| Username |
Post |
| rauniyar |
Posted
on 02-May-04 09:34 AM
Hi all,
last I recall meeting his was during ANA convention in VA. It was a revelation for me to understand how active listeners differentiate between noise and signals. Samrat Dai would be as patient as pool of water in the wilderness when listening to others. Active listeners are active contributors too!!!
Cheers!
Uhi Rajeev,
CT, Amrika
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| rauniyar |
Posted
on 02-May-04 09:36 AM
A column about nothing
SAMRAT UPADHYAY
- When an editor at The Kathmandu Post asked me if I was interested in writing a regular column for its opinion pages, I was flattered, then became anxious. A regular column? But what could I possibly say on a regular basis without boring the Post readers to tears? I mean, I’m good at being irregular. I’m good at long lectures (some of which have appeared in this newspaper) on things I like to preach about; then I’m good at falling into a deep kuwas of silence—a good trait for a husband, who must know when to keep his mouth shut, but certainly not the sign of a grand columnist, who has to blather on despite having nothing to say. A columnist has to come up with ideas about things to say, then come up with an effective game plan to say them, then—there’s more—actually come up with the sentences, in their proper syntax and sequence and symbolic resonance, that will eventually make up a column. Too much work. The kuwa is much better, I thought, as I contemplated the editor’s proposal. As it is, Kathmanduites are called kuwa ko vyaguta, and despite my years of stay abroad, all I would be doing is plopping right back froggy-style into that comfortable hole where I was born. Come to think of it, not long ago in this very newspaper an esteemed writer/critic wrote about me, in not a very esteeming way, that “you can take the boy out of the country, but you cannot take the country out of the boy.” He was saying, because of something I wrote, that despite being away from my country for years I still clung on to the nasty custom of vyaguta-pulling-vyaguta’s-leg.
Although the idea of coming up every month with something solemn for my column was daunting, I brooded over the unesteeming comment from the esteemed writer/critic and thought: payback time. With an entire column at my disposal, what better way to become a vyaguta and pull other vyaguta’s legs? The thousand words or so the editor has granted me every full moon would be enough ammunition to blast away at my enemies—people who haven’t agreed with my views; critics who’ve said my books are shit; illiterati who’ve not paid me attention; illiterateurs who’ve confused The Guru of Love with a policy statement on the joys of polygamy; relatives who’ve said bad things about my family; low-level clerks who, without tiffin money, refused to process my document ~ ~ ~ ~ ; that old shopkeeper, that Kancha, from my childhood neighbourhood in Lainchaur who never gave me Krishna Pauroti on credit; and, finally, friends from high school who gave me humiliating nicknames that have caused me permanent psychological damage.
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| rauniyar |
Posted
on 02-May-04 09:37 AM
I agreed to the task, but soon, since I’m not a vindictive person by nature, the notion of payback appeared too petty. I should be aiming for something more noble, I thought. But what could I write about that would lift the human spirit? What could I add to the knowledge of the human condition that could not be gathered by a quick reading of, say, “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Complete Idiocy”? I could write about literature, but I live literature every hour of my waking life: writing my own sorry stories and poems, reading my students’ sorry stories and poems, trying to understand well-known writers’ sorry stories and poems, reading sorry essays about sorry poems and stories, sending my sorry stories and poems to sorry literary journals with their editors who lead sorry lives and who have their assistants send form rejection letters that say “Sorry!” I thought about politics. But I’m hopelessly inadequate when it comes to political language. My astute commentaries on politics usually boil down to “that’s good” or “that’s bad,” which, trust me, will not lead me to a political office anytime soon. In fact, judging from the huge, huge amount of commentary going on right now in Nepali media about the Maoist cease of ceasefire (if they start chatting again, will it be ‘ceasing of cease of ceasefire?); constitutional assembly (anyone know what the heck it really means?); the five “agitating” parties cogitating “progressive” actions against the “regressive” move made by the king (the alliteration a Maoist ploy to put you to sleep?) what could I say that would, once again, add to the knowledge of the human political condition? Nothing. So, if you reject literature and politics, what’s left? Sex.
