The Fog House - Part 2

By Ajay Pradhan | January 15, 2010

As Peter jogged with Zoë in the park, he sensed something was wrong when he saw several cops huddled near the cliff overlooking the ravine.

“I wonder what the cops are doing here this early in the morning. I’ve never seen them here before,” Peter, slightly breathless, said to Zoë.

“Something seems to be wrong,” said Zoë, looking in the direction of the policemen.

“Let’s go check out,” said Peter.

“But, Pete, should we really? We don’t have a whole lot of time today.”

“Come on, ZoZo; let’s just see quickly if there is anything they need help with.”

“Let’s make it real quick, then. We might be interfering if we linger on.”

The area was barricaded with police tape and the police were not answering any question or providing any information. They were stopping people at random and interrogating them.

One policeman approached Peter and Zoë and asked, “Hi, I’m Inspector Deepak Gurung. Do you live in this area?”

“We don’t live very far from here,” said Peter. What’s the matter, Officer?"

The policeman ignored Peter’s question, “Do you come to this park often? When was the last time you were here?”

“We’ve been coming here every morning this past week. Is something wrong?”

“Have you witnessed any incident here recently? Any screams? Any assault? Any fights or scuffles? Anyone injured? Any backpackers?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“And who is she?” The policeman asked Peter, looking at Zoë.

“She’s my fiancée.”

“Give me your names and contact information. Both of you. We will contact you if we think it is necessary.”

After writing down their names and contact information, the policeman handed Peter a business card and said, “If you recall seeing anything out of ordinary, give us a call. You may go now.”

“What’s wrong, Officer? Is somebody hurt?” Zoë asked, before walking away.

“You just leave now.”

Peter and Zoë departed from the park.

~

Earlier in the morning around six-thirty, an anonymous phone call had tipped the police about bodies of what appeared to be two young women at the bottom of the ravine. When policemen came to the scene, they found the area pretty much undisturbed except for a backpack, a pair of broken sunglasses, and wallet with approximately two-hundred dollars and ten-thousand rupees in cash.

When the police arrived at the scene early in the morning, a thick fog hung over the ravine and obscured a clear view. They could not spot the bodies down in the ravine. When the fog started to lift up, they could spot the bodies with the help of binoculars from the rocky ledge. Four policemen were preparing to climb down to the bottom of the ravine by a rope ladder approximately fifty feet below the ledge. The park-side shoulder of the cliff overlooking the ravine was secured by two lines of barbed wire to prevent unsuspecting park visitors from walking to the edge of the cliff and falling off to a near certain death. The ravine bottom was rocky that formed the bed for strong currents of waters cascading down with enormous force. Only sheer magic or a divine intervention could save anyone falling off the cliff.

Inspector Gurung of the Special Homicide Department of Nepal Police led the taskforce to investigate what appeared to be a case of double homicide. Several police detectives and forensic specialists were inspecting and searching the area for evidence and taking pictures and collecting any relevant specimens.

Four policemen had reached the bottom of the ravine with the help of body harness and rope ladder. Bodies of two young women lay on rough rock and boulder surfaces approximately twenty feet from each other. The bodies appeared to belong to approximately nineteen to twenty year-old Nepali women. Based on their facial features, they could have been either twins or sisters only a year or two apart. When the policemen had completed taking pictures of the bodies and the scene and collected any tell-tale evidence, they prepared to lift the bodies with the help of body bags harnessed by ropes up the cliff to the waiting team of policemen in the park above. At that time they spotted a third body partly submerged in the riffle of water obscured by a large rock formation, approximately thirty feet from the second body. This too was a female body, belonging to a Caucasian woman approximately thirty years old. After making sure that those were the only bodies present at the scene, the policemen lifted the body up to the park surface. Then they climbed up to the surface by rope-ladder.

The bodies were handed over to the coroner and forensic specialists for detailed investigation. The preliminary inspection of the bodies established that the death was caused by gunshot wounds in the chest of all three women.

Back in his office, Inspector Gurung had one of the Sub-Inspectors prepare the preliminary crime scene report for records and submission to his immediate boss, Deputy Superintendent of Police Kamal Mudbhari. The DSP wanted the report by five o’clock; he was flying with his family to Kathmandu that evening to attend a family event.

~

In the evening, Peter’s parents and his sister accompanied Peter and Zoë to Pokhara Airport to see them off. His two old friends were also there to see him off.

Peter’s sister Kirti said, “Da, the next time we see you and Zoë, it’ll be for your wedding. I can’t wait for your wedding.”

Peter smiled at Kirti, and looked at Zoë. “Neither can I.”

Peter’s mom, Tula, who was always emotional at times of goodbyes, wiped a tear. “I’m glad you two could come home to celebrate Dashain this year. It has been three years since the last Dashain when we were together.”

Peter’s dad, retired major Khadga Man Serchan, was nostalgic. He said to Peter, “You remember that Dashain in 1982 after I returned to Hong Kong from the Falklands War, when you were merely five years old? We came to Nepal for our vacation.”

“Yes, of course, Dad. How could I ever forget that?”

The retired major turned to Zoë and said, “Has Peter ever told you about it? We were all having fun flying kites on the top floor terrace. The top floor terrace still didn’t have the railings then. Both Peter and I fell backwards down to the second floor terrace. It was our big fortune that Peter’s mom had just placed bales of hay to dry there; otherwise we’d have broken quite a few bones.” He started chuckling.

“Yes, he’s told me about it several times,” Zoë said, smiling.

“And, you know, I have never forgotten and will never forget this. The first thing Peter said was, ‘Dad, are you okay?’” Peter’s Dad’s eyes were moist as he patted the son’s back with is hands.

~

The retired major’s mind drifted back twenty-eight years to the year when Britain and Argentina fought a war over the sovereignty of the Falkland Islands off the coast of Argentina.

That was the first war Britain was involved in after the World War II. The Gorkha Brigade of the British Army had earned a reputation as a brigade of fearless fighters during the World War. A Gorkha Brigade battalion was ordered to go to war on the Falkland Islands. Khadga Man Serchan was a sergeant at the time, with a young family. He was one of the Gorkha soldiers assigned to go to the war. His youngest child, Kirti, was not even two.

When Khadga Man broke the news about the impending conscription to the war, Tula was distressed and couldn’t think of anything to do or say for a moment. She was quite concerned for her husband. Wars are never easy on the family of even the most determined soldiers. Khadga Man and Tula had young children. She was concerned for them. But mostly she was very worried for the safety of her husband.

“I have two days to get ready. The battalion leaves in three days.”

“For how long?” asked Tula, hesitantly and barely audible.

Khadga Man looked in her eyes, then looked out the windows, and whispered after a palpable pause, “Who knows?”

“God be with you. And my prayers will always be with you.”

He took her hand in his and said, “I think it’d be better if you went to Nepal while I’m gone than staying here without any family.”

Three days later Tula left Hong Kong for Nepal with three young children. Her husband left with his battalion for the uncertain war on Falklands Islands.

~

Nine weeks into the war, one day on the South Sandwich Island, one of the three disputed islands, the other two being Falkland Islands and South Georgia Islands, Sergeant Serchan saved a local woman and her five year old boy from being killed by a salvo of artillery assault. Serchan was thinking of his own family, his two little boys and the baby girl, when he saved the mother and the little boy.

The mother belonged to a local resistance group that sided with Argentina. Sergeant Serchan had essentially saved an enemy—enough of a crime for him to be put through a court marital by the British Army.

During the court martial, the military prosecution questioned his loyalty to the British Army: “Your job was to kill the enemies, not save them. Why did you save them?”

“Because I’m a fighter, not a killer.”

The military judge quickly dismissed the disloyalty charge, and ordered that Sergeant Serchan be released from naval detention with full honors and dignity.

[To be continued...]

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The Fog House (A Short Story)

By Ajay Pradhan | January 10, 2010

The early October morning air in Begnas Park was crisp and foggy. The park landscape was a riot of autumn colors. Trees were starting to shed the colorful leaves to the ground. The understory bushes were still thick and covered the ground and bottom of tall sal, sissoo and pine trees. The ground vegetation was moist with a thin coat of autumnal frost. The fallen leaves rustled and wafted in the gentle morning breeze. The morning atmosphere was filled with chirping of sparrows and tweets of other birds, intercepted by distant bleating of goats and sheep and blunt chiseling and pecking sounds of woodpeckers. Adding to this mix of nature's mellifluous music was the rustling sound of torrent of water flowing in the deep ravine nearby.

A few early Saturday morning joggers and others who came to enjoy a morning walk in the park were going about their daily ritual. They were mostly unaware of a group of cops who were congregating near the edge of the ravine, largely shielded by a thicket of tall shrubs.

