central characters. The 603-page novel that was the finalist for a Booker Prize revolves around them.
Dina is a vivacious young widow who lives on her own after her husband’s death. She lives on an apartment left by her late husband Rostum who was killed in an accident while cycling to fetch ice-cream for the guests at his home party. Ishvar and Om are the victims of the cruelty that is caste system in India--they have fled the caste-violence of their village. Maneck, fed up with the ragging and filth of hostel is a paying guest at Dina’s. The tailors are hired by Dina who supplies clothes to Au Revoir Export Company. Thus, necessity forces these four characters to share a cramped apartment. But they also share their stories that are marked by sadness, loss, poverty, hunger and other tragic aspects of life.
Mistry reveals the theme of the novel through the character of Valmiki, the former proofreader at The Times of India who loves to quote WB Yeats:
“You see, you cannot draw lines and compartments, and refuse to buzz beyond them. Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.”
The novel--first published in 1995--is divided into 16 chapters; each chapter has a title such as City by the Sea, For Dreams to Grow, In a Village by a River, Sailing Under One Flag, Return of Solitude etc. It has a prologue dated 1975 and ends with an epilogue of 1984. This time frame reminded me of Aravind Adiga’s story collection Between the Assassinations that is set in the period between the murder of Indira Gandhi and her son Rajiv Gandhi. When one of the characters, Maneck returns from Dubai after working for 8 years towards the end of the book, we are told that Indira Gandhi is killed by her security guards. Maneck encounters a country ravaged by communal violence whereby his Sikh cab driver has to shave his head and beard fearing the backlash. The novel ends as her son Rajiv takes over.
What struck me most with Mistry’s story is whenever I thought the characters have finally overcome all the obstacles, terrible things happen to them. When a defiant Om finally agrees to get married, the two tailors embark on a journey to search for a suitable bride. But soon, they are caught in a state sponsored terror. They are forced to undergo sterilization spearheaded by Sanjay Gandhi, Indira Gandhi’s infamous son. As if it was not enough, Ishvar’s legs have to be mutilated whereas Om is castrated. In the very beginning of their work with Dina, both of them are arrested and taken to a rally to attend prime minister’s speech.
It is no exaggeration to say that Mistry is a master storyteller. The descriptions are vivid, the dialogues sharp and the narrative well constructed. The chapters dealing with the struggle of Dukhi, Ishvar’s father in the feudal, superstitious and tradition bound village are very poignant, hence superb. Dukhi’s shack is put on fire by high caste people killing the family members except Ishvar and Om.
Though the character of Maneck, unlike other three, is not well drawn, there are others who complement the story. There is Ashraf Chacha, the amicable mentor of Ishvar and Narayan who pay him back by saving his family from massacre during the Hindu-Muslim riot following the partition of India and Pakistan.
There is Rustom, who meets Dina in a concert; they fall in love and marry despite the objection from Dina’s family. His fondness for cycling leads to his death. Ibrahim, the rent collector who indulges in looking back at his life with regret and bitterness because his malicious job involves threatening the tenants like Dina. The plethora of characters adds to the story that is both evocative and condensed. It also has characters like Rajaram who changes his profession only to deceive people, Monkeyman who kills the ruthless Beggarmaster—the latter runs a begging industry and even justifies the disfigurement of beggars’ organs. There is Dina’s nagging brother Nusswan.
But ultimately it’s the four main characters that are at the heart of the novel.
It is said that it’s better to read Charles Dickens (with whom Mistry is often compared) to learn about Victorian England; similarly, one should read Shakespeare in order to know about life in Elizabethan period. Echoing these lines, I would recommend a reading of A Fine Balance to know what life was like for ordinary Indians during Emergency in India. Though at times dark and melancholy, it’s a rich, rewarding book.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Happy Dashain 2066
I wish you all a very happy Dashain 2066. Below is a memoir I wrote for The Kathmandu Post on Saturday on celebrating Dashain in Dubai a decade ago :A Middle-Eastern Dashain
Celebrating Dashain as a migrant worker meant watery-thin tikas, Filipino friends mouthing swear words and seeking out liquor in an Islamic state
Deepak Adhikari
Dashain usually brings back the most pleasant memories of my life. I grew up in eastern Nepal and spent my childhood shuttling around the three districts of Panchthar, Taplejung and Morang--we had our ancestral home in Taplejung, we tilled land in Rajghat, a dusty village in Morang, while my father taught Nepali in a government school in the almost-town Phidim, Panchthar. Life seemed to revolve around these three places as a child. I grew up mostly in Phidim in the late 1980s. Every Dashain, we would pack our bags and head to Thumbedin, a hamlet on the banks of Kabeli River in Taplejung.
