Memorial Day ...

An unusual, rare, quiet traffic was the highlight of the day. Memorial day for  many may be thinking about fallen people serving the nation, but for some it is some good day to go by the pool and barbeque the night. In KERA tv, there is a gloomy music playing and letters from dead soldiers are being read, sad, melancholic, fearful but romantic. As they are hiding in their foxholes, they are thinking about their wives and children and glimpse of hope would run through their veins, and they see rainbow in a lightless sky, I don’t know how. The letters usually depicting fear and death, very rarely, has some hope that they would make it to the end and return back to their loved ones. I say to myself, there is nothing more painful than a false hope.

Since I don’t have talking company, and its memorial day, I need to look for some cheap laptops to replace my destroyed apple. As I lay here and write, the narrator is reading a  letter from 1941 from a nurse- “My ear hurts from the bombing nearby but I have to take care of these wounded men. It is awful, and it looks like there are more wounded soldiers coming in future... One night I was tucking in this young wounded soldier, he said- my mom always kissed me good night. With compassion I kissed him on his forehead, and covered his face with the blanket. And I hear MOMMY!…MOMMY!  We want it too….

And another one said- I have to kill another man and feel free. I ask- do GOD love individually taking side or act in collective good in general? If God is just a spectator and not an intervener? 

28 May 28, 2012

Irving Texas

Alison, Religions And The Intended Bridge

Alison was her name, my older cousin sister’s new best friend.  When she wanted to come to visit our house and celebrate Tihar, we were quite excited. A tall, white girl, blue eyes, blonde hair, speaks Nepali nearly fluently…she was almost as Royal Goddess to us. We were so eager, impatient to show our hospitality, love and compassion to her. We certainly believed from the core of our heart- “Atithi Devo Bhawa….”- Roughly meaning- Guest are like Gods in disguise, treat them with love…and such. We were on a countdown for Tihar.

But my religious grandaunt was very disappointed, she made it a big deal.

White? From Melkshya Country? Cow eater? Genital mutilators? Demons ?etc

They should not be allowed in this Temple, for all ‘Vaishnavas', house was a Temple. She took a stance that if we were to allow the white girl in our house; my grandaunt would leave our house for ever and go to forest. We were utterly disappointed. We knew for sure, she was human and this criterion of humanity would qualify her to enter out temple, the honest love and hospitality of human heart must be better than that of Religion. My father, mother, even my grandmother we all wanted her to come to our house. However, we could not convince our aunt so we had to yield to her.

My uncle was happy to host in his house instead.  So, she came to our house, we “made” her our sister by “Bhai Tika”. She told us about Christianity and how she hated Christmas telling us that she would have to be fake her love, visit her family, buy gifts which no one would really appreciate in the end and how better Bhait Tika was, the auspicious occasion of celebration of brother-sister love. We were so desperate to converse with her, to tell her about what Bhai Tika is really about, to keep in touch with her, to invite her to our house like a family member and so on.  We waited her to ask us questions, and in some deep corner of heart hoped that she would take our cousin to US of A.

While all the neighbors were amazed as we did this on our rooftops/balcony, and as She took out fancy telescopic digital camera (this was time in Nepal, when digital camera were RARE, almost non-existent), they sat in awe, perhaps in jealously, in greed I don’t really know… I start to talk to myself- She stays in the same house as Mustafa, an Egyptian ugly bearded Muslim, a visiting doctor in Sheer Memorial Hospital, but not married to him, talks about Christmas and hails Tihar and accept our gifts and “Becomes” our sister.  What a complex life and fake life. As I took her American Candy in sweetness, my heart grew bitter. I asked myself: who would be better? My Grandaunt or She? A hypocritical sinner, a liar, a pretentious good looking foreigner or a religious, conservative, blinded by faith inasmuch as illiterate that, she thought touching the white girl would make her candidate of hell. One side was a highly religious woman remaining celibate after her husband death at age 15, and praising and worshiping God every second and doing everything according to scriptures, ready to die but not let a white woman enter her house.  Other side was a woman who said she was Christian, stayed with Muslim, had no intention of marrying him, called herself by her  own last name, and still involved in some kind of humanitarian work in remote parts of Nepal. Although I could not really rationalize much, I respected the educated, seemingly, reasonable white, “royal girl” for her acceptance of our hospitality, and for her enthusiasm in our culture and for her desire to be a part of the family. I prefered Alison's philosophy slightly to my grandaunt's faith. A bridge was intended.

Fast-forward- Few days later, I saw her, face to face in a street, actually near my house. She was wearing Salwar Kamiz, carrying a hand carry, looking like she was walking for a noble cause. I said in great delight- “Hello Sister…” She looked down at me, hardly trying to smile, just like a deaf looks to a flute player nearby, completely lost and clueless. I still have that picture in my brain very alive; a silent aloofness, a short glance of indifferent looks from her bright, clear, blue eyes, slightly condescending short exhalation… shrinks her lips as if to remember me, but surely unable, perhaps deducing me to a ‘Poor Street Kid’ trying to beg ‘one dollar’ and in haste, without response of any kind, she hit her road. This is life.  When I told this to my grandmother- She said- "Told ya’…"

23 May 2012

Pushing The Rock Up The Hill...