Peter Serchan and his fiancée Zoë Rosenthal were among the early morning joggers. Unlike most of the brisk walkers who had warm jackets on, Peter and Zoë had lycra-spandex body suit on, defying the nippy morning weather. Peter was a forester by profession and Zoë an anthropologist. They had met while they both went to Yale University in New Haven, Connecticut.

Peter's family was from the village of Kusma. He was born in Hong Kong thirty-three years ago, spent first eight years of his life in the British Gorkha cantonment in Hong Kong, where his father was a soldier. His father took an early retirement from the British Gorkha Brigade, earned a reasonably comfortable pension, and returned to Nepal with the family that included Peter's father, mother, an older brother and a younger sister. In Nepal, the family mostly lived in Pokhara, but Peter and his siblings later went to Kathmandu to go to college.

Peter was born into an extended family of soldiers. Almost all male members of the Serchan clan joined British Gorkha. Peter’s brother Nirmal joined the brigade right after finishing college. Peter’s sister Kirti married a British Gorkha soldier and was already raising two future soldiers. Peter's father expected him to follow the family tradition, but Peter cut a rather different personality and had a distinctly different ambition. From an early age, he found that he enjoyed the nature, the wildlife, the forests, the rivers. He knew that when he grew up, he'd want to pursue a career dealing with the nature.

Peter’s parents grudgingly accepted his decision not to go into army. His uncles and aunts, however, openly questioned his wisdom and taunted him for being weak hearted to shy away from the family tradition. When he announced to the family that he was going to study forestry in the U.S., they laughed at him, chortling and hissing and hurling insults at him: “And what exactly do you think you’re going to do after you get the degree, go into the jungle and cut trees with American axe? You’re ruining the reputation for bravery of our martial race.”

While growing up in Pokhara and on their family vacations to their ancestral home in Kusma, Peter usually gave his parents their share of scare. The year after the family returned from Hong Kong, an adventurous nine-year old Peter got lost in the nearby forest in Kusma for nearly fifteen hours. On another occasion, a young Peter was gored by a wild buffalo on their trip to Chitwan. Luckily, Peter survived with only a few minor injuries. He learned swimming even before he came to Nepal. But he once nearly drowned in Phewa Lake when one of his legs got snagged in the strong tendrils of underwater vegetation. None of these incidents ever dissuaded him from exploring outdoor activities.

His other passion was music. He played acoustic guitar. Zoë taught him to play piano when they were at Yale. Peter met Zoë at a dinner party at the house of an ethnobotany professor during his undergraduate years. That professor, who conducted field research in Pokhara area, had encouraged Peter to apply to Yale. Peter was intelligent, cut a handsome figure, had a clean-cut appearance, a shy smile, and was a little shy and quiet—the traits that Zoë found rather cute and attractive.

Zoë, who was two years younger than Peter, was from Connecticut, the daughter of a German immigrant father who worked at the U.N. Headquarters in New York City and a Greek-American mother who taught South Asian culture and history at Columbia University in the same city.

That evening at their professor’s house, in a crowd of over two dozen graduate and undergraduate students, research associates and professors, Zoë struck a conversation with Peter and gave him her phone number. Almost a month after the dinner when Peter still hadn’t called her, she thought he wasn’t interested in her. But she just had to take the initiative just one more time. She called him and they set a date to go out. Even though their first date went quite awkward, the mutual attraction was quite unmistakable. Soon they fell in love and that summer, they purchased air tickets to visit Nepal. They haven’t looked back since. That was nine years ago. They were planning for a spring wedding five months later in March of next year. They had already mailed wedding invitations to friends and families. Simple ceremonies were planned in Connecticut as well as Pokhara. Everything was going great for them.

Peter and Zoë both worked for UNDP Headquarters in New York. They frequently went to Nepal for vacation. That Saturday morning at Begnas Park was their last morning of their vacation in Pokhara before their departure to Kathmandu by an evening flight that day. They were to leave Kathmandu for their journey back to New York two days later. Little did they know that their travel plans were going to be ruined and their future was to take a different direction than planned.

[To be continued...]

Note: This is a work of fiction. The characters are all fictitious and some of the setting is imagined. Please visit again for the next part of this short story.

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Nepal's National Psyché Sees India to the North

By Ajay Pradhan | December 27, 2009

"The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed--and hence clamorous to be led to safety--by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary." -- H.L. Mencken

Mencken, the celebrated American essayist, journalist, satirist and acerbic critic of American life and culture, who died in 1956 at the age of 75, likely had a premonition about Nepal's current politicians when he wrote the above quote.

Nepal's contemporary politics is fast becoming a fairy tale of nightmare. Everyone has a tale to tell. In every tale, the hobgoblin is the country's southern neighbor that often creates trouble for Nepal.

For every trouble in every tale, our index finger automatically points to India--as though India is to our north and our index finger is the compass needle.

India is our southern neighbor and friend that we can't live without. But it is also a neighbor we love to hate with passion.

Such is the image of India, permanently etched in our national psyché--an image of a friendly but troublesome creature, just like the hobgoblins in the Seelie court of popular folktales. Such is our indelible national psyché.

Our fairytale political "leaders" from every political Seelie courts (read: political parties of every stripe and color) have done everything possible to create this national psyché. The purpose is simple. It is to keep the populace alarmed about a perceived threat from India, keep it clamorous for being shielded from the mostly imaginary threat.

I say imaginary, not because there is no threat at all, but because the significance of internal threat that ignites within Nepal is potentially more lethal for Nepal's integrity than of external threat from India that does exist.

It is the Nepali political leaders that mortgage the country's dignity and run to New Delhi whenever the going gets tough for them. Providing dignified leadership has become all but a big farce. There is no leadership to speak of. There is a vacuum of leadership.

Why else are the politicians treating the Constituent Assembly, which we had to wait for nearly 60 long years to get after first promised by King Tribhuvan, being treated as though it were merely a regular legislature?

It's too bad that the political leaders were too shortsighted to saddle the CA with the twin burden of governing and re-writing a new Constitution, when the CA should have been elected with the sole mandate of writing the Constitution, leaving the task of governing the country for a separate, interim political mechanism. It is worse that the politicians and the purveyors of democracy and people's interest are shackling the feet of the CA and preventing it from moving forward.

The lack of political vision, statesmanship, pragmatic strategy, and perpetual ineptness in governing and apathy for common concerns can only be hidden from people's eyes by baiting common Nepalis on a perceived threat from India. This is the purpose why the inept political leaders who have ruled Nepal throw wool in the eyes of the common citizens by blaming India for Nepal's every foible. By doing so, they each must share the blame for surrendering country's dignity and accepting India as their master.

And, what do we, the people, do about this? Do we show outrage towards our inept politicians who have hidden agenda? No. We do nothing to keep our leaders accountable.

Instead, we let our index finger automatically point towards India, when we should be pointing it to our own leaders within Nepal.

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मनको दैलो (कथा)

भाग १ - स्टारबक्समा घटस्थापना
अजय प्रधान | सेप्टेम्बर १९, २००९

"तिम्रो मनको दैलो खोली राख है, म आउन लागेँ, म आउन लागेँ..." भुन्टे आफ्नो मन पर्ने नेपाली पप् गाना गुनगुनाउँदै भेन्कुभरको रब्सन स्ट्रीटमा हिँड्दै थियो। एक्कासी जमुना सँग जम्का भेट भो।

"ए भुन्टे, कस्को मन्को दैलो खोलिराख है भन्दै गुनगुनाउँदै हिँडिराको? आफुलाई सुगम पोखरेल नै ठान्या हो कि कसो?"

"ओहो, जमुना दिज्जु, नमस्ते। सञ्चै हजुरलाई?"

"मोरा, तँलाई मैले मलाई जमुना नभन भनेर भन्या होइन? मलाई जेनी भन्नु भनेर कत्ती भन्नु, अनी एस्तो बाटो साटो मा अरुले सुन्ने गरी दिज्जु सिज्जु पनि भन्नु पर्दैन। जेनी जमर्कट्टेल भने पुग्छ।"

"सरी दिज्जु, माफ पाउँ। अनी साँच्चि, आज त घटस्थापना। हजुरलाई दसैंको शुभकामना छ है।"

"हो त साँच्चि। ल भुन्टे तलाई पनि दसैं को शुभकामना। अनी साँच्चि तँ कहाँ जान लाको अहिले? हिँड् जाम एकेक कप तात्तातो कफि खाम स्टारबक्समा। मरिलानु के छ र? कि कसो? भन्।"

एकछिन पछी स्टारबक्समा कफीको घुट्को लाउँदै दुई जना गफ मा मस्त भए।

"साँच्ची आरएनएसीबिसीको दसैं पार्टी छ रे नि अक्टोबर ३ मा, तँ जान्छस कि जान्नस?"

