Tihar and dog days for the national economy

Devendra Gautam

Early morning, May 23, 2023.
Overcast skies on the foothills of Nagarjun and much beyond have put up a huge warning sign that reads: It might rain soon, but without the Murakami effect. 

A struggling writer imagines sitting by the window and sipping black tea in the name of doing something while raindrops splitter-splatter the panes, with tears in torrents keeping the cup brimming. 

Even the thought of rain brings pain in waves in times like these. Stabs from economic hardships, stabs from Aama's late-stage cancer that won’t go away, with or without Proxyvon, despite soul-wrecking chemo sessions.  

All this triggers a short travel back in time, about 30 years back. 

Past is a no place to go, but with the rains, floods and landslides blocking the journey ahead, where do you go?

The winter vacation has begun and the hostel is getting emptier with each passing day as parents, siblings or acquaintances come to pick friends and others up, even as a boy continues to wait for his departure from this jailhouse of sorts.  An ache develops with Baba unable to come to pick him up with a thousand things binding him in his Far-Western government outpost and Ama unable to come on her own to an alien corn from their home in the hills.

Indeed, a thousand strings bind us all separately, don't they?   

As gaggles of even the last of the departing boarders fade, the hostel in-charge conveys Baba's message: The boy will have to make it to a certain Dai's place at Maitidevi from where he will be going home with them, shortly. 

As for Maitidevi, the boy knows the place like the back of his hand, right? What a relief at a time when there was no such thing called Google! Back then too, the borders were as open as open wounds, but child traffickers were few and far between. What's more, the roads too were not as congested and as bad as they are these days, with a very few wheelers and a thin population. 
Without dillydallying, the boy packs his bag in one breath and leaves after bidding a customary goodbye to a portly in-charge that he wants to just wish away. In his eagerness to leave the place, he does not even bother to marvel at the patches of paddy fields graduating from green to a yellowish hew nor does he bother to run after kites cut off following a duet. 

Also, cut-off kites come with risks attached, as his experiences suggest. For now, let's not get tangled here.      

Only after arriving at what is now Narayan Gopal Chowk (the celebrated singer was alive and kicking back then) does the boy realize that he forgot to borrow some money from the in-charge to pay for things like transport fare. That’s hardly a surprise for an absent-minded child known at least in the family for what else but absent-mindedness. 

Back to the boarding facility. The boarders, that too of a reputed school, are hardly endowed with poor finances. In fact, poverty is forced upon them as some sort of punishment. Though flush with cash, many families send their spoiled progenies to these 'confinements' to teach them some discipline. Many others do it out of compulsions galore. 

Generally, a hostel administration does not allow the children to keep money for obvious reasons like possibilities of theft and misuse. So, the princes and the princesses of even the filthy rich remain penniless most of the times, for all practical purposes, leave alone the lesser mortals—the middle and lower middle class fellows.  

But this does not bring democracy to the closed walls. Let's leave it at that, for now.    

For the boy feeling like a bird set free from years-long captivity, returning to the hostel for money is out of the question. So he marches on.

At Panipokhari, in comes the rain, in torrents. 

Another realization dawns: He has no umbrella. 

The rain doesn't care. It continues to pour, but the boy cannot afford to stop at a place for long because there's no other place on planet Earth save Maitidevi that can keep him till he gets home under the clouds. 

So, the boy walks on amid the 'heavenly' outpouring, struggling all along to not shed a tear or two because their kind is supposed to be brave. 

At the Maitidevi temple, the boy has no question to ask to the presiding deity and her pantheon. 

His temporary shelter comes next. An affectionate welcome gradually warms his wet heart. The next day, they all are on a rough-and-tumble journey home, delirious with joy.

October 24, 2023

Close to the boy-turned-adult's very own cat's corner, Yuki tries to have that perfect sleep by taking umpteen turns on the sofa while the graying, wannabe geek continues to wrack his brains over a stubborn python problem—problem number 12 in  Chapter 63 of Mark Myer's A Smart Way to Learn Python. The chess of yesteryears has given way to Python of this day and age. Unlike with the chess, he does not have to face the bullies with their pride hurt after losing the match.         

While the problem remains as it is, the world outside continues to change. The global economic crisis deepens (even as the filthy rich continue to get richer more filthily) and the rainy season gives way to a nippy winter. Dashain arrives, signaling a long season of festivities. Friends are drifting further apart like clouds, like cut-off kites.       

November 12, 2023

Every dog has its day, so they say. For lakhs of street dogs in the country, such a day is hard to come by. Kukur Tihar is one of those rare days when these beings get some respect.    

On other days, who has the means and resources to care for these free beings that protect their areas selflessly? 

Throughout the day, Yuki remains a bundle of energy, what with Tika, a bit of Dakshina, treats and a steady stream of visitors.    

As the night wears on, the cacophony grows, thanks to the roaring and non-stop sounds of firecrackers, making the lives of lakhs of animals both on the confines of homes and outside more miserable.

Like in the past, the days of Tihar literally rocked this year as well (pollution levels must have reached a new high giving those with respiratory ailments harder times), thanks to thundering sounds of crackers and dazzling electric lights. Wish we all could celebrate this festival amid the glow of oil-fed earthen diyo or candles by singing and dancing to the tunes of our traditional songs in a peaceful environment devoid of roaring mini-explosions and loud lights.      

Amid the cacophony, motley troupes of child artists singing, dancing and showering us with blessings brought back cherished memories as we forgot problems and challenges, and imbibe the festive spirit. 

Still, yours truly wonders if more serious 'dog days' (no affront to human beings' most trusted friend) are ahead for the economy of a country shaking on the left, right and the center in perpetual turmoil.