This post was for #metoo, written in October, 2017

I’m an woman and I guess the “#metoo” is for a male to speak out of their mistreatments to their female friends/co-workers/family members or whoever. But I’ve something to add here, as I read tomorrow, October 20th, is the Bhai-puja day in Nepal.


Much of Nepali cultures are male-chauvinistic, if you don’t know already? My topic is about that.


I was born to a chauvinist father, but he didn’t know this because he was surrounded by chauvinist-males, so what he did was normal to him—and everyone around him.


We were six children in the family, and my father assigned one sister to each of his three sons (my brothers), so his sons wouldn’t have to “look after” all three sisters.



Daughters are burdensome in the male-world, and I know the idea of assigning one sister to one son may have come from some other people—didn’t start from my father.



But I was a sensitive girl. I was hearing my father’s biased remarks, such as daughters build their husbands’ homes and daughters-in-law are our daughters (they build his home), etc.


However, my arguments are not about my father. These are directed to the mothers who kill their daughters willingly and legally (when they are still in wombs), and call “Laxmi” to their daughters and give a few coins on some occasions, but keep their valuables for their sons.



One such woman once told me that she used to take her pee to a "clinic" and see if it was a girl or boy embryo. Then she would go for abortion.


I've had my own story about abortion, but it was not for a boy my husband and I decided to go for the surgery. We simply couldn't afford to have another baby when he was a student and I had to work to support the household.


Being a sensitive girl, I’ve paid a heavy price emotionally when I was growing up. For example, my father would praise me occasionally and say “you’re so smart. I wish you were a son”. Or, "once I give you away in marriage, who is going to build my home?”


My father didn’t know how much I was hurt by his remarks. I never made him known my pain. But I did ask him once “Why are you so worried about “him” (one of my brothers) and not me?” To this he replied, “Because you would never suicide”. “You’re too smart to take your own life!”


So, when mothers call their daughters “Laxmi” and brothers ask their sisters' “blessings" on Bhai-Tika, my throat tightens in frustration.

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:

http://kunjunny.blogspot.ca/2007/02/story-of-sage-agastya.html

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:

https://www.amazon.com/Cultural-Heritage-Nepalese-Kala-Sasi-ebook/dp/B01K0IOJ8A/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=&dpID=61xe7%252B1AhKL&preST=_SX342_QL70_&dpSrc=detail

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:

https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=how+many+roads+must+a+man+walk+down&qpvt=how+many+roads+must+a+man+walk+down&FORM=VDRE

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!

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.

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?