LW

Nowadays, with schoolwork and other commitments, I rarely have the time to pen a poem or even a short story. Also I’ve found something disconcerting: my writing style has become more “formal” and emotionally detached due to all the essay-writing lessons drilled into me by my GP teacher. In the past ten months, I have written about nothing but serious topics like nuclear warheads and the morality of truth. Forgive me if my literary ventures are less frequent at the moment..

Random, Rusty, Rudderless Rants

If you’re expecting to read anything except what the title implies, think again. I warned you!

It’s heartening to know that even though I haven’t written anything for, what, six months, my blog still gets around 3 to 5 visitors per day(thanks WordPress!). And although my writing has become very rusty, somebody is reading this right now(yes I mean you).

Okay, good news first. I finally found a decent A-level college(Rato Bangala School) but as I’m very big on the anonymity issue I won’t elaborate(sorry!). I’m punching my fist in the air and shouting like Tarzan “Yeaahhhhh”, so you get the level of my excitement!

Now for the bad news. Months of abstinence from writing has taken its toll. Just look at the number of brackets and exclamation marks I’ve used in the last two paragraphs(winces..no not again!). Or perhaps it’s just the teenager in me getting overzealous. Well, whatever…

The Real Iron Gate

SLC is widely touted as the ‘judgement time’ for students, the culmination of ten years of school study examined in one deciding year that can make or break a person’s academic career. It’s a much watered-down version of the fabled ‘Iron Gate’ today- declining standards have taken their toll as educationists seek to make it much easier for barely literate hooligans to pass the test.

Not that I’m complaining; distinction marks are as welcome to me as the next person. If it brings a smile on your parent’s face and a beaming nod from the admission officer, why not? But the point I’m making is that SLC is no longer the ‘Iron Gate’, that the grinding work starts a bit later, when you’re looking for colleges.

More specifically, A-level colleges.

It starts on the day after your last exam. You’re just awake from a well-earned slumber, at eight in the morning, contemplating the happy days ahead and planning your holidays, when your phone rings disconcertingly. It’s your friend, asking you whether you joined any Bridge Course institutes and informing you that the class-topper has already enrolled himself at Intel or Cambridge or whichever institute. You sit bolt upright. Holidays have just begun, you exclaim incredulously. But so have the Bridge Courses that everyone who’s studying A-levels must take, because there’s so much you won’t understand otherwise. And you stand no chance in the entrance exams because questions are asked from the so-called ‘O-levels’ which are the British substitute for SLC. Surprise, surprise.

An unhappy three days later, you’re in. But the ordeal has barely started. You learn that forms for Rato Bangala, Chelsea and other A-level institutes are already being distributed. More worryingly, distribution will continue for only two more days.

After hastily obtaining the forms, you sit down to fill them. You groan at the long list of philosophical and self-assessing questions(“How do you respond to authority?” and “Where do you see yourself ten years later, socially and professionally?”).  You shake your head in disbelief at the recommendation letters, to be filled by your School Principal and Class teacher. Just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, it does.

Gotcha! cry the Maobadis. Schools closed indefinitely. No way to obtain the transfer certificate, character certificate and much more inportantly, the two conspiciously empty recommendation forms. All while the form submission deadline looms closer.

But suddenly, the bandh is lifted. A ray of sunshine! Or is it? Schools are open, yes, but for one day. You aren’t prepared to go today. You need to phone your friends, make a plan and get to school. Next day perhaps? Tomorrow is May 1, the dreaded day for all Kathmanduites and the days ahead are uncertain. Will the A-level hopefuls make it in time? Will the college choice get any easier? What will be the final verdict of the top, much sought-after colleges? Stay tuned for the next episode in the emotion-ridden ‘Real Iron Gate’ drama…

Study Blues

Study. Study. Study.

The chant runs through my head like some sort of primeval evocation. Study – I command myself and again try to focus on the piece of paper in front of me. The words are starting to run together. It’s 12 AM, midnight, hour of the witches; my eyes are burning and I’m very sleepy. I close my eyes for a few moments, and take a deep breath. Focus, focus, and study – some voice cries relentlessly in my mind. You’ve got a major exam tomorrow.I open my eyes determinedly and will them to focus. They do – on the blinking digital clock on my desk.