When man is utterly helpless, he throws out his hand, looks in the sky and asks WHY? He weeps at night, hiding in corner, sometimes, even during the day, often in shower if he is coward to show his tears in front of others, looks for hope in churches, mosques and temples…and ask again? WHY?

Temple answers- your deeds in your last life

Church- Adam, Original Sin

Mosque- God’s will, you have no say

Jains- Go naked

Monks- Desires, expectations, shave your head, wear orange

The pettiness of human life is often underlined, explained inasmuch as vaguely, in spiritual terms, as Jesus telling parable to stone-age, stupid, uneducated,  showy,  primitive, uncultured,  Jew savages, who had high opinion of themselves as “God’s chosen” but indeed were ridiculously unaware of any geography, history, science, arts, music, religion, literature, philosophy, and other civilization than that of theirs. Jesus calls them to wash each other’s feet and people including all Jews and non-Jews, still trying to decide whether or not, it is true or relevant now, or has any meaning yet, prevents this practice. When a pastor in North Carolina wants to put queers and sinners, (in his one words) inside a 150-100 miles wall, electrified strongly, and wants to wait till they die because they can’t reproduce, and crowd claps “Amen!”, one has to think if there is any empathy left in this Noble religion. If someone goes to church to observe fellowship, he becomes Brother, if not they are potential candidate for electrified chamber?

What do you want my Brother, pray five times, don’t eat pig, says one of my coworker. Go to jungle, shave your head, renounce everything at once, go orange says other. Break the bread till he comes says another. And when there is so much weakness, dumbness, helplessness and hopelessness in us, no one is honest enough to say- “I really don’t know, I think, I wish it were true, though highly unlikely, all different claims cannot be true about God and I have no clue how to get out of this misery.”

There is no easy way out. Empathy has died. There is no mercy, no compassion inside a heart of fellow human for another. “Brother, I will pray for you” they say, “although I can’t guarantee you the answer or reward, and I have prayers of own, leave it to his will, wait till his time. If I can’t present my own case to God, what good of purpose does it serve- all my virtue, such as sacrifice, nobility, compassion, humility, and such play any role? Nothing, all human potential virtues are shadowed, undermined, rubbished, downcasted…just to yield to the good works of Prophets, sermons of the messengers, parables of the saviors, and of manifestation of God’s incarnations.  If my super-great Grandfather eats an apple, and somehow some thug shoots me and puts to paralysis all life, I have to say- OKAY God, your will not mine, though, I will pray and wish that everything is going to be OKAY in the END…. For now I just have to push a big rock up the mountain by myself, and when it rolls back, I have to wonder, pray again, doubt, but nonetheless, I have to try again to push it back up the hill, knowing not what will happen.

Brothers! We are all alike. There is no doubt. I can’t carry your burden, nor can you at least not by calling me brother. Your God must be my God. What touches you, must touch me somehow if he is not partial. If you do not think so, may be Just like Gibran said-May be when I am suffering here, there is Good God and bad God, both meet, Good one says –Hello brother! Bad God does not answer. Why says the Good God. Bad God says- “For of late I have been often mistaken for you, called by your name, and treated as if I were you, and it ill-pleases me.”

Same doeth the Human thinking me as I were you- says the Good God.

Both probably then walks away curing the stupidity if Human… and as I am writing this. Brother! I have to cook my own meal, wash my laundry, condemn the bad religious people, and humble myself in this ill-fated world. Please pray me for me, my brother, because as indicated in good book - thee shall probably get to reap the fruit of thy labor.

May 23, 2012  

The Student And Apostle Peter

Yesterday night I was reading a story by Chekov again- “The student.” I like his writing. In his stories, he often mentions his character’s full name like, if I remember Anna Sergeyevna in “Lady With The Dog.” When I read this story, in my middle school sometime, I instantly liked it. It is unusual. Even Vladimir Navokov considered it one of the best stories of all time. When I read those difficult Russian last names, I remember my father. When I introduce to him my friends, they often just tell their first names and my father almost always, immediately asks their last names. It is culturally very relative, I guess. Reading about nineteenth century Russian setting as a hobby is strange but it is worth it. I tell you what- Russian story writers are the best in the world.

“The Student” seems a cheesy story at first but when you read it twice, it becomes interesting. A Student comes back from bird hunting, tired and melancholic. He sees two women, one old and one young, both widow. They live in what people call- Widow’s house. They are sitting around a fire. The student tells them a bible story. Peter, a disciple of Jesus,  often called “Rock” who did know forehand he would deny Jesus three times, was probably also doing the same thing the night before Jesus Crucifixion.  He was scared, confused of his own skin. Sitting around in a fire with Jesus he promised not to betray but I fell short. Nevertheless, he became the one of the greatest saint of Jesus. He denied Jesus. Later on he was filled with remorse, and went out and cried bitterly.

