The title of the novel is borrowed from the name of a newspaper that our protagonist, also the narrator, is an editor of.[break] The novel belongs to her, the spirited and articulate Parag, but it is equally possessed by her childhood pal and present colleague Lisara. They are characters strong enough to admit their weaknesses. Simply put, the efforts of these two girls to run a newspaper the ethical way in an imaginary town called Mayur Nagar, the hurdles they face due to pathetic social conditions, and their reaction to such obstacles form the crux of the novel. The issue may not be particularly innovative but the author has tried hard to inject freshness to it.
The concept of a tiny town on the highway that is neither hilly nor plains but located in the middle is interesting in itself. One group tries to pull it towards the hills and another to the plains, but we can finally heave a sigh of relief when it is decided that Mayur Nagar will remain what it is – a midway between hills and plains. It seems a utopian idea, if a much welcome one. The writer has attempted to bring to life this town by weaving in minor details of peacock busts and mustard fields and nondescript details, but the town simply refuses to let itself be envisioned through such sketchy information.
When the novel begins with short and directly addressed statements from the protagonist about the life threats she is receiving, it is strangely disappointing in its flatness. This flatness extends for the first three pages, and then suddenly the novel picks up its pace along with the sharp, lively repartees between the two brave friends. That is when readers will realize that the author’s talent lies not in the staccato descriptions that can resemble a news story at times, but rather in sparring verbal interaction between the characters. In fact, the author is at his spirited best as soon as people begin talking; but when it comes to describing something, he loses steam midway. Or else, it turns into background information about the matter, perhaps a hangover of his journalistic days which required him to cram in as many facts as possible.This pattern is repeated in the novel. Wherever dialogue appears, there is a sparkle and skillfulness in the writing. Otherwise, at times, the descriptions take on a preachy, righteous tone which is dangerous for a work that covers the contemporary political and social scenario. And is it really necessary to include mini-essays on governance, or the kidnapping racket, or hills-plains diversity in between? That too, it all boils down to a single predictable sentence that our Parag is so fond of repeating, “This is what happens when the state is weak.” The good part of the rest of Wagle’s writing is that it is crisp, succinct and to the point. A frugal writer, he wastes neither his time nor the readers’. It is an easy work to go through and understand. Such simplicity is always endearing. The editing is as precise as the writing, with superfluous material stripped off. But with crispness, there is always the possibility of burning or turning brittle, which the writer has not been able to avoid at times.
Weaknesses aside, there is much in this novel to be praised. First and foremost to the mind come the two protagonists, who have been brought to life commendably by the author. Parag Yadav is an unimaginably courageous banker-turned-accidental-editor who laughs along with her kidnappers; and when they query her bemusedly about the cause of her laughter, retorts, “Will you release me if I cry?” She reminds us of and makes us respect the bravery of those innumerable journalists who were and are still being threatened, kidnapped, tortured – and still have guts enough to retaliate. In particular, she is the spitting image of the valiant journalist Uma Singh from Janakpur, who was forced die but held on awe-inspiringly to her ethics till the end. This is a fitting tribute to our national hero.
Parag is an enviable amalgamation of the practical and the idealist, brought up by admirable parents who “put wings on her.” Dissatisfied both with her highly paying banking job and a languishing romantic relationship (“Why should I be a prisoner of his feudalistic love?” she argues), she accepts her friend’s suggestion of editing the straightforward Mayur Times. And this friend, Lisara Pun, is herself a sensitive girl who never hesitates to stand up for what is right. The friendship between the two girls, one from the hills and another from the plains, is continued from where they left off years ago. Never before has our nation needed such friendships so desperately. This may resemble the highly sentimental, never-ending, selfless friendships from the movies at times, but on the larger scale, it is appreciable, believable and heartwarming.
And this friendship lasts to the end, though a lot of things happen in between. The girls unearth enough conspiracies and terrorists to land themselves in serious trouble. Sometimes there is chilling talk of pistols, at other times there are such dramatic death threats that the girls resemble movie actors. Yet they valiantly soldier on, trying to make a tiny difference through their reporting. Their lives, interspersed with memories and observations, include various sundry aspects of the Nepali life – a father dying in Qatar’s perilous climate, teachers being forced to migrate for communal reasons, the municipality killing stray dogs, readers’ faith in horoscopes, and rhododendrons’ untimely bloom. Again, here is the reflection of Wagle’s overflowing reporting skills, his ravenous desire to portray the oddities of society at the first chance he gets. It is surprising how unwilling he is to experiment with newer forms, considering that his open-ended climax is a good experiment in itself.
In his bid to put in everything about everything, the writer at times seems to skim over the surface of everything. This not only hinders the smooth flow but also perplexes and tires the readers. At one point, the narrator is talking about worried parents who have traveled a whole day to call their son, then suddenly she skips to a Maoist who equally abruptly, and without any invitation begin pouring out her ideologies. At such times, the work is reduced to a collage and patchwork, which is not a good thing in a novel. Also, that a seasoned writer and journalist like Wagle should stereotype good characters as “clean, honest, witty” and antagonists as “paan-chewing, dirty, foolish” is surprising and unsatisfactory. The inhabitants of Mayur Nagar are cleanly and surgically divided into these two portions.
On the other hand, as mentioned above, there are plenty of satisfactory factors found in the novel. But none of them is as pretty as the portion taking us back to Parag’s childhood – the patterns of her teacher’s sari, the butterflies she draws, the way her father calls her beta. The inclusion of Maithili words is very natural. One time, when headstrong Parag is about to leave for the hills, Ma admonishes her, “Jat tat nai daud, ae bhunbhun bauwa.” From these words, out seep a mother’s warmth and an essential Nepaliness.
This Nepaliness is also evident in the way the writer sets out to identify and possibly resolve various issues of Nepal, ranging from the hills-plains friction to communal disharmony, social insecurity, journalistic perils, corruption, terrorism and the like. No one is taking away from the excellent intentions of the writer, but the fact is that a novel does not have to be written only about the media, its impact or tribulations, that too, in journalistic language. It does not need to double up as a lecture on conflict management or a report on the nations’ political and social security structure, either. There are innumerable issues just waiting to be explored by him.
The writer has scope and talent, and he has also steered it well, save for a few hiccups. That is why his work appeases the mind, in part appeals to the heart, but does not quite quench the soul.
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