"हजुरले एनसिएसबीसी भन्नु भा होला। अब जानै पर्ला नि हैन र? नेपालमा भए घरमा खसी बोका काटिन्थ्यो। टिका टालो गरिन्थ्यो। शीर मा पहेँलो जमरा लगाइन्थ्यो। अब यो बिदेशमा तेइ पार्टी सार्टी त हो। अरु के नै गरिन्छ र? बरु तपाईं हरुको अरु के छ प्रोग्राम? घरमा खसिको मासु खाने, तास सास खेल्ने कार्यक्रम छैन दसैंको?" भुन्टेले जमुनाको दिमागमा पम्पु दिन भ्याइ हालेछ।

गुणराज बस्ताकोटी लाई सबैले सानै देखिन् किन हो कुन्नी भुन्टे भनेर चिन्थे। भुन्टे र जमुना को चिन्जान धादिङ देखिकै हो। साइनोमा भुन्टे जमुनाको फुपुबजैको नाती हो। पोखरामा हुर्किएर काठमाडौंमा पढेर क्यानाडामा युनिभर्सिटीमा पढ्न भनेर आइपुगेको। हाल युबिसी मा एन्थ्रोपोलोजीमा बिए गर्दै थिए, अनी रब्सन मा एउटा जापानिज सुशी रेस्टुराँ मा पार्ट टाईम काम पनि गर्थे। जापानी भाषा को नाम मा फुटी कौडी केइ बोल्न आउँदैनथ्यो। तैपनी अनुहार हेर्दा जापानी र नेपाली मा तेत्ती सार्है भिन्नता नदेख्या हुनाले रेस्टुराँ मालिकले धन्य काम दि हालेछ।

"खै के भनुम, भुन्टे। तेरो भिना लाई एक छीन फुर्सद भ पो। तैपनी तँ आईज न नवमीको दिनमा। सँगै बसी रमाइलो गरुम्ला। अब नेपालमा जस्तो घरमा खसी काट्ने त तेस्तै हो, गार्चा ब्रदर्स बाट खसिको मासु ल्याम्ला। खुब झोल हालेर खसिको मासु र च्युरा अनी काँक्राको अचार खाउँला, हुन्न?" जमुना पनि के कम थिई र, तुरुन्तै प्रोग्राम बनाइ हाली। मन मनै हिन्दी सिनेमाको डायलग दिँदै थिईन्, "तु भी क्या याद रखेगा किस सेठानीसे पाला पडा था।" धादिङ्को हुनेखानेकी छोरी न ठहरी।

तेत्तिकै मा रिचमोन्ड बस्ने दीर्घ कटुवाल स्टारबक्स भित्र छिरे। आँखा जुध्न पा छैन, भुन्टेले दुबै हात जोड्दै भने, "अहो जर्साप, नमस्कार।" मानौ रुक्माङ्गद कटुवाल नै नेपाल बाट क्यानाडाको पहिलो राजदूत भएर आँखा सामु प्रकट भा जस्तो।

"ह्या तँ पनि, काँ को जर्साप सर्साप नि अब? न उडा न धेरै," दीर्घले भने। "अनी भन् के छ, सबै ठीकठाक? नमस्कार है जमर्कट्टेल भाउजु। धेरै भो हजुरको दर्शन नपाको।"

"ल भैगो जर्साप न सहि, तर नेपालको साँचिको जर्साप चाँहीँ कुन्नी कताको राजदूत हुने रे,तपाइँ क्यानाडाको महामहिम राजदूत हुन परेन?" भुन्टेले भने। खाँटी नेपालीको छोरो न ठहर्यो, अर्कालाई उडाउन पायो भने किन बाँकी राख्थे र?

"के दशैँ को शुरु मै एस्तो नचाहिँदो गफ दिया भुन्टे? क्यानाडाको राजदूतमा त कुन्नी को भोजराज हो कि मोजराज लाई मनोनयन गरी सकेछन माकुनेको सरकार ले," जमुनाले भनिन् । "नमस्ते है दीर्घ बाबु। तेइ त धेरै भो तपाईंलाई नदेख्या। अनी जहान परिवारलाई आरामै?"

"चाइन्जोसो, त्यो के अरे, ज्वाँईँ खोज्ने कहिले कहिले, दाईजो थुपार्न नि हतार भन्या जस्तो, क्यानाडामा राजदूताबास खोल्ने कहिले कहिले, राजदूत नियुक्त गर्न नि हतार। तेस्मा नि क्यानाडाको सर्खार ले मान्नु नि पर्‍यो नि।" प्वाक्क पछाडि बाट एकजना विद्वानले बोले।

तिनै जना छक्क परि एकै पल्ट पछाडि फर्केर हेरे।

पाल्पाली टोपी लगाएका करीब ६५ बर्ष उमेरको एकजना नेपाली बन्धु ङिच्छ हाँस्दै अघी बढ्छ। "नमस्कार है, यहाँ हरुले मलाई चिन्नु हुन्न, म छबिलाल रुपाखेति, भर्खरै एक महिना भो नेपाल बाट ल्यान्ड गरेको क्यानाडा मा। म प्रकाश रुपाखेतिको बुवा।"

"ए बुवा, नमस्कार। हजुरनै हो प्रकाशजीको बुवा? वहाँ को बुवा नेपाल बाट आई पुग्नु भा छ भनेर सुन्या त थिएँ," भुन्टेले दुबै हात जोडी नमस्कार गरे।

जमर्कट्टेल भाउजु कसैले नसुन्ने गरी बर्बराउन थालिन्, "के खान यो उमेरमा क्यानाडा आको होला। के के नै पाईन्छ भनेर आको होला। यहाँ ६ महिना बसे पछी गोराहरुको दलाइमा परेपछी चेत पाउँछ बुढाले।"

बुढाले सुनिहाले, अनी भने, "अब के गर्नु त नानी, नेपाल को ताल माल तेइ हो। सप्पैले थाहा पाकै कुरो हो। बस्न नसक्किने भइगो। दिनको १० घण्टा बत्ती आउँदैन, धारा बाट पानी आउँदैन। स्टोभ बाल्न मट्टितेल पाउदैन। सवारीको लागि पेट्रोल पाउँदैन। जता गयो उतै फोहोरै फोहोर छ। ईमर्जेन्सी जान पर्‍यो भने बाटो बन्द गर्छन् राजनीति गर्ने भनाउँदा हरुले। कसैलाई हाछ्युँ मात्र आउनु पर्छ टायर् बल्न सुरु हुन्छ, मानौ सप्पैको नाखाँ स्पार्क प्लगै जोड्या जस्तो। दिउँसै लुट्छन, पिट्छन, ज्यानको ठेगान छैन। अराजकताले पराकास्ठ नाघेकोछ। माओवादीले घर जग्गा लुटेर लिन्छु भन्छन। कांग्रेस भित्र नाताबाद गोताबाद छ। सप्पै राजनीति गर्ने हरु लाई नयाँ नेपाल न पुरनो नेपाल, सप्पै कुराले फापेको छ। हामी जस्ता निर्धा जनतालाई लाई कसैको वास्ता छैन। त्यसै भएर बरु यहीँ ठीक भनेर छोरा बुहारी ले बोलाए, अनी आको नि। अब तपाईं नै भन्नुस्, मैले चाइन्जोसो के अरे ठीक गरेकी बेठिक।"

बुढा बाले अमिताभ बच्चनले बोल्ने डायलग भन्दा नि लामो भाषण देको सुनेर जमुनाले रातो मुख पार्दै बेक्कार बर्बराएछु भनेर सोची। "हजुरले एकदम ठीक गर्नु भो। बस्नुस् न बुवा। ए दीर्घ बाबु, तपाईं नि बस्नुस् न। चिया कफि खाने होइन? अनी बुवा, म चैँ जेनी जमर्कट्टेल। उ भाई चैँ गुणराज बस्ताकोटी। अनी वाहाँ चैँ दीर्घ कटुवाल।"

"अनी म चैँ प्रडीप महर्जन।" बुढा बा को पछाडि बाट एकजना अग्लो युवक अघी सर्दै भन्छ। "सबैलाई महापर्व बरा डशै को सुभकामना छ है।"

"ओहो प्रदीपजी, नेपाल बाट कहिले फर्किनु भो? कोसेली के ल्याउनु भो हाम्लाई?" जमुनाले भनिन्।

"लौ जमर्कतेल भाउजु, नेपाल बात फर्केको डुई मेना भेसक्यो। ल्याको कोसेली सप्पै सकी सक्यो।"

तेत्तिकैमा भुन्टेको सेलफोन को घन्टी बज्छ। खल्ती बाट फोन झिकेर भुन्टे लामो राग तान्दै बोल्छ, "हेल्ल्ल्लो"।

