Nation of sadists & monks

We Nepalis, I often feel, are living our lives as monks in a remote monastery, except that we are not in deep meditation but in a state of slumber. Our existence is not withdrawn but detached. We sit in our homes soaking in everything, waiting and waiting. The incidents that occur daily in our country are as sad as the sights that caused much anguish in Buddha’s heart. But we, of course, cannot explain these realities as being part of an inevitable and an unchangeable cycle.

It is, sadly, a situation that has been created by a small minority. I consider them sadists, for they are parasites that thrive by putting the majority through continuous travails. This minority, it seems, benefits and even enjoys inflicting pain on people. The majority, ones that suffer from the whimsical actions of these exploiters, are the ones that live and act as monks, meek beings who appear to be on a long retreat of some kind. They chant curses and murmur complaints against the sadists. Lack of action has become the cornerstone of the belief that the majority – you and I – follow. Our eyes are not closed to concentrate or to find solutions to the problems around us. We are in a state of trance that keeps us oblivious to those problems. We are waiting.

Waiting, to me, appears to be the most prominent characteristic of Nepali history. Nepal as a nation deals in decades. (Earlier it used to be centuries, but numerous factors have reduced it to decades. Maybe Facebook will further trim it to a couple of years.) Every ten years or so Nepalis rise, as though they had been waiting for the right time to fulfill some ancient prophecy, against sources of injustice. Then, just as suddenly, they settle down to the infamous languid pace, just like spectators who slump into their seats after standing to execute a Mexican wave. The wave done, they seem to be saying to those on the field: Go on, play, it’s up to you to perform now. Everyone forgets that it’s up to them, too, to perform.

One of the most deplorable trends in our country is the practice of declaring bandas. We allow it to creep into our calendar like it’s something as benign as the appearance of new leaves on a tree. The people who forcibly enforce a banda are threats to democracy. But what is more worrying is the thought that maybe we, the people, are starting to get used to bandas, beginning to see it as just another sudden holiday on the calendar that already has too many. If we continue to take a banda as another day off we’ll soon begin to enjoy it.

But a banda is anything but a holiday. For a tourist visiting Nepal – someone who has planned and saved for a long time to visit, a banda signifies imprisonment. A banda leaves the farmer who needs to take his produce to the market poorer. Because of a banda a woman has to walk for miles because there’s no bus available. She’ll also have to spend money she can’t afford on lodging because she can’t walk to her destination in a day. To all those who dream of a democratic Nepal, a banda is a frustrating reminder that democracy, like so many of the people it will benefit, is stuck somewhere along the road. A banda yields nothing. It only takes away the precious little we have.

I cannot understand our national habit of ignoring the writings on the wall. We wait until the wall begins to sag, and then rush to hold it up, while others on the opposite side push to bring it down.

The (re)emergence of bandas, sadden me even more since this year we are celebrating Nepal Tourism Year. Declaring bandas at a time when we are promoting Nepal’s cultural richness and natural beauty is hypocrisy. We come across to the world as liars. It’s like inviting guests to your home and then in the middle of their visit telling them that they can’t leave the house because someone in the family wants his/her demands fulfilled. Tourists will not be able to experience Nepal having to put up with its mess. And they are paying as well.

In recent times, book fairs have witnessed great success in the country’s capital. It should be no surprise. Publishers should know that Nepal is a nation obsessed with words. ‘Democracy’, ‘republic’, ‘constitution’, ‘morality’, and the biggest of them all, ‘New Nepal’—these are words that are used so often that one starts to believe if they’re not magical words. They are used as code words, mere utterance of which will start a process that will yield all that the country needs. We seem to forget that democracy is an old contraption, one that requires much labor. It runs manually and all of us have to put in some effort to make it work.

Although the recent clamoring for the constitution to be drafted on time is a sign depicting people’s political awareness, it is also a sign showing our faulty sense of time. We all knew the constitution wasn’t coming. We all know every “big” politician wants the post of the prime minister more than the constitution. Then why does all the uproar begin in May? I cannot understand this national habit of ignoring the writings on the wall. We wait until the wall begins to sag, and then rush to hold it up, while others on the opposite side push to bring it down.

Those who call for a banda (and set people on fire to enforce it) deserve the appellation of sadists. But those who meekly surrender to their will, who sit and wait for things to happen can’t expect noble places in the future either. I am beginning to believe we’re once again slipping into that notorious slumber of ours, living with our eyes shut, practicing the doctrine of do-nothingism. The longer we continue to live this way the more the chances are that the images we see upon opening our eyes will not bring out a beatific smile. They’ll instead produce a look of horror.

papercloudtree@hotmail.com