The student tries to find connection between Peter 1900 years ago and him. The women, one who is ugly was ignoring the student but when he was so enthusiastically listening to the guy telling the story, she is silent and attentive. The older woman starts to cry…

The women probably would have heard or read that particular story so many times before, but they are touched by the story this time.  Chekov later in the story describes the moment as of unexplainable, mystic moment of joy, happiness and strange hope. Something that happened in the past has relation in the present and the future. The student gets enlightened when he is returning back to his home in that wintery night. As Chekov writes- life to him seems to be enchanting, marvelous, and full of lofty meaning.

Just in a moment around a fire, in a cold wintery night, the old widow who begins to cry, sees something in his story that is relevant to her past, present, and hopefully future. The young widow’s face looks like she is in pain but hiding it. The student, Ivan Velikoplosky, connects himself to Peter, a follower, who was scared to announce it in front of all, but within him was fire and the foundation of the church reserved for future.

When Peter told ‘Jesus stories’, many people must have been touched and believed, just like the student touched the widow’s soul. The student goes away in strange happiness, in hope of better future. A great story is nothing but what a great story utters in great excitement. It could be repetitive and familiar; nonetheless it has tremendous potential, a possible greatness in making.

The Understanding Of Homosexuality To Me, Then and Now

Back in Nepal, one day I was walking near Ratna Park. After Maoist terrorist came in power, they change the name of the park to Nepal park or something, I can’t think of now. It was in the busiest part of the city. It was a place for people to sell cigarettes, peanuts, pani-puri, chat-pate. Few fortune tellers, the psychics would always be there, though, they didn’t know their own fortune, they were sitting in rags, didn’t even have decent chair to sit on. Few Indian magicians were showing magic. So I was just there to escape my college nearby, where demonstration was going on, and police and students were throwing rocks at each other.  

The magician as was performing, a circle of people had formed. It was so crowded that people were pushing each other just to get a peek at him, as the magician was cutting a live human body, taking out his pumping heart in his hand and putting it back successfully. I saw it with my own eyes, there was no curtain to hide, no side to cover, no helper except the slain boy himself to help him. It was simply magic. Long story short… As I was trying to push myself in front of the crowd, people were distracted by a fight, a beating, I rather say, close by. Turned out that- a muscular man was beating the blood out of one poor skinny man.

“You gay,” he yelled “if you wanted something, you could have asked me something taking me to side….he puts his hand in my pocket, not to pick pocket but to touch my …”

Then few men joined to beat him more. The poor guy was bleeding, trying to convince everyone, pleading, asking for mercy—he didn’t do it, he was pushed, his hands slipped and touched the other guy’s private parts. But nobody listened; they beat him till he was not able to stand up. He stopped denying. He was just wiping blood out of his face when finally a cop showed up with a baton, remember then? Constable used to carry just a silly baton. When the constable heard the story, he said- “You stupid gay! Homo! I know you; you did not find anyone at night that you start attacking people at daylight…don’t beat him no more... he will die…you dog! Homo! Pervert…”

The policeman grabbed the guy by his shirt collar and dragged him away.

Till that time I had no clue what homosexuality was. Not many people knew in Nepal. The homosexuals were in hiding, would only come out at night, at dark and police usually chased them, sometime were killed in cold blood. When I saw that, my heart wept for him, I wanted to help the poor guy, but there were so many people jumping on him, I could not physically or in any other ways, could have defended him. There was so much hatred in people about homosexuality. The whole incident, I know for sure, happened in an act of venting anger and hate; and nothing serious had happened. I felt very helpless that day, had a very strange feeling. Why would God make such people, and if he did, why would he call pronounce them sinners? How is a homosexual responsible for being such, if he is responsible? Has he no senses? Does he not feel pain when surrounded by people and getting beat? How is he a lower lever citizen, a sinner, a pervert, an abnormal in the crowd of consensus straight people? Why does he deserve to be hated, beaten, can’t have a decent life, can’t have family? Not only that, damned to the hell? For eternity? For being born? I was helpless just like the protagonist in movie “The Girl Next Door,” I wanted to help but I was helpless myself. I remained silent and watched the act, rather curiously.

Lot of things has happened since then. Now the homosexuals can freely walk and talk. They have a homosexual representative in Nepal’s House of Representatives. The world’s view has significantly changed about homosexual since 2003 when this happened. Still people are condemned for being a homosexual. People are blinded by faith, religions, dogmas, stupid traditions, their sense of justice, their convinced thought of they are superior to other kind of people, may it be of religion, country, race, tribe, belief system, or a mere orientation on sexuality. Even US is now overwhelmed with a speech from a politician. They elected a foreign born, black, Muslim, communist, gay president. They feel betrayed now. I read on somebody’s Facebook yesterday-Don’t take peoples word when they are in love, or drunk or running for office. How true. He has no religion, no moral, no political philosophy, no standard of his own, and so is true about any politicians. Their whole philosophy, and holy mantra is “by hook or crooks, let’s get to the chair (office)”. In the wake of his gay speech, I remember this Ratna park incident and I feel for all genuine (no fake) gays and transgender, however, marriage is a different issue. Homosexual are people too and we should love them. People of all religions, Christians, Muslims, Hindus! Whoever you are... you all think your position on homosexuality is supported by God? I think not. What will make you consider the idea? What will make you wonder? When your wives give birth to a gay child?