"ए भुन्टे, माधव बोल्या म। खुब छोइला, ऐला र म:म: खान मन लाइरछ यार। जुम हिँड काठमाडौं क्याफे। मलाई बाटो मा पिकअप गर त। जर्साप र कार्कीलाई नि भनुम्ला आइजो भनेर," उता बाट आवाज आउँछ। माधव थापा भुन्टेको नेपाल देखी को साथी। धेरै बर्ष पछी फेरी दुइजनाको भेट भेन्कूवरमा पोहोर साल भएको हो।

"के हो चिट्ठै पर्या जस्तो छ नि, मार्साप। म त टाट छु, भन्देको छु अहिलेइ। तेरो मेज्मानी हो भने आउँला। जर्साप नि यही छ स्टार्बक्स्मा म सँगै। यहाँ पुरै नेपाल नै उर्लेको छ। भोजै ख्वाउने बिचार छ भने ल्याउँला जन्ती नै।" माधवले कहिले कहीँ ट्युशन पढाउने हुनाले भुन्टे उस्लाई मार्साप भन्थे।

"तेरो जिम्मा मेरो भो। अरुको त तेस्तै हो। आफ्नो मेज्मानी आँफै गर्ने भए ल्याए हुन्छ जन्ती नै। को को छन्?" माधवले उताबाट फोनमा सोधे।

"जमुना दिज्जु, आइ मीन, जेनी दिज्जु, प्रदीप महर्जनजी, अनी प्रकाशजीको बुवा पनि हुनुहुन्छ। अनी जर्साप त भनी हालेँ।" भुन्टेले स्टेटिस्टिक्स क्यानाडाको इम्मिग्रेन्ट पपुलेशन सर्भेको रिपोर्ट नै बुझाई दिए।

"प्रकाशेको बुवा रे? तँ दाँत फुक्ल्या बुढाहरु सँग कैले देखी हेङ्ग आउट गर्न थालिस ए?" अली उदेक मान्दै माधवले भने। मन साफ भए पनि बोली भने अली छुद्र थियो माधवको।

"काँ को हेङ्ग आउट, यहीँ भर्खर भेट भाको। कफि खाँदै स्टार्बक्समा घटस्थापना मनाइरको।"

"बाहुन बुढो छोइला ऐला खाने भाट्टिमा के छिर्ला र, जातै जाला बुढाको, म:म: ले जिब्रो छुने त परै जाओस, हात मात्र छुँदा पनि काशी गएर स्नान् गर्नु पर्ला बुढालाई।" माधवको छुद्रपन अझै सक्या थिएन। "अनी तेरी दिज्जु पनि के आइस्सेला र। बरु महर्जने लाई डोर्याएर ल्याए हुन्छ। नेवारको छोरो हो। छोइला ऐला खान जातैले दिएको।"

"सुन, म एक छिन्मा हिँडुम्ला। अहिले फोन राखेँ," भन्दै भुन्टेले फोन बन्द गरे। अनी सबैतिर हेरी को को जान इछुक छन् भनेर बुझे। प्रदीप महर्जन र दीर्घ कटुवाल भुन्टे सँगै काठमाडौं क्याफे जाने मा परे। रुपाखेति बाजे र जमर्कट्टेल भाउजु चैँ क्याफे नजाने तर भुन्टेको थोत्रो कारमा घर सम्म राइड लिनेमा परे।

तेस्पछी हाम्रो नेपाली को जत्था स्टार्बक्सबाट पलायन भए।

क्रमश:

नोट्: यो कथा र यस्का पात्रहरु सबै काल्पनिक हुन्। यो व्यङात्मक कथा हो, त्यसैले कृपया कथाको बिषयवस्तुबाट कुनै अन्यथा नलिनु होला। यो कथा मेरो नेपाली भाषा मा लेख्ने पहिलो प्रयास हो। कृपया र्‍हश्व दीर्घ मिलाई पढ्नु होला। बडा दसैंको उपलक्छ्यमा पाठकलाई हार्दिक शुभकामना।

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Changes at Humanature Journal

Change is the only constant. Humanature Journal (HNJ) has undergone changes. The obvious change, as you can see, is the facelift--with a new, more attractive template. The other change is perhaps more important. The HNJ has been split into two: HNJ for Creative Writing and Readings (HNJ - CWR) and a new HNJ of Envronmental Policy and Sustainability (HNJ - EPS).

A new Humanature Journal of Environmental Policy and Sustainability has been launched for my blogs and article posts related to the environment. For those posts, please visit one of the following sites:

http://humanaturejournal.blogspot.com/
http://humanaturejournal.wordpress.com/

All environment-related posts will soon be removed from this original HNJ. This original Humanature Journal from now on will be called the Humanature Journal of Creative Writing and Reading and will contain my amature work of fiction and non-fiction (stories, poems, book reviews, travelogs, etc.) and critical commentary on contemporary public affairs of political nature.

The new Humanature Journal - EPS will reflect my professional side and this Humanature Journal - CWR will continue to portray my nonprofessional side.

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Summer Reading

Here's my summer reading list. Reviews will follow later.

June 20, 2009

1. The Kite Runner (Novel) - Khaled Hosseini (2003) - Hosseini's first novel. Made into a movie (2007).
2. A Thousand Splendid Suns (Novel) - Khaled Hosseini (2007) - Hosseini's second novel. Made into a movie (2008).
3. An Atlas of Impossible Longing (Novel) Anuradha Roy (2009) - Roy's first novel. A good writer.
4. The Namesake (Novel) - Jhumpa Lahiri (2003). Made into a movie (2006).
5. Unaccustomed Earth (Collection of short stories) - Jhumpa Lahiri (2008).
6. Interpreter of Maladies (Collection of short stories)- Jhumpa Lahiri (2000) - Pulitzer Prize-winning collection of short stories. Lahiri's first book.
7. The Storyteller's Daughter (Memoir) - Saira Shah (2003).
8. Norwegian Wood (Novel) - Haruki Murakami (1987; English translation).
9. Kafka on the Shore (Novel) - Haruki Murakami (2005; English translation).
10. Avenger (Novel) - Frederick Forsyth (2004).
11. The Afghan (Novel) - Frederick Forsyth (2006)
12. The Phantom of Manhattan (Novel) - Frederick Forsyth (1999). A decidedly significant departure into love and romance from Forsyth's usual international thriller genre.
13. Double Cross (Novel) - James Patterson (2007). The Alex Cross series.
14. The Brethren (Novel) - John Grisham (2000). An unveiled reference to the conservatives' fear-mongering about national security as the basis, logic and argument for increased military spending.
15. Blindness (Novel) - Jose Saramago (1997; English trnslation). A difficult book to read, by the Portuguese Nobel Prize-winning author. He writes without punctuation. His paragraphs are easily half-a-page to a page long. I actually found one paragraph that was four-page long. He writes dialogues as narratives without the use of "quotation marks," making it hard to know who's saying what. His characters have no name. He refers to them as the doctor or the girl with dark glasses, etc. Have only read half the book so far, but will surely finish it (I think).
16. Banquo's Ghosts (Novel) - Rich Lowry and Keith Korman (2008). Full of conservative sniping inserted into the text that is supposed to be a thriller, but not badly written.
17. The Last Dickens (Novel) - Matthew Pearl (2009)
18. Dante's Numbers (Novel) - David Hewson (2008)
19. By the Light of the Moon (Novel) - Dean Koontz (2002). Read first six chapters. Too cryptic and eccentric for my taste. Abandoned it. Will need coaxing to read Koontz again.
20. Guru of Love (Novel) - Samrat Upadhyay (2003). Have read initial chapters. On hold.
21. Arresting God in Kathmandu (Collection of short stories) - Samrat Upadhyay (2001). Have read some stories; on hold.
22. The Scream - Rohinton Mistry (2008). A very short, illustrated story.
23. When My Name Was Keoko (Novel) - Linda Sue Park (2002). This is a young adult (which I no longer am) book. I've only read the first few chapters and it seems like a nice story of a Korean family when Korea was under occupation of Japan from 1910 to 1945 and every Korean was expected, actually required, to abandon his or her Korean name for a Japanese one. I found this book in my neighbor's paper recycling bin, in an immaculate condition, last week. I found some nice music notations, too, in that bin. Now don't go about thinking that I snoop around people's recycling bins; the book was there and the environmentalist in me found it irresistible. Why send a book to the recycler when somebody can enjoy reading it?
24. An Equal Music (Novel) - Vikram Seth (1999).
25. Maile Dekheko Nepal (Nepali translation of Vignettes of Nepal, a travelogue) - Harka Gurung (2007).
26. Love (Novel) - Toni Morrison (2003). Pulitzer and Nobel Prize winner.