Aha. Now that’s my forte, as I’ve been amply told by readers who’ve read my books. “You do sex well,” seems to be the comment verging on the lips of the Nepali audience I’ve had the good fortune to meet during my book readings. So far no one has come forward to say, “You are a sexy author,” something I might get to like, very quickly. Some have said that in my stories Nepalis have sex because I’m catering to the taste of Western readers, who, I imagine, like to read about Nepalis having sex more than they like to read about themselves having sex, or more than Nepalis themselves like to read about Nepalis having sex, or, even more tantalizing, more than Nepali likes to read about Westerners reading about Nepalis having sex. While some have told me that they greatly enjoyed the sexual scenes in my fiction, others have downright rejected the idea that Nepalis have sex at all! “We Nepalis don’t have sex. Period,” an elderly Nepali gentleman with a cane once told me. Of course, our old custom of respecting our elders is so entrenched in my blood system that all I did was nod solemnly, said, “Ho, ho,” and looked at my feet in shame. Since I’ve terribly afraid of elderly folks with canes, I also ruled out devoting a column to sex.
That left me with nothing. I thought maybe I was better off first coming up with a name for my column, which might trigger ideas for its contents. I thought of “The Guru of Guff,” but it sounded too vain, and people might think I was trying to jack up the sales of my novel (which, by the way, is available at local bookstores as The Guru of Love at a nifty price of only a couple of hundred rupees). I came up with “The Way of Life,” after the title of the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tze’s magnum opus, but that sounded too generic, and I became afraid people would think I was a lousy teacher of creative writing. Then it hit me: Sense and Nonsense. Most of the time I would be writing nonsensical stuff, as I’ve done here, but who would know? (More importantly, who would care? Who reads these columns anyway?) By including both “sense” and “nonsense,” I would forever confound my readers over whether to take my comments seriously or chuck them in the dust bin. If anyone ever questioned or challenged me about the validity of what I say, I could easily respond, “Oh, but that was the nonsense part.” And I could include made-up stories (like the one about the elderly man with the cane) without the reader knowing the difference between fact and fiction, the latter of which has turned into a gleeful career for me, allowing me to give the impression I’m saying something cool while saying absolutely nothing.
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| rauniyar |
Posted
on 02-May-04 09:37 AM
A column about nothing
SAMRAT UPADHYAY
- When an editor at The Kathmandu Post asked me if I was interested in writing a regular column for its opinion pages, I was flattered, then became anxious. A regular column? But what could I possibly say on a regular basis without boring the Post readers to tears? I mean, I’m good at being irregular. I’m good at long lectures (some of which have appeared in this newspaper) on things I like to preach about; then I’m good at falling into a deep kuwas of silence—a good trait for a husband, who must know when to keep his mouth shut, but certainly not the sign of a grand columnist, who has to blather on despite having nothing to say. A columnist has to come up with ideas about things to say, then come up with an effective game plan to say them, then—there’s more—actually come up with the sentences, in their proper syntax and sequence and symbolic resonance, that will eventually make up a column. Too much work. The kuwa is much better, I thought, as I contemplated the editor’s proposal. As it is, Kathmanduites are called kuwa ko vyaguta, and despite my years of stay abroad, all I would be doing is plopping right back froggy-style into that comfortable hole where I was born. Come to think of it, not long ago in this very newspaper an esteemed writer/critic wrote about me, in not a very esteeming way, that “you can take the boy out of the country, but you cannot take the country out of the boy.” He was saying, because of something I wrote, that despite being away from my country for years I still clung on to the nasty custom of vyaguta-pulling-vyaguta’s-leg.
