Wednesday 1 November 2017

Good Rulers and the Conscious Beggar

While searching for another article, I landed on a site called “Samskruthi” by Kunjunny. It is a blog about the stories of the ancient legends of India.

In this blog, I read “The story of sage Agastya,” posted on February 26, 2007. Agastya was a reputed sage. He had earned a great power by living an ascetic life for years.

One day he sees his ancestors hanging down a tree, begging him to bear children so that they can go to heaven.


But Agastya was unmarried. To fulfill his ancestral duties, Agastya went on to marry a  lady named, Lopamudra. Lopamudra was beautiful and wise. She reminded her husband that they needed money before they could bear children.



In this story Kunjunny has beautifully illustrated the character of a good ruler in only two short paragraphs that you may like to read for yourself:

But, the sage wanted to get children badly. So, he set out begging for money. He approached a king and pleaded for help. The king replied. “Sage, I would have been only too pleased to give you anything you ask for. But, please look at my books account. See for yourself that what I collect as taxes are spent fully for the cause of people. Nothing is saved. If you insist, I will have to collect more taxes”. But, the sage did not want ordinary people burdened on account of him.

The king suggested another monarch of great wealth. The two approached the second ruler together. They got the same reply there. Then, Agastya went to a third king with the other two who was famous for his charities. But, the condition there was no different.



Note: The last two paragraphs are copied from the blog:

Wednesday 18 October 2017

It’s a dog's day in Nepal



This cutest dog was sent to me today as a good-luck wishes on Tihar
Dog’s day mean different things for different people, depending on the culture within which our brain is trained to think. For example, in the western societies it may mean a busiest day, or a hottest day of a summer, but for the traditional Chinese persons, it can mean a “Lychee day” or remind them their “Yulin” festival during their summer, during which dog-meat seems to be enjoyed in China as a special delicacy, according to some sources.
To the Hindu Nepalese, however, it means a “dog honoring’ day, and it’s called Kukur Tihar. Kukur Tihar is the second day of Tihar. Starting from honouring a crow (Kaj Tihar), a dog (Kukur Tihar), an oxen (Goru Tihar), a cow (Laxmi puja), and brothers (Bhai puja) consecutively, Tihar is celebrated in five days in Nepal.
During the festival families and friends visit each others' homes, houses are lighted, sweets are prepared, and good times are shared through chatting, playing cards, praying goddess of wealth, Laxmi, singing and dancing. Because of all these excitements, Tihar is one of the most celebrated and cherished festivals in Nepal!

If you're intrigued by this festival's significance, here is a book that describes Tihar in details.  Name of the book is Cultural Heritage of the Nepalese, and the link to the book site is here:



Monday 16 October 2017

Wind blowing in on one fall morning


On one fall morning, I was strolling down a few blocks from my temporary residence (“What is permanent?”, my mind questioned me even before I finished writing the word ‘temporary’.), a strong wind from the north attacked my face.

I was walking down on the opposite direction of the wind. My eyes closed automatically to shelter from the wind, but the pores in my skins welcomed the wind. Despite the chilling wind, I felt great!

After a few seconds of my skins’ reaction to the wind, I decided to open my eyes and let the air go in. I opened my eyes as wide as I could—looking up, way up, and far beyond. I felt great and I could sense that my eyes were thanking me too!

Then, suddenly, my mind took me to completely different direction—reminding me to Bob Dylan’s lyric: Blowin in The Wind. Here are his heart-touching words

Lyrics

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, and how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind

Yes, and how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, and how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?

Source: bing.com

And, if you want to hear him sing, here is the link for you:

Friday 13 October 2017

Consonance and dissonance weren’t that bad after all!

Consonance and dissonance usually describe sounds—first the pleasantness and the second harshness. In terms of feeling, however, consonance doesn’t explain much, but dissonance does. For example, when we take a conflicting action that challenges our established value and/or belief system, we create dissonance to ourselves.


This was the kind of feeling Dev (my husband) and I experienced on the Thanksgiving Day this year. For the first time after 39 years in North America, we're left ourselves on this Day. There was no turkey and nobody was invited at our home. This created a lot of cognitive dissonance in Dev and me. 


Killing a bird for our enjoyment wasn't a joyful thing to do, but that was happening for all these years nevertheless. So, when Dev and I finally decided not to do the turkey, we felt relieved and sad at the same time!


We had to do something to shake our feelings, so we drove to St. Andrew by the sea, and for the first time in our entire life, we went through the Hanwell road. It turned out, it was the best decision we made. The trees on both sides of the roads from Hanwell Road to the Sea were spectacular! Dev and I were breathless from the amazing fall-colours.



New Brunswick is at its best during the short period of fall when there are a few cold snaps but no heavy rain or wind. And, it was just that for us!





In the evening, our children Face-timed with us, so we got to see and chat with all three of them. They told us that the brother cooked most of the dinner at the elder sister’s home and they had dissert and tea at the younger sister’s place. What a blessing it was for our children and us!

Thursday 5 October 2017

Sasi Kala's Self-published Books


             

These are my genuine stories

The first two books are in Paperback version. The last one is Kindle edition.