Any recommendation?

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Jamarkattel Bhauju Arrive au Canada : un Conte

Par Ajay Pradhan Le 14 mai 2009

I can’t believe it’s already Nepali New Year today. Happy New Year. It seemed like only yesterday that she arrived in Vancouver, Canada, but it had already been three months since she left Nepal. Her name was Jamuna Jamarkattel. She came from Dhading Besi, the district headquarters of Dhading District in Nepal. She was 36 years old, married with three children. Her husband's name was Ghanshyam Krishna who was 47 years old. Jamuna was Ghanshyam's second wife. Except for his close circle of friends and family, nobody knew what happened to his first wife; he would rather not tell anyone about her. Their children were Hari, 11, Sushma, 8, and Leonardo, 5. Why the little son's name was Leo was in itself an interesting little story. I'll tell you about that a little later.

Je ne peux pas croire que c'est déjà le Nouvel an népalais aujourd'hui. Bonne année. Il a eu l'air seulement hier qu'elle est arrivée à Vancouver, Canada, mais cela avait déjà été trois mois depuis qu'elle a quitté le Népal. Son nom était Jamuna Jamarkattel. Elle est venue de Dhading Besi, le siège social de district de District Dhading au Népal. Elle avait 36 ans, mariés avec trois enfants. Le nom de son mari était Ghanshyam Krishna qui avait 47 ans. Jamuna était la deuxième femme de Ghanshyam. À part son cercle proche d'amis et de famille, personne ne savait ce qui est arrivé à sa première femme; il ne dirait personne d'elle. Leurs enfants étaient Hari, 11, Sushma, 8 et Leonardo, 5. Pourquoi le nom du petit fils était Léo était en soi une petite histoire intéressante. Je vous en dirai un peu plus tard.

Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention my name. I'm Rohit and when people ask me my name, I tell them with style, "I'm Bhattarai … Rohit Bhattarai." You see, just like in the Bond movies. But let's not get too much into that; this story is not about me, this story is about the Jamarkattels, especially Jamuna Jamarkattel. In Vancouver, all Nepalis called her Jamarkattel Bhauju. She didn't like it too much.

Oh, à propos, j'ai oublié de mentionner mon nom. Je suis Rohit et quand les gens me demandent mon nom, je leur dis avec le style, "je suis Bhattarai … Rohit Bhattarai." Vous voyez, comme dans les films de Bond. Mais n'y arrivons pas trop; cette histoire n'est pas de moi, cette histoire est du Jamarkattels, surtout Jamuna Jamarkattel. À Vancouver, tous les Népalais ont appelé son Jamarkattel Bhauju. Elle ne l'a pas aimé trop.

Three weeks after her arrival in Canada with three children and a henpecked husband in tow, one lazy afternoon she changed their name. Hari became Harry and Sushma got a new name, Susan. Little Leo stayed Leo. Jamuna didn't have to change the little one's name; he already had a Western name. Lucky dude. After she was done renaming their children, at least informally, she decided on her own name. She thought for quite a while but an appropriate name didn't come to her mind. She wanted to change her name Jamuna to a short and simple English name.

Trois semaines après son arrivée au Canada avec trois enfants et un mari henpecked dans le remorquage, un après-midi indolent elle a changé leur nom. Hari est devenu Harry et Sushma a reçu un nouveau nom, Susan. Petit Léo est resté Léo. Jamuna ne devait pas changer le petit son nom; il avait déjà un nom Occidental. Type fortuné. Après qu'elle a été faite en rebaptisant leurs enfants, au moins en tenue décontractée, elle s'est décidée pour son propre nom. Elle a pensé pendant la longue période de temps mais un nom approprié n'est pas venu à son esprit. Elle a voulu changer son nom Jamuna à un nom anglais court et simple.

After thinking for about 15 minutes, she decided to call herself Jimmy. She knew Jimmy was an English name and it sounded like a nice name to her. But Harry, her older boy, quickly cautioned her, "Muwa, I think that is a boy's name. The boy from the next door that I play with, his name is Jimmy." No sooner did Harry call her Muwa, she told him, "Call me Mommy or Mom, not Muwa, OK? Here in Canada, we have to be like Canadians, right? This is not Dhading, right Chhora? Oops, I mean, son."

Après le fait de penser depuis environ 15 minutes, elle a décidé de s'appeler Jimmy. Elle savait que Jimmy était un nom anglais et il lui a eu l'air d'un nom agréable. Mais Harry, son garçon plus vieux, a vite averti, "Muwa, je crois qu'est le nom d'un garçon. Le garçon du d'à côté que je joue avec, son nom est Jimmy." A dès que Harry l'appel son Muwa, elle lui a dit, "Appelez-vous-moi la Maman ou la Maman, pas Muwa, bien ? Ici au Canada, nous devons ressembler aux Canadiens, n'est ce pas ? Ce n'est pas Dhading, Chhora juste ? Oops, je veux dire, le fils."

After thinking further for a long part of the hour and failing to come up with a nice, appropriate English name, she said to her son, "Harry, go get me a newspaper or magazine from Sally Aunty upstairs. Tell her I asked, OK?" Sally was their Punjabi landlady, whose real name was Salvinder Kaur Dhaliwal. The Jamarkattels had rented a two-bedroom basement suite in the Dhaliwal residence in Newton area of Surrey.

Après le fait de penser davantage pour une longue partie de l'heure et du fait de rater de trouver un agréable, s'approprier le nom anglais, elle a dit à son fils, "Harry, allez me reçoivent un journal ou un magazine de Sally Aunty en haut. Dites-elle que j'ai demandé, bien ?" Sally était leur propriétaire du Pendjab, dont le nom réel était Salvinder Kaur Dhaliwal. Le Jamarkattels avait loué une suite en sous-sol de deux chambres à coucher dans la résidence de Dhaliwal dans la région de Newton de Surrey.

Sally was the one who instigated Jamarkattel Bhauju to anglicize their name. "Look Jamna Ben, if you don't get English name na, you won't get a job, right?" Sally weighed in. Of course, Sally would know; she knew everything. After all, she came to Canada from Patiala, Punjab 12 years ago. The entire Dhaliwal family had English names. Sally's husband's name was Dave, for Devinder Singh Dhaliwal. Dave and Sally had two children of their own. Their son Narinder was known by his English name, Ned. I didn't know Ned was an English name, but what do I know? I came to Canada only two years ago myself, to study at Simon Fraser University. And I'm not even a landed immigrant here, you see. I'm merely a student and as clueless as a paper doll.

Sally était celui qui a provoqué Jamarkattel Bhauju pour angliciser leur nom. "Regardez Jamna Ben, si vous ne recevez pas de nom anglais na, vous ne recevrez pas d'emploi, n'est ce pas ?" Sally a fait peser. Évidemment, Sally saurait; elle savait tout. Enfin, elle est venue au Canada de Patiala, Punjab il y a 12 ans. La famille de Dhaliwal entière avait des noms anglais. Le nom du mari de Sally était Dave, pour Devinder Singh Dhaliwal. Dave et Sally avaient deux enfants de leur propre. Leur fils Narinder était connu par son nom anglais, Ned. Je ne savais pas que Ned était un nom anglais, mais que sais-je ? Je suis venu au Canada seulement il y a deux ans moi-même, faire les études à l'Université de Simon Fraser. Et je ne suis pas même un immigrant terrien ici, vous voyez. Je suis simplement un étudiant et comme clueless comme une poupée en papier.

Oh, sorry, I digress. What were we talking about? Oh, yeah, the Dhaliwals. OK, the Dhaliwals also had a daughter and her name was Charlene. She didn't have a Punjabi name because she was born in Canada. Now I don't understand why the Punjabis had to get an English name that's at least in some little way a derivative of their original Punjabi name, like Dave for Devinder, Ned for Narinder, Robby for Ravinder, Sally for Salvinder, and so on. It makes you feel they want to hang on to their original name and are kind of uncomfortable making a clean break from it. As a result, they come up with innovative English names like Ned. A little too innovative for my taste, to be honest. That’s none of my business, but I mean, wouldn't it just be easier to get straight English names like Michael, William, Robert, Peter, Thomas like most Chinese immigrants in Canada do? Like Michael Chang, William Cheng, Robert Chung, Peter Chow, Thomas Chiu. Anyway, let's get back to our story of the Jamarkattels.

Oh, désolé, je fais une digression. Dont parlions-nous ? Oh, vraiment, le Dhaliwals. Bien, le Dhaliwals avait aussi une fille et son nom était Charlene. Elle n'avait pas de nom du Pendjab parce qu'elle est née au Canada. Maintenant je ne comprends pas pourquoi le Panjabi a dû recevoir un nom anglais c'est au moins d'une petite façon un dérivé de leur nom original du Pendjab, comme Dave pour Devinder, Ned pour Narinder, Robby pour Ravinder, Sally pour Salvinder, et cetera. Il vous fait estimer qu'ils veulent tenir à leur nom original et sont gentils de la réalisation inconfortable d'une pause propre de cela. Par conséquent, ils trouvent des noms anglais innovateurs comme Ned. Un peu trop innovateur pour mon goût, pour être honnête. Ce n'est aucune de mes affaires, mais je veux dire, il ne serait pas juste plus facile de recevoir des noms anglais droits comme Michael, Guillaume, Robert, Peter, Thomas comme la plupart des immigrants chinois au Canada font ? Comme Michael Chang, Guillaume Cheng, Robert Chung, Peter Chow, Thomas Chiu. En tout cas, rentrons à notre histoire du Jamarkattels.

Where were we again? Oh, yeah, Jamarkattel Bhauju had sent her son to fetch a magazine from the landlady upstairs. Two minutes after browsing the pages of a three-year old edition of the Cosmopolitan magazine Harry brought from Sally Dhaliwal upstairs, Jamarkattel Bhauju found her new name, Jenny. As soon as she settled on that name, she felt a great sense of relief with the new-found identity. She even thought about changing her surname to something more pronounceable for the local khaires, like Jenny Jamar Cotel or, even better, just Jenny Cotel or something like that. But she wasn’t too sure if that would not cause some legal problem for the family. So, she quietly decided to keep the family name.

Où étaient nous de nouveau ? Oh, vraiment, Jamarkattel Bhauju avait envoyé à son fils pour aller chercher un magazine de la propriétaire en haut. Deux minutes après le fait de parcourir les pages d'une vieille édition de trois ans du magazine Cosmopolite Harry apporté de Sally Dhaliwal en haut, Jamarkattel Bhauju a trouvé son nouveau nom, Jenny. Aussitôt qu'elle a légué à ce nom, elle a senti un grand sens de relief avec l'identité toute nouvelle. Elle a même pensé au changement de son nom de famille à quelque chose de plus prononçable pour khaires local, comme Jenny Jamar Cotel ou, encore mieux, juste Jenny Cotel ou quelque chose comme ça. Mais elle a été pas trop sûre si cela ne provoquerait pas un problème juridique pour la famille. Ainsi elle a calmement décidé de garder le nom de famille.

From that day on, she would introduce herself to anyone she met, "I am Jenny Jamarkattel; what is your good name?" Whenever the Non-Resident Nepalis living in Canada called her Jamarkattel Bhauju, she never failed to remind them to call her Jenny Bhauju or better still, simply Jenny. But the moniker "Jamarkattel Bhauju" stuck to her like Velcro.

À partir de ce jour sur, elle se présenterait à quelqu'un elle s'est rencontrée, "je suis Jenny Jamarkattel; quel est votre bon nom ?" Chaque fois que les Népalais de Passage vivant au Canada ont appelé son Jamarkattel Bhauju, elle n'a jamais manqué de leur rappeler d'appeler sa Jenny Bhauju ou mieux toujours, simplement Jenny. Mais le nom "Jamarkattel Bhauju" lui est resté fidèle comme le Velcro.

Jenny, Harry, Susan, and Leo Jamarkattel. The only one in the Jamarkattel family left to get an English name was Ghanshyam Krishna Jamarkattel, the henpecked husband of Jenny Jamarkattel. When she made rapid decision to anglicize their name, Ghanshyam Dai was not home. But she chose an English name for him anyway. He had gone out to attend a job search seminar at one of the job search agencies in Surrey, funded by the federal government department, the Human Resources Development Canada or simply HRDC.

Jenny, Harry, Susan et Léo Jamarkattel. Le seul dans la famille de Jamarkattel est parti pour arriver un nom anglais était Ghanshyam Krishna Jamarkattel, le mari henpecked de Jenny Jamarkattel. Quand elle a pris la décision rapide pour angliciser leur nom, Ghanshyam Dai n'était pas à la maison. Mais elle a choisi un nom anglais pour lui en tout cas. Il était allé assister à un séminaire de recherche d'emploi à une des agences de recherche d'emploi à Surrey, financé par le département gouvernemental fédéral, le Développement de Ressources Humain le Canada ou simplement HRDC.

Dave had told him a few days ago to forget about the job search seminar and just go get a security guard training. "Ghanshyam Bhai, tushi escurty guard ka teraining le lo, OK? Yeh seminar weminar se kuchh banta nai, right?" Just go get security guard training; these useless seminars won't do you any good, Dave told him. Well, now you see where Jamarkattel Bhauju got the habit of adding the words “OK” and "right" at the end of every other sentence.

Dave lui avait dit il y a quelques jours d'oublier du séminaire de recherche d'emploi et aller juste reçoivent un entraînement de garde sécurité. "Ghanshyam Bhai, tushi escurty guard ka teraining le lo, bien ? Yeh séminar weminar se kuchh banta nai, right ?" Allez juste reçoivent l'entraînement de garde sécurité; ces séminaires inutiles ne vous feront pas du bien, Dave lui a dit. Bien, maintenant vous voyez où Jamarkattel Bhauju a reçu l'habitude d'ajouter les mots "bien" et directement à la fin de chaque autre sentence.

Ghanshyam Jamarkattel was disheartened by Dave’s suggestion about the security guard training. In Dhading, he was a school teacher and assistant headmaster. No way was he going to become a security guard, he thought to himself, but didn’t say anything to Dave.

Ghanshyam Jamarkattel a été démoralisé selon la suggestion de Dave de l'entraînement de garde sécurité. Dans Dhading, il était un directeur d'assistant et d'enseignant scolaire. Aucune voie n'était il allant devenir un garde sécurité, il a pensé à lui, mais n'a dit rien à Dave.

In the evening when Ghanshyam Dai came home from the job search seminar, Jamarkattel Bhauju quizzed her husband, “Kris, why are you late? You know we have to go to New Year’s dinner party at Chaturvedi Daju’s house tonight, right?”

Le soir où Ghanshyam Dai est allé à la maison du séminaire de recherche d'emploi, Jamarkattel Bhauju a questionné son mari, “Kris, pourquoi sont vous en retard ? Vous savez que nous devons aller au dîner de gala de Nouvel an à la maison de Chaturvedi Daju ce soir, n'est ce pas ?”

Ghanshyam Dai was confused, “Haina ke bhanchhau, kollai Kris bhanya?” Who are you calling Kris?

Ghanshyam Dai a été troublé, “Haina ke bhanchhau, kollai Kris bhanya ?” Qu'appelez-vous Kris ?

“Timlai bhanya ni, aru kallai bhannu?” Of course, I’m calling you Kris, who else would I call that? “I changed your name. I changed Hari and Sushma’s name, too. Sally said if we don’t get English name we will never get a job here in Canada,” Jamarkattel Bhauju declared to her husband.

“Timlai bhanya ni, aru kallai bhannu ?” Évidemment, je vous appelle Kris, que d'autre l'appellerais-je ? “J'ai changé votre nom. J'ai changé Hari et le nom de Sushma, aussi. Sally a dit si nous ne recevons pas de nom anglais nous ne recevrons jamais d'emploi ici au Canada,” a déclaré Jamarkattel Bhauju à son mari.

“But why Kris? Why not something else?” Ghanshyam Dai asked.

“Mais pourquoi Kris ? Pourquoi pas quelque chose d'autre ?” Ghanshyam Dai a demandé.

“It comes from your middle name Krishna, you don’t even understand that much?”

“Il vient de votre deuxième prénom Krishna, vous ne comprenez pas même si beaucoup ?”

Ghanshyam Dai wasn’t too excited. He liked his own Nepali name alright, but he decided not to make an argument with his headstrong wife. He knew he would never win an argument with her.

Ghanshyam Dai a été pas trop excité. Il a aimé son propre nom népalais d'accord, mais il a décidé de ne pas faire un argument avec sa femme têtue. Il savait qu'il ne gagnerait jamais d'argument avec elle.

“Look, when we go to the dinner party tonight, don’t introduce yourself to anyone as Ghanshyam Krishna. Tell them you’re Kris Jamarkattel,” Jamarkattel Bhauju pre-warned her husband.

“Regarde, quand nous allons au dîner de gala ce soir, ne vous présentez pas à quelqu'un comme Ghanshyam Krishna. Dites-eux que vous êtes Kris Jamarkattel,” Jamarkattel Bhauju est pré-prévenu son mari.

Jamarkattel Bhauju knew the Chaturvedis had also invited me to the party. So she had already called me in the afternoon to ask for a ride for the family to the party. They hadn’t yet obtained driver’s license. “Rohit Babu, are you going to the party at Chaturbedi Daju’s house tonight?” I said sure, why not.

Jamarkattel Bhauju savait que le Chaturvedis m'avait aussi invité au parti. Donc elle m'avait déjà appelé l'après-midi pour demander un trajet pour la famille au parti. Ils n'avaient pas encore obtenu de permis de conduire. “Rohit Babu, allez-vous chez le parti à la maison de Chaturbedi Daju ce soir ?” J'ai dit sûr, pourquoi non.

In the evening, when I went to the Jamarkattels’ basement suite to give them a ride to the party, I saw Jamarkattel Bhauju all ready for the party, loaded with three tons of gold jewelry on her body and one pound of make up on her face. She had doused herself with a liter of perfume that smelled like dollar store brand perfume. The smell hung heavy wherever she went.

Le soir, quand je suis allé à la suite en sous-sol du Jamarkattels leur donner un trajet au parti, j'ai vu Jamarkattel Bhauju tous prêts pour le parti, chargé de trois tonnes de bijouterie d'or sur son corps et une livre d'inventent sur son visage. Elle s'était trempée avec un litre de parfum qui a senti comme le parfum de marque de magasin dollar. L'odeur a été suspendue lourd où qu'elle soit allée.

She was beaming. She quickly greeted me with a hearty Namaste with both her hands, and made sure that I noticed her gold bangles on her forearms. She repeated that ritual with everyone at the party, just to make sure that everyone noticed her heavy gold jewelry on her neck, her ears, her arms, and even around her waist and shoulders. I don’t even know what all those jewelry are called. When anyone showed some appreciation for her jewelry, she’d quickly add with a beaming face, “Mero Buwa le disya. Ani yo kan ko jhumka chai mero hajur le mero janmadin ma kindisya.” My Dad gave them to me; and these earrings--my husband bought them for me on my birthday.

Elle était radieuse. Elle m'a vite accueilli avec Namaste cordial avec les deux ses mains et s'est assurée que j'ai remarqué ses joncs d'or sur ses avant-bras. Elle a répété ce rite avec chacun au parti, juste s'assurer que chacun a remarqué sa lourde bijouterie d'or sur son cou, ses oreilles, ses bras et même autour de sa taille et épaules. Je ne sais pas même que tous ceux on appelle la bijouterie. Quand quelqu'un a montré une appréciation pour sa bijouterie, elle ajouterait vite avec un visage radieux, “Mero Buwa le disya. Le coucou ani yo kan ko jhumka chai mero hajur le mero janmadin la maman kindisya.” Mon Papa me les a donnés; et ces boucles d'oreille - mon mari les a acheté pour moi sur mon anniversaire.

She rarely called her husband the deferential “Hajur” at home. At home, she always called him “Timi” or “Ghane” or “Ghanshyam”. She’d say “Ghane, go do this; Ghanshyam go bring me that. Ghanshyam, go clean the bathroom.” But when others were around, she made it a point to show the traditional respect, “Hajur, sunsyo na. Eh hajur, sunsya ho ki haina? Hajur, bhuja khaisyo na. Achel hajur dublara kasto sinka jasto bhaisya chha.”

Elle appelait rarement son mari “Hajur” déférent à la maison. À la maison, elle l'appelait toujours “Timi” ou “Ghane” ou “Ghanshyam”. Elle dirait “Ghane, allez le font; Ghanshyam vont me l'apportent. Ghanshyam, allez propres la salle de bains.” Mais quand d'autres étaient autour de, elle a fait un point pour montrer le respect traditionnel, “Hajur, sunsyo na. Eh hajur, sunsya ho ki haina ? Hajur, bhuja khaisyo na. Achel hajur dublara kasto sinka jasto bhaisya chha.”

Indeed, Ghanshyam Dai was a lean and thin man. Howver, Jamarkattel Bhauju was a different story altogether. She loved to eat. She loved deep fried food and had a sweet tooth. She loved jilebis and lalmohan. The four-feet-eleven Jenny Jamarkattel had a behind that was as wide as a Banyan tree trunk.

Elle appelait rarement son mari "Hajur" déférent à la maison. À la maison, elle l'appelait toujours "Timi" ou "Ghane" ou "Ghanshyam". Effectivement, Ghanshyam Dai était un homme mince et fin. Howver, Jamarkattel Bhauju était une différente histoire entièrement. Elle a aimé manger. Elle a aimé des aliments profondément faits frire et a aimé les sucreries. Elle a aimé jilebis et lalmohan. Jenny Jamarkattel quatre-pieds-onze avait un derrière cela était aussi large qu'un tronc d'arbre de Banian.

In Nepal her father was a local politician and a deputy chairman of the Dhading District Committee of Rashtriya Prajatantra Party. He owned large pieces of land and was smart enough to make money from his political connections while the RPP folks were close to the former King Gyanendra. When the Maoists came to power, things changed for her father. He immediately switched allegiance and quickly became a staunch supporter of Prachanda and Baburam Bhattarai. Despite that, the Jamarkattel family had a serious brush with the Maoist vigilante groups. To some extent, that was a reason for Jamuna Jamarkattel’s decisions to call it quits in Nepal.

Au Népal son père était un politicien local et un député du président du Comité de District Dhading de Rashtriya Prajatantra le Parti. Il a possédé de grands morceaux de terrain et était assez élégant pour faire de l'argent de ses connexions politiques pendant que les gens RPP étaient près d'ancien Roi Gyanendra. Quand les Maoïstes ont accédé au pouvoir, les choses changées pour son père. Il a tout de suite échangé la fidélité et est vite devenu un supporter dévoué de Prachanda et de Baburam Bhattarai. Malgré cela, la famille Jamarkattel avait une brosse sérieuse avec les groupes vigilante Maoïstes. Dans une certaine mesure, c'était une raison pour les décisions de Jamuna Jamarkattel de s'appeler il arrête au Népal.

Jamuna Jamarkattel had made the decision to ride the wave of emigration and leave Nepal when one night about three years ago some armed hoodlums who called themselves YCL members came to her house in Dhading and demanded cash “donation” for the protection of her family and property. They made it clear that if the Jamarkattels wouldn’t give donation, their security would be at risk. She was smart enough to understand the threat, unlike her husband who at first mistakenly thought it was all an empty threat. He was convinced quickly when one of the musclemen punched him in the eye with his fist. They warned him, “next time, it’ll be a bullet, not a fist.” In three days, they gave them ten thousand rupees. Within those three days, Jamuna Jamarkattel told her husband that they were going to apply for DV Visa lottery for America. They tried for the DV Visa lottery for two straight years, but nothing happened. Then she met Ram Prakash Chaturvedi.

Jamuna Jamarkattel avait pris la décision pour monter le signe d'émigration et quitter le Népal quand une nuit il y a environ trois ans certains truands armés qui se sont appelés les membres YCL sont venus à sa maison dans Dhading et ont demandé "la donation" liquide pour la protection de sa famille et propriété. Ils ont précisé que si le Jamarkattels ne donnerait pas de donation, leur sécurité serait menacée. Elle était assez élégante pour comprendre la menace, à la différence de son mari qui a au début à tort cru qu'il était tout une menace vide. Il a été convaincu vite quand un des musclemen l'a frappé dans l'oeil avec son poing. Ils le sont prévenus, "la fois suivante, ce sera une balle, pas un poing." Dans trois jours, ils leur ont donné dix mille roupies. Au cours de ces trois jours, Jamuna Jamarkattel a dit à son mari qu'ils allaient demander la loterie de Visa DV pour l'Amérique. Ils ont jugé pour la loterie de Visa DV depuis deux ans de suite, mais rien n'est arrivé. Alors elle a rencontré le Bélier Prakash Chaturvedi.

Chaturvedi was her distant cousin and he was from Benighat. He had applied for Canadian Permanent Resident Visa and had advised her to try for it instead of taking a chance on the US DV Visa. It is the same Chaturvedi who had invited them to the Nepali New Year’s party in Vancouver. With help from Chaturvedi, the Jamarkattels sent in their application from Kathmandu to Canadian High Commission in New Delhi. To their utter surprise they were granted PR Visa within one year. For Jamuna Jamarkattel, that was her biggest revenge on the YCLs.

Chaturvedi était son cousin lointain et il était de Benighat. Il avait demandé le Visa Local Permanent canadien et lui avait conseillé de juger pour cela au lieu de saisir l'occasion sur le Visa DV américain. C'est même Chaturvedi qui les avait invités au parti du Nouvel an népalais à Vancouver. Avec l'aide de Chaturvedi, les Jamarkattels envoyés dans leur application de Kathmandu au Canadien Commandent haut à New Delhi. À leur surprise totale on leur a accordé le Visa PR pendant un an. Pour Jamuna Jamarkattel, qui était sa vengeance la plus grande sur l'YCLs.

Within two months after they got Canadian PR Visa, they arrived in Vancouver as the newest landed immigrants with their eyes glazed as Tim Horton’s donuts and head, well, heady with lofty dreams. Chaturvedi jee found them the basement suite in the Dhaliwal residence in Surrey. Jamarkattel Bhauju quickly came under the influence of Sally Dhaliwal. “We don’t buy cheap things. We don’t go to BalMart. Only cheap people go to BalMart. We go to downtown Vancouver for shopping.”

Au cours de deux mois après qu'ils ont reçu le Visa PR canadien, ils sont arrivés à Vancouver comme les plus nouveaux immigrants terriens avec leurs yeux mis sous verre comme le donuts de Tim Horton et la tête, eh bien, capiteux avec les rêves hauts. Chaturvedi jee les a trouvés la suite en sous-sol dans la résidence Dhaliwal à Surrey. Jamarkattel Bhauju est vite venu sous l'influence de Sally Dhaliwal. “Nous n'achetons pas de choses bon marché. Nous n'allons pas à BalMart. Les gens seulement bon marché vont à BalMart. Nous allons au centre Vancouver pour les courses.”

“What’s BalMart?” Jamarkattel Bhauju had asked Sally.

“Quel est BalMart ?” Jamarkattel Bhauju avait demandé à Sally.

“Jyu don’t know BalMart? Everybody knows BalMart,” despite having lived in Canada for 12 years, Sally still had the thick Patiala accent.

“Jyu ne sait pas BalMart ? Chacun sait BalMart,” malgré avoir vécu au Canada depuis 12 ans, Sally avait toujours l'accent de Patiala épais.

Oh, I see, you mean Wal-Mart?”

Oh, je vois, vous voulez dire le Wal-marché ? "

“Jyaaa… that’s what I mean,” Sally put emphasis on the affirmative.

“Jyaaa … c'est que je veux dire,” Sally met l'accentuation sur l'affirmation.

Sally Dhaliwal’s point wasn’t lost on Jamarkattel Bhauju. She wasn’t from a cheap family in Dhading. Her father was a politician, after all. So, every time the topic of shopping came up in any Nepali gathering, she’d say, “we don’t shop in Wal-Mart, we go to Robson Street for all our shopping.”

Le point de Sally Dhaliwal n'a pas été perdu sur Jamarkattel Bhauju. Elle n'était pas d'une famille bon marché dans Dhading. Son père était un politicien, enfin. Ainsi la chaque fois le thème de courses s'est levé dans n'importe quelle réunion népalaise, elle dirait, “nous ne faisons pas des achats dans le Wal-marché, nous allons à la Rue Robson pour toutes nos courses.”

One day recently, Jamarkattel Bhauju had gone to downtown Vancouver. She entered the trendy, high-end Holt Renfrew fashion store on Alberni Street. She browsed around in the store under the stern, watchful eyes of a sales lady. It was just like in that scene in the movie Pretty Woman, in which the inappropriately dressed Julia Roberts enters a high-end store and a disapproving sales lady asks her to leave.

Un jour récemment, Jamarkattel Bhauju était parti au centre Vancouver. Elle est entrée dans Holt dans le vent, très haut de gamme Renfrew la mode le magasin dans la Rue Alberni. Elle a regardé sans acheter autour de dans le magasin sous les yeux sévères, attentifs d'une dame des ventes. Il était comme dans cette scène dans le film la Jolie Femme, dans qui Julia Roberts inopportunément habillée entre dans un magasin très haut de gamme et une dame des ventes désapprobatrice lui demande de partir.

She checked the price of a sweater and she gasped when she saw the price, $199.99. She checked out the price of a fancy lady’s leather handbag and her lips trembled when she saw the price, $149.99. She spotted a Pashmina shawl and her throat went dry when her eyes scanned the price, $249.99. She saw a black winter coat that she had always wanted for herself. Sweat broke out of her forehead when she saw the price, $399.99. She tugged on her three children and quickly got out of the store. Since then, she only shopped at Wal-Mart with cash she tucked away inside her bra in neat rolls.

Elle a vérifié le prix d'un chandail et elle a haleté quand elle a vu le prix, $199.99 . Elle a vérifié le prix du sac à main de cuir d'une dame sophistiquée et ses lèvres ont tremblé quand elle a vu le prix, $149.99 . Elle a aperçu un châle Pashmina et sa gorge a appliqué le régime sec quand ses yeux ont lu le prix rapidement, $249.99 . Elle a vu un manteau noir d'hiver qu'elle voulait toujours pour elle. La sueur s'est cassée de son front quand elle a vu le prix, $399.99 . Elle a tiré sur ses trois enfants et est vite sortie du magasin. Depuis, elle a seulement fait des achats au Wal-marché avec l'argent qu'elle a mis en sécurité à l'intérieur de son bustier dans les rouleaux nets.

You must all be wondering how I know about all this. Well, you see, I rent the one-bedroom suite on the other side of the suite rented by the Jamarkattels. Ghanshyam Dai often comes to my suite to share “dukha sukha ka kura haru.”

Vous devez tous vous demander comment je suis au courant de tout cela. Bien, vous voyez, je loue la suite d'un chambre à coucher de l'autre côté de la suite louée par le Jamarkattels. Ghanshyam Dai vient souvent à ma suite pour partager “dukha sukha ka kura haru.”

During one such “dukha sukha ka kura haru” session, Kris Jamarkattel, our Ghanshyam Dai, confided in me how they settled on the name of their little son Leonardo. Six years ago, when they were visiting Kathmandu from Dhading, Jaya Nepal Chitraghar cinema was re-running the movie Titanic. Jamarkattel Bhauju had heard good reviews of the movie from her friends. So, one evening off she went with her husband to see the movie. She thoroughly enjoyed the movie, even though Ghanshyam Dai slept through it.

Pendant un tel "dukha sukha ka kura haru" la séance, Kris Jamarkattel, notre Ghanshyam Dai, s'est confié à moi comment ils ont légué au nom de leur petit fils Leonardo. Il y a six ans, quand ils visitaient Kathmandu de Dhading, Jaya le cinéma de Chitraghar Népalais redirigeait le film Titanesque. Jamarkattel Bhauju avait entendu de bonnes révisions du film de ses amis. Ainsi un soir d'elle est allée avec son mari voir le film. Elle a tout à fait apprécié le film, bien que Ghanshyam Dai ait dormi par cela.

When the movie ended, Jamuna Devi Jamarkattel was feeling mellow and rather amorous. She couldn’t wait to get to the place where they were staying for the night. She couldn’t shake off from her mind the scene from the movie in which Leonardo DiCaprio makes steamy love to Kate Winslet in a buggy in one isolated room on the ship, Titanic. When the Jamarkattels reached home, Jamuna was hungry, if you know what I mean, and pulled her husband into the bedroom rather quickly.

Quand le film a fini, Jamuna Devi Jamarkattel se sentait moelleux et assez amoureux. Elle ne pouvait pas attendre pour arriver à l'endroit où ils restaient pour la nuit. Elle ne pouvait pas se débarrasser de son esprit de la scène du film dans lequel Leonardo DiCaprio rend l'amour humide à Kate Winslet dans un landau dans une pièce isolée sur le navire, Titanesque. Quand le Jamarkattels est arrivé à la maison, Jamuna a eu faim, si vous savez que je veux dire et tiré son mari dans la chambre à coucher plutôt vite.

Two weeks later, when Jamuna Jamarkattel found out she was pregnant, she cooed into her husband’s ear, “Hajur, sunsyo na, if it is a girl, we’ll call her Kate and if it’s a boy we'll name him Leonardo.” That was one of the rare occasions when Jamuna Jamarkattel called Ghanshyam Krishna Jamarkattel “Hajur” even when others were not around. Ghanshyam had other names in mind, but decided not to argue.

Il y a deux semaines plus tard, quand Jamarkattel Jamuna a appris qu'elle était enceinte, elle a roucoulé dans l'oreille de son mari, “Hajur, sunsyo na, si c'est une fille, nous appellerons sa Kate et si c'est un garçon nous l'appellerons Leonardo.” C'était une des occasions rares quand Jamuna Jamarkattel a appelé Ghanshyam Krishna Jamarkattel “Hajur” même lorsque d'autres n'étaient pas autour de. Ghanshyam a eu d'autres noms dans l'idée, mais a décidé de ne pas se disputer.

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Disclaimer: This story is a product of imagination. It is completely fictional. Any resemblance of any character and name in the story with anyone is purely coincidental.

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Désaveu : Cette histoire est un produit d'imagination. C'est complètement fictif. N'importe quelle ressemblance de n'importe quel caractère et de nom dans l'histoire avec quelqu'un est purement de coïncidence.

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