Dashain meant the bamboo swings; new, shiny, Rs. 1, 2 and 5 notes compiled from dakshina; and an abundance of food especially home-cooked goat meat. It also meant a long-awaited holiday of kite-flying and other fun-filled activities.
But the Dashain of 1999 was totally different. That was the worst period of my life: my fledgling-career in a weekly Kathmandu tabloid was threatening to die out with an editor-cum-publisher who demanded a lot of work but paid a meager salary, and the hard times that my family was going through. Unsurprisingly, I did what most Nepalis do--I sought a job abroad. To my family’s delight and my journalist friends’ surprise, in the autumn of 1998, I boarded a Qatar Airways flight to United Arab Emirates (UAE). I landed in Dubai to work--where else?--in a McDonald’s restaurant (we called it a store). The whole process was nearly free: I didn’t have to pay for the visa, for the air tickets or for the sundry payments to the labour agency agents. A village boy from the margins of the eastern corner of Nepal, and someone who hadn’t travelled much beyond Kathmandu--I grabbed the moment as a golden opportunity.
There were three of us Nepalis who were sent to Al Ain, a small desert town in Abu Dhabi, capital of the seven emirates that make up UAE, to work as a crew at one of McDonald’s dozen stores in the whole of UAE. The first memories of that dusty desert town are the many lonely moments wondering if we were the first and only Nepalis there. We were delighted on the rarity of our tribe, but also feared the claustrophobia it entailed.
A year later, I was transferred to Sharjah, where the cricket stadium nearly brought a slice of homely reminder, though I was never a cricket fan--but more than that, it was a gaggle of Nepali friends that seemed to make life easier in Sharjah. There were also the amicable, even effeminate, Filipinos who because of their Mongolian features reminded me of my Limbu friends in Phidim. The sturdy South Indian colleagues who followed Christianity, Islam and Hinduism, were in contrast to them. It was hard for me to maintain a delicate balance between these two sets of people who were often at odds with each other.
But the Dashain of 1999 changed it all. We turned our accommodation into a hub of festivities, bought chicken from the nearby grocery, and cooked Nepali dishes. As if that was not enough, we also asked a few Filipino friends to join us. Prem Gurung, a very jovial fellow from Tanahu, managed to conjure the tika--which was not as dark red and thick as in Nepal, but the best that we could manage in the alien desert. We also convinced our Filipino and Syrian managers that Dashain was akin to Christmas or Ramadan and to give us the day off--and then, went to a coastal bazaar called Rolla. Boats were anchored; but the area also reeked of fish and slaughtered animals. But on the roadside and near the shopping mall, it was surprisingly green--a temptation to believe we were not in a sandy desert town, and instead, at a so-called Arabian oasis.
Eric was a lean Filipino and even a just-arrived-from-home Nepali could have mistaken him for a mate because of his fluent Nepali. Of course, the fact that he was taught the choicest of Nepali swear words didn’t help much--he often mouthed them liberally and embarrassing us in front of a few Nepali female colleagues at times. Like the Nepali language that he had mastered, he relished the dal-bhat-tarkari. We had smuggled very-sour tasting liquor from the neighbouring emirate of Ajman (alcohol was not allowed in Sharjah). A few pegs down, I was gripped by nostalgia, with the recollections of good times back home flooding my mind. Then, someone began belting out Nepali numbers from the DVD player that almost every Nepali working at McDonald’s possessed. We danced to the Dohori tunes, our bodies sweating in the sweltering heat. We did our best but most of our moves were awkward--the pictures can prove that.
The next morning, we ventured out to Dubai to visit a Hindu temple near a creek. We boarded a boat and were mesmerized by the sight of the never-ending Arabian Sea. Across the creek, Indians who easily outnumbered other expats thronged the temple. The area had an air of a busy Tarai bazaar in Nepal. And after blessings from the South Indian pujari, we returned to the drudgery of McDonald's.
Dashain ecard courtesy: Ujjwal Acharya.
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