It’s 6 AM and I’ve slept through the night.

Damn I was aiming for 100 words. Not the best short piece I’ve written.I’ve got SLC coming up in less than a month, so you get the drift.

Gadhimai, Animals and Thanksgiving

The Gadhimai festival was strongly criticized by various animal rights organisations, animal rights activists and several politicians and leaders. Many of the general public were also against it and I was one of them.

I see the Gadhimai festival as a barbaric event, not because one hundred thousand animals were sacrificed there. Everyday perhaps the same number of animals are killed in Nepal alone, for our entertainment and celebration. I see the event as hateful because of the violence and utter disregard for the pains that the poor animals have to face when being butchered by three hundred men carrying blunt machetes and swords in a bloodied melee. We can’t stop killing animals for human consumption even as we know it is wrong. But to kill animals for the sake of killing, to butcher thousands in the name of an unseen god, that shows that we humans are regressing to the stone age. We are been dehumanized and robbed of civilization. Of course, many will argue that we aren’t civilized anyway as we still cut animals for consumption when we can survive perfectly well on a veggie diet, but at least we don’t kill those animals in vain. Commercial killing and mindless killing are different things; one at least tries to don the veil of civilization while the other happily rejoices in the barbaric symbolism of itself.

Thanksgiving is another festival that the Western world celebrated recently with much rejoice. How many turkeys might have been killed there in the name of festivals? But at least those animals are not putrefying openly on the streets for children to see, at least the rivers of blood don’t flow freely everywhere and the carcasses aren’t thrown carelessly for the world to behold. It is the difference between mercy killing and merciless killing, between killing to satisfy a vice and creating a vice by doing the killing.

The world would be a better place if both the vices could be abolished but for now we must work to vanquish the greater evil, to uphold the greater good. The greater evil is animal sacrifices and merciless killing such as Gadhimai and the lesser evil is our craving for animal flesh. Perhaps one day…

Miho, the underdog

A dozen or so Japanese monks, in strict discipline, sitting around a long wooden table. An old wizened monk sits at the head of the table and orders one of his underlings to bring the food. One of them brings a big bowl of Miho noodles and all hell breaks loose.

I don’t know if the advertisement was a prophecy or something, but people seem to have responded similarly to the introduction of Miho to the markets. The aggressive marketing campaign has overthrown all competition in one go and everywhere you look, you see Miho vans, Miho posters and children haggling with their parents for a Miho or holding one victoriously in their hands.

First let us discuss the peculiarities of the advertisement itself. It’s probably the longest advertisement to be shown on Nepali channels and it is lucrative, especially to children and also teenagers (being a high school student I know). Also they’ve been pushing it rather a lot with all the stalls(I saw one in WTC yesterday) and the Miho van/s (I’ve heard about it but can’t confirm it). Then there is the underlying impression that this is ‘videshi’ stuff, thanks to the TV advertisement which shows Miho ‘migrating’ from Japan to Nepal. All this seems to have helped greatly in Miho’s publicity.

So is Miho worth it? I tried it yesterday, mostly due to pressure from friends who were claiming that it’s ‘different’ and ‘new’. Don’t hold your breath, I didn’t think it was either different or new. I’m no food expert but I’ve eaten my share of chow chow and Miho tasted similar to me. The masala’s different if you count it but every brand of noodles has a slightly different masala.

If you ask me it just boils down to good advertising and publicity. Miho is similar but has taken a more aggressive stance in advertising which seems to have paid off. Sure the company director says that it is the only noodles in Nepal to contain “Niacin, a very important nutrient” but general people don’t care if it contains Niacin or not. Neither do I.

Ugly?

“God, you’re ugly, aren’t you?” said Rakesh as he examined himself in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to give it the ‘spiky’ look that was popular among the kids nowadays. No good, he thought critically, I just look like a stuffed porcupine.

Rakesh was a young man of 18, getting ready for the first day of his first real job. He had ironed his shirt, washed his pants and put on some masculine cologne. But the real challenge was his face, that looked more like it deserved to be on the streets than in a boardroom meeting.

