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Hopelessness in my Paradise

Finally they came out on the rooftops, bacchanalian and ecstatic. The waning moon was still bright, brighter than the hope for my paradise. I was sitting on my bed, quiet and innate like the darkness itself, impervious to the clamor outside. In my last, desperate attempt to stifle the volcanic rage trying to erupt inside me, I looked at my wife curled besides me, on the warm bed. The moonlight had rendered her angelic. I loved her so much. She was my last resort; the oasis of peace amidst the weltering midnight. Then suddenly, the tension became unbearable. They pounded my head with shrill wails, and cacophonic howls. Then I gave up. I had lost the last bit of my hope then.

 It was the night Prashant Tamang, an Indian Police officer of Nepalese origins, had won his fight at the Indian Idol. The purpose of the TV program was to select the best singer among hundreds from India. The program was a reality show, where people could eliminate singers by voting through SMS, the reason for its huge popularity. Everyone agreed that Prashant was not the best singer there but week after week, we had cast millions of votes worth millions of rupees for Prashant. We finally succeeded in killing talent and ethics for the sake of our roots on 24 September 12: 15 PM. I had lost my battle for morality and conscience to the Nepalese Jihad.

Defeated, I went out to my rooftop to congratulate the winners.  Silhouette of teenagers beating drums, and shouting “Down with the Indians !!! Long live Prashant !!!” echoed from every direction.  Then suddenly I realized that even they were not the real winners. They were losers like me, who would not hesitate to shoot their own brothers in the name of killing a mosquito on their shoulders. They were defeated just like me, only defiant.

Night after night, those rabid dogs watched Indian TV programs and serials. They dreamt wearing the same clothes as on their soap operas. Every hour they savored thinned legged skinny Bollywood models dancing half-naked. Every whit of grain they ate came from India and they expected every Bollywood hunk to be their husband. These sentimental fools had blatantly chosen not to accept their situation. The reality is that they were pigs, living on scrapes of others but blinded by their haughtiness and arrogance. They were still living in caves, unaware of the progress outside. They were morons who were satisfied to wear Levis jeans and Rebook shoes, unaware that these things were gnawing their economy from inside. Millions in their own country were dying from starvation and war but they felt proud in wasting their money on coke. They were the poorest in the world but blamed their poverty on their neighbors for not helping them. They ran away from every responsibility to improve the situation, but they did not fail to point out the mistakes of those who were in power. They just hated the Indians because they don’t want to accept that they are failures.

We just blame others because we are nothing by ourselves. We belligerently resist any criticism because we don’t want to hear the truth. I saw them hesitate to send SMS needed to collect funds for flood victims, citing uncertainty of delivery. Yet they were wasting millions on one person just because we wanted to see the Indians fail, when we knew that every penny would be gobbled by TV stations and Telephone providers. We didn’t hear and single voice scream when bombs were exploded on our busy streets.

We made an average singer win a singing contest, just because we are pathetic enough to ignore talent completely. We were unhappy because an Indian said that he would like to see people not base their judgement on ethnicity. I wanted to shout, “Wake up losers. Show them that you are something by doing something here”.

Why should the Indians fail? The feeling should be that we should win. There is a difference in others losing and us wining. Even if we are desperate to see them lose, it won’t come by watching their shows and hating them for that. We should unite for the right cause. We beat our brothers from terai in Hritik Roshan incident or assignation in Iraq, just because they looked like Indians. Even if they were, we have no right to beat them. They were not the ones who went to Iraq. They are actually doing our work for us. How many “Pahadi” hair dressers do you see? How many Nepali businessmen (which is the backbone of economy) have you heard of? You are proud of picking cottons in Australia or cleaning restaurants in the USA but loathe someone doing the same here. If you want to be respected be self sufficient. Do not go complaining over everything, or harassing people because they are trying to make a living.

The final blow to my cause came when my wife woke and stood beside me on the moonlit balcony, rejoicing how Nepalese were united to see their brother win over the worthless Indians.

Congratulations Prashant You have won you battle but I’ve lost mine. I have my own Kapilvastu within my heart.