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| kalebhut |
Posted
on 02-May-04 05:13 PM
Samrat dai needs no introduction. He’s as popular in Nepal and among sajha’s literary posters just as britney spears is in US. He is to Nepal what Salman Rushdie is to India. Even though he is not as powerful as Salman Rushdie, he writes with such prose similar to the likes of Ernest Hemingway, D.H Lawrence to name few. I must say Hajin, Samrat dai, Manjushree Thapa, Jumpa Lahiri, Arundhati Roy, are some best writers from asia now. Samrat dai is a glimmer of hope for all young aspiring fiction writers of Nepali origin in English.
In the column, he wrote “Kancha, from my childhood neighbourhood in Lainchaur who never gave me Krishna Pauroti on credit; and, finally, friends from high school who gave me humiliating nicknames that have caused me permanent psychological damage.”
This shows it all how down-to-earth he is at his writing. It could be something else as well. He must have gone through a lot of bullying and name calling in his schooling years- which is not unusual at schools in Nepal. blah blah.
I read his “guru of love” which is simply brilliant. Every page rings something of a Kathmanduiet who has had the same experience and perception on life, about houses, about toles and gulleys, and about rani pokhari in Ktm. The novel is erotic along some pages which I enjoyed better than watching a porn. I still haven’t gotten my hands on his acclaimed debut “ arresting god in ktm” for a cause that I will buy it with my savings and not borrow from the library.
Thumbs up to Samrat dai..
Happy making love
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| confused |
Posted
on 02-May-04 09:23 PM
Isnt it Mr. Upadhaya's first Article on ktmpost??
anywaz thru a personal side, i admire Mr. Upadhaya and his works as well..he has made us Nepali proud//cHEeers To mr. Upadhaya..
kalebhut = ashu??
hamro ashu ni thulo fan hununcha ni upadhaya ji ko hoina?? how come i havent seen his posting in this post..?? :)
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| kalebhut |
Posted
on 02-May-04 10:19 PM
nope confused. i'm not ashu bro. but i've another id. can u take a guess? I use that id when nobody responds my post.
oohii kalebhut
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| Kurikuri |
Posted
on 03-May-04 01:50 AM
kalebhut is another kale??
just guess hai
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| HarvestMoon |
Posted
on 03-May-04 02:16 AM
I really enjoyed Samrat Upadhaya's 'Arresting God in Kathmandu'. I enjoyed the reading as much as I used to enjoy Roald Dahl's Kiss Kiss, Switch Bitch and O'Henry's short story collections, the twist and the punch coming at the end. I am not a critic but thats what I felt. I kept on reading one after the other. The characters are so 'juicy'... I don't know if this is the right word... hehe... and they draw such vivid images that at some points I felt as if he was talking about my drunken relatives, reluctant spinster colleagues, my father (in one of the stories! haha!), and some neighbours! I felt as if I was following them around in Kathmandu! And...Nepali sex is great! Pukka!
Good going! Has the columns in TKP begun? Is the above a column from TKP? I would want to keep track of his columns... Sense and Nonsense both!
Thanks rauniyar... for this thread!
HarvestMoon
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| rauniyar |
Posted
on 03-May-04 06:54 AM
To Harvestmoon:
thanks to you too. I understand that you have an eye for things of beauty that is joy for ever (Keats) and so is Samrat Dai. He has a panache of writing expressions in simple, yet powerful way. I have not seen any contemporary Nepali writers with such skills.
To Kalebhut:
some of us are busy with stuffs that may prevent us from pouring our thoughts here. But we shall wait for the ones in such predicament. Also, we shall wel-come the ones who have that time to put their thoughts together to post @ Sajha. Be it this thread or others.
Ani on Samrat Dai, I totally agree on what you have to say about him. He is a man with exceptional talent. We only wish him success for the future which to me is etched on a permanent stone. Also, I like the idea of yours to save some money and contribute to the cause. WAllA! I say.
Cheers!
Uhi Rajeev,
CT, Amrika
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