No, only time does not heal

When you are grieving following the death of someone you hold dear, people usually say, “Oh, time heals everything so you’ll also be healed.” But I strongly believe that time by itself cannot do anything to heal the intense pain brought about by loss. It is not only me who thinks time is not enough to cure such a deep, but unfortunately invisible wound inside. A Holocaust survivor, Catheryne Morgan, who lost her parents in Auschwitz, the infamous concentration camp when she was merely 14, also expresses the same view in Allison Gilbert’s book ‘Always too soon: Voices of support for those who have lost both parents.’ She says, “Everything I am comes from living without my parents. Time does not heal. My pain is still strong, and it stings still. I live with it day in and day out; it will forever be a part of me.”

Catheryne’s case may sound extreme considering the circumstances under which her parents passed away, yet somehow I can relate to her. After losing both of my parents within a short time span of 15 months, I also realised that time alone was never going to heal me. So I explored different techniques to cope with my shock and pain when I unexpectedly lost my mother in April, 2013. I used the same means one more time, when my father passed away in a very similar situation like my mother’s in August, 2014. Neither of them could survive a stroke.

I was all alone in Australia struggling with my loss, while my four siblings were in Nepal. The first thing that I wanted to do was to get connected with the people who have experienced the same feelings. So, I started exploring and reading articles and books about people who had lost their parents. Whilst reading about their experiences, I was able to relate my pain to theirs, which gave me some sort of consolation. Although I got some mental peace, all my painful feelings were broiling inside and looking for a way to escape; I felt an urgent need to express them somehow. If you have people around you with whom you feel comfortable sharing your feelings, talking to them is a great way to get things off your mind. On the other hand, if you are an introvert and do not want to share your ‘personal’ stuff with others, it is better to maintain a journal where you can write anything that comes to mind; it worked very well for me.

Psychologists also agree that expression, whether oral or written, is essential in the grieving process. In Sue Monk Kidd’s novel ‘The secret life of bees’, it is written that the Jewish people in Jerusalem have a very peculