Journey in the dark

“of] afp 5f]/fnfO{ slt ;’Tg’ k/]sf] 3/df Uof; 5}g, dl6\6t]n klg ;lsg nflu;Sof], cj alQ uof] eg] dgfp /fd|/L dgf–;+qmfGtL p7]/ Nof/xfNg’;t hn af6 x’G5 vf]h]/ .”

I know it was my mum’s voice calling me but I was struggling with the thoughts of waking or lying in the bed. All of a sudden I heard a big bang in the door, “cf]O p7\g’ kb}{g hf t Uof; vf]h]/ Nof”. I was shocked, not because she told me in that way but knowing the fact that there was no gas at home and all three cylinders were empty. I console her by giving hopes about the backup energy just to get rid of her voice.

Wow! I saw the tea being made in stove at home after a long time but I know that that will not last for an hour as we have only liter kerosene left and I won’t blame my brother for not settling this as he was rejected from his friend. Meanwhile my whole mind was occupied thinking about my photo essay assignment and research for an article which I had to submit in nearest time. I was already rejected by “artha team” for the article I previously sent due to lack of research and I confessed too that it was not up to the mark. As I was heading back to home with empty handed gallon of kerosene, sudden insight came to my mind: I will feature the life style and life affected by load shedding for my photo essay and article.

So, I gave my dad a thousand rupee to help buying the gas. As I could see the twilight in the horizon, I geared up myself with the camera and the notebook. It was an unusual experience, a journey of warm and cold, light and dark, not because of anything else but because of hanging in the bus struggling to get inside where I was constipated with arms and muscle and equally feeling kolaveri wind of winter. I had to pay the full bucks with an obvious answer of “l8h]n 5}g bfO{ s]ug]{, nfO{g a:g’ k5{ .”

Capturing the photo and doing research was not as expected for there is no panic in the face of those people, no mourns and no regrets, because helplessness and hopelessness have been so deeply rooted  that there is no point in regretting or mourning. They don’t even know who is accountable for this. They happily answered my each question. Somewhere I get commented as I am mocking them asking the questions about the effect of load-shedding.

“b’O{6f d]l;g Nofof] b’O{6f lkm|h 5, s] 3/df ;hfP/ /fVg] < alQ ePg eg] lrof x’b}g s] ug]{ < c? k;n h:tf] xf] / < s] ug]{ eGg’;t <A shopkeeper screamed at me. lbgdf @)) sk lrof hfG5 . clxn] o:tf] 5 !)–!) 306f x’G5 s] ug]{ cj, O{Ge{6/n] Eofpb}g,” He makes good money, almost an average of 90,000 from his machine in the happening area of Patan Durbar Square, where I personally saw lot of people asking for tea in that chill“To:t} xf] bfh’ To:t} . It was hard to catch his name so I didn’t even ask second time because of that expression of his face. So I simply wrote his name as “O{n]S6«f]lgs lrof k;n]”

 Furthermore I got good glimpse of clothing store in Mangal Bazaar with a person sitting inside a candle light. I felt freeze seeing that pitiful glimpse of an old and pathetic looking man in that happening city. About 50 years old, Ujjwal Krishna Shrestha is a local resident, victimized by some political groups as a result of which he was kicked out of his job, “lbgdf t k;ndf al6\6 rflxG5 Aofl6«n] w/} a]/ lbb}g al6\6 uPkl5 t s]lx klg cfpb}g . of] hf8f]df 6 k};} x’b}g Jofkf/ g} hfG5 .”

He took most of my time. I was surprised to see how Mangal Bazaar was transformed into a silent zone as early as 6:30 in the evening. I could only see some youths and street vendors packing up their shops, and their lives. I also realized that all jewellery shops were closed by 6:30 because of the load-shedding. But I still had to interview two other people for my research. So I hurried but the bazaar was closing so fast and was turning so dark that I had to struggle hard even to get light some light for the night view snap. Even the ATM machine was affected by the load-shedding and I was there in the middle of a lonely and dark alley with an empty stomach and no one to talk to. After much searching, I finally saw a faint light from far away which appeared like a small patch of hope to me in the midst of the darkness. As I approached towards it, I realized that it was the light from a candle burned by a “pani puri wala” shivering in the cold. I was much delighted and rushed towards my new found and only companion in the dark. Suresh Shah, originally from Chandranigahpur had come some 8 years ago and had been doing the same business since then. “a:g} k5{ bfO{ olt rf8f] sf]7f uP/ s] ug]{ cWFof/f] t sf]7fdf klg x’G5 . s’g} u|fxs cfO{xfN5sL eg]/ a;]sf] < hf8f]df t Jofkf/ x’b}g bfO{ a]n’sf dflg; lx8\g] a]nf cln x’G5 To;dfklg alQ uof] eg] t x’g} 5f8\5 . ”

 At 6:45 I landed to Gwarko and the same story of warm and cold, light and dark continued. That time also I paid full amount in fare but I still remember vividly people bargaining with a taxi that Rs.500 is much heavy to pay to go to hospital in Koteshwor whatsoever the reality is. I was walking in the street; dark, time was only 7:15. I expected no shop to open. “The Broken Window Fallacy”, just stuck into my mind. I am paying double the amount for the product, goods, and services. I am wasting my money which I had planned for some other reason. Conductor says we have to be in line so we charged you, in canteen there is no gas so we charged extra, we use generator so we charged more for printing. Business is making their way for equalizing but what about those who have to work day and night and wait at the end of the month. How are we going to subsidize it? Sacrificing our dreams, chances, opportunities and entertainment and the life we want to live- just for survival. Later, next day, the retailer asked Rs 1500 for a cylinder, my thoughts were full with the rights, duty, black market, and right or wrong, free market, global economy but my reality is just to confess that am a common person and have to rush to get that cylinder as quick as I can. And now, I have no regrets because it became only the matter of paying a time earlier, a day later it was officially announced by my dear government.

The Enchantment of the aged performers

Anish Raj Shrestha

With the tiresome duty of a full day, the sun plans to return home, with its leaving footprint suddenly the gleam of a dark light begins to break in an atmosphere. In the shade people return home to settle them inside but stars begin to twinkle in that gleaming dark sky leaving its home. The stars come out as a junkiri or humming bird, may be the symphony of that twinkling stars may have lost in the atmosphere but the enchantment from the chanting of the aged performers begin to ring in the air.

With the passing time of the lifeline, people become more conscious towards the time. No desire to gain, No fight to be fought, no hurdles to cross, simply waiting for the sun to. Anticipation of the losing time makes people concerned about the holiness. The devotion towards the god because now the gluttony of the living world has ended to them, just a mournful of pray left. This is the situation of the old people of Bhaktapur. Grooming in the sunset with the partners in devotion of the god has become the duty of this aged people. Despite the sound they make in that busy street, their hums extinguish in the collision of the bulky traffics. Despite they perform with their band  but they are invisible and indifferent, but what left ?--true devotion to the god in his holy place.

A passionate pray lead by the leader and followed by his playbacks with the traditional instruments of thuh: (Small symbols), jhyalcha:(more or less like madal) inherit by their ancestors and echoing the whole panorama worshipping in the name of god shows the peculiarity of these historians and a living ancestors to be worshipped. Rich in culture and art, these people still carry the tradition of their ancient attires, ancient instruments, artistic inn, artistic cultural equipments-(sukunda-light), ancient pray written in own language shows their dignity in their culture and a follow up of their ancestors to preserve their identity.   

A group of aged people with the loose heart to free themselves from any kind of bondage, from any veil of maya. Enchantment comes from the chanting of these people with sole contribution adjoining their heart and brain together in the name of the god. They set their stage together, jam together, they have their written lyrics and chorus. All is set for the performance, they draw themselves in the deep meditation in their chanting, but who cares? Lots of people walk down by the street but no hands to clap and no cheers to rock, only the lonely hearts to inherit their songs to the god.

A question always haunted me then, why they kept on singing everyday even if they are alone? If there is nobody else to hear them. What are they up-to, if they are there for the nothingness then where the enchantment comes from? Then my eyes stopped with the temples circling the square.  I tried to ignore the fact coming from my heart-- no no how they can? These are the mere projection of the ancestors that they can hear--- no no the man in the shaped stone can't hear. I look around that square again and again filled with the temples from over the centuries. I was in great utterance to find out what exactly it is?

Still the chanting goes on, I approach to them, stare to their devotion and passion towards the god, everybody is equal, no higher, no lower level, one just lead the song and other follows. Suddenly one tourist come and sit in-front of them, hear them playing, closed her eyes. People stare her but keep on playing. When she opens her eyes, I go on her place and ask her what does she find? She tell me that she drown herself into that music. Then a flash hit on my mind that how can a person unknown from this religion can tune herself in this holy singing.

Then again I watch to the temples around that square, my heart feel heavy. Lots of questionnaire inside my heart but I am unable to answer them. To solve these mystery I go nearby them, I just listen to them, it feel amazing, the more I listen it the more it penetrate my heart, deeper and deeper, then I suddenly fall on to the silence of that sound, I am present there with my heart outside of my body, my senses vanish on that chanting, who am I? I don't know. But I only know that I am following that sound. It drives me into that infinite sky, where there is nothing but a silence, silence driven by the sound.

Then I realize there presence in that busy street which is aware of no audience. The indifference towards the audience but wholly devoted in that chanting to create enchantment. Then I know that ear with stone can also hear, but instead it creates the compassion between the prayer and prayee which is inseperable with each other. I find myself, lost and found. So I asked one of them why there are no any other younger people in this chanting, then the person tell to others …........ they laugh combinely to me, later I also have the awkward smile on my face. May be some understandings are better to be experience rather than understand.

This is an assignment of Public relations of my MAMCJ, disclaimer can use it for reference purpose only. Click the link for this PDF file. Thank you. https://docs.google.com/open?id=0B_2hk2zHOHDPaVI3OGhwWUF2UEU