He had a pockmarked, rather rough complexion. A scar ran down his right cheek that brought unpleasant memories of a bullied childhood. His skin was brownish, he felt his nose was rather larger than normal, and his face had a thin and malnourished look.

If I didn’t wear these new clothes, the guard wouldn’t let me in, he thought rather unhappily. He tried to look aristocratic and important the way rich people did. He set his jaw and crossed his arms on his chest, then looked down at the mirror with a expressionless, disinterested look on his face.

Not enough, he thought despairingly. He thought of his father and grandfather, both cobblers, who had saved Rs. 1 or Rs. 2 at a time for his education. What am I doing in this borrowed suit and sweet-smelling perfume, he thought unhappily. I don’t deserve in this world, I deserve to be with my father and grandfather, mending shoes for people and -

No, he told himself strictly. I’m different, I have better education and potential for higher things. Above all, he thought forcefully, I have hunger, I have ambitions and determination. My face may not be the most handsome or charming, but my soul is that of a winner. I’m going to own the world and nothing can stop me.

When Rakesh walked out of his house, he had an air of authority about him and the people on the streets turned around to look at the promising young man with a leather briefcase in his hand and a coat slung over his shoulder.

Not Abandoned

It has been weeks since I wrote on my blog. Even months maybe. Why? I was just too busy with school, homework and exams. Or even when I had time, I was just too bored to lift the writing pen.

I was reading an article about the blogging scene in Nepal when a thought struck me. There must be thousands of bloggers out there who have tried their hand at blogging for a few weeks. As their beginning enthusiasm vanishes, so does their regard for their blogs. Every blogger has questioned oneself during some time, why should I keep blogging when no one reads it? Some(like me) get lazy after a few posts and neglect their blogs. Slowly, such blogs vanish into the vortex of ‘abandoned’ blogs, blogs that started with excitement and then slowly fizzled out.

These are the losers, who lost hope too early. You can’t expect a steady readership when all you’re written is five posts for five days continuously, and then neglected your blog. You can’t expect results without putting in the necessary effort. So now onwards I’m going to write, to the best of my abilities. It’s time to review my time management abilities and juggle between SLC practice, general schoolwork and internet blogging. Yes sir, I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. From now on, no procrastination, no ‘I’m-too-tired- today’.

I officially declare this blog unabandoned.

Half Blood Prince: A Disappointment

Being an avid fan of the Harry Potter books, I had high expectations from the sixth film, ‘Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince’ especially since it was supposed to be a great cinematic experience, and was also hailed as the ‘funniest Harry Potter movie ever’. Yes, my expectations were high, perhaps a bit too high.
The film kicks off with a scene of young Harry securing a date with a ravishing beauty on the train, a scene that was definitely not in the books. This bold start gives a clear message about the film: be prepared for teenage hormones running wild. The film is so focused on this theme of love and romance that the central plot gets lost among all the kissing and bickering. Vital subplots and scenes are brutally replaced by nonexistent masala scenes, like the attack on The Burrow. The Dursleys don’t feature in the film, Tonks and Remus are onscreen very rarely and the film deviates from the book so much that it would drive any loyal HP fan crazy. The climax of the film, the battle of Hogwarts has been toned down, and Dumbledore’s death scene is amateurish and is not as compelling or climatic as it should have been. In fact, it was the death scene which infuriated me, I was expecting far better from the film’s climax.
There is no hint that Harry and Ginny’s amorous coupling is anything more than a teenage infatuation and the viewers are left unaware as to why they are suddenly onto each other like hell has broken loose. Okay, it gains some points for humor, but even that seemed forced and unnatural.
I think the director David Yates’ jubilant comment that it’s all about ‘sex, potions and rock and roll’ sums the film up pretty well. As to storyline and depth of plot, let’s keep our fingers crossed that the seventh film performs better.

Good Times

I sit on this wooden chair,
Glorying in the relieving gale,
That emanates from this electric fan,
In this summer heat of sweat and tan

The curtains are drawn, the room is quiet,
I’m in my own creative flight,
Heroes die, Villains rise,
All happens in this speculative mind

Closed eyes and a peaceful heart,
Relax all you can, tomorrow will be hard,
Thank those gods you never knew,
For making this moment so beautiful