There are a lot of delusions about the self-published books. It is because an author like me is too shy to highlight the other side of the arguments. While I agree the books published by established presses are usually well-designed, formatted and edited by professional editors, there are also the facts that many of these books are written by ghost-writers and enhanced by illustrators and/or publishers. On the other hand, books written by self-publishers are usually original and character-reflecting. These are thought-out, written, formatted and designed by the authors themselves.

I’m a self-published author. My books are the products of my thoughts, abilities and labour from start to finish. My books are genuine stories of my life, my vision and my mission.


I was born and raised in Kathmandu, Nepal. I was 25-year old when I left the country, but the country never left me!  However, my views of the world have definitely changed with my experiences of the people I met and the countries I visited with my family. These are reflected in my books and in my character.




Wednesday 4 October 2017

Future of my community


Visiting the old neighbour this evening reminded me of the time when my children were little and my husband and I were young.

It has been nearly three and a half decades since we moved to this town. Our family was the very first immigrants from Nepal settling to this province! However, this town has hardly changed.

We left this province for a short period of time and noticed the place hasn't changed much in three and a half decades, which we hadn't noticed just a year and a half ago. This tells  me how easy it is to just get lost within ourselves and not think about our surroundings.

However, the one change we clearly see is the fabric of this town. It was a “white” town with a few thousands East and South-east Asians, a few African-origins, few Middle-eastern, very few Hispanics and even fewer Far-eastern immigrants. That has changed! Now I see a lot more Middle-eastern, Far-eastern and African-origins.

In term of infrastructure of this town, it has hardly buzzed, although there a few new high-rise buildings and town-houses that were not in earlier days.

People say this is a “picture” province, and it is in many ways. There are some "hidden secrets" here that are not so obvious to outsiders. This can mean environmentally-friendly. But people need job opportunities to make a good living, which is very scarce in this province.

So, if the few fortunate people are happy with their hidden secrets and not create opportunities for others,  I wonder what kind of future this province will have for our future generation? 

Monday 6 March 2017

Fall and the pumpkins: My fondest memory


I'm lucky to have lived in a country/territory where I can experience more than couple of seasons each year. All seasons are beautiful, with their own beauty and charm, but my favorite season is the fall. Fall is especially pretty in the Atlantic Canada!

Among many others, my fond memories of the fall are intertwined with the red maple trees and bright orange pumpkins. 

We sold our first family house with two pure red maple trees in our backyard many years ago, but the deep scarlet red maples, whose branches overarched our deck, are still in my memory! Along with these, fall also brings me one of my fondest memories of the pumpkins in my parents' field in Kathmandu, Nepal.  

My parents harvested lots of pumpkins in the fall and saved some of them for the winter months, when fresh vegetables were short supply when I was growing up. I can still see those bright yellow, large and heavy pumpkin in my mind's eyes! I needed help to carry just one of those pumpkins off from our parents' field to the veranda where the fleshy pumpkins sat, facing the bright afternoon sun, most of the year ( while lasted).

During the winter months, my mother made all kinds of dishes out of those pumpkins: We eat them boiled with ghee, salt and pepper some days and other days my mother curried them with goat legs or horse radishes. We also had the pumpkin salad -- one my mother's unique recipes that I'm going to included in my book, Cuisines of Nepal


While my mother used her pumpkin flesh to prepare her side- dishes, one of her tenants used the seeds to make the most delectable candies. She took hours to make them, but  they were the best sort of candies one could ever make!

She heated her flat iron cookie-sheet over a charcoal fire in a small earthen pot, we called a "makkal" in Nepal. First she rubbed a bit of ghee over her sheet and then she laid her seeds on single layer. The seeds were stirred often while pouring a bit of sugar with ghee syrup over them. She occasionally fanned the makkal to keep the coal burning. It probably took 20 to 30 minutes for her seeds to roast, but they were the most appealing cream coloured spiky candies you could ever imagine. Slowly roasted in ghee and sugar syrup, the pumpkin-candy tasted great.

Tuesday 21 February 2017

The memorable rayo sag: A fond memory of my mother's' cooking

The memorable rayo sag in my parents’ garden carried an intriguing fact that I remembered after all these years. In fact, the tiny little rayo plants I grew in pots in my deck this summer reminded me of the story. Compared to those dark green glossy rayo sag in my parents field, which looked more like banana plants, my humble rayo green looked more like dwarfy spinach plants. Just a dozen of my mother's rayo leaves made enough stir- fry tarkari for my parents’ family of nine people, while my tiny leaves made barely enough salad for my family of two: my husband I!

I was born in Paknajhol, but grew up in Baneswor. Baneswor was more like a village than a city when I was growing up. My parents owned quite a few pieces of land and they had a caretaker to look after their property. Rayo sag was one of the crops the farmer was good at growing and my parents loved the sag.

After all those years, I still picture my parents’ back yard with the patch of rayo garden. The taste of my mother’s rayo sag ko ghol (soup) when my siblings and I returned from our schools is still on my tongue! However, the secret of how the sag got that way was something I had forgotten until now.

After living in a society where almost everything is fabricated, it feels weird  to think that I grew up eating the vegetables fertilized by the “night soil.” Apparently, that was one of the secrets of some farmers in Kathmandu that I was so accustomed to and never thought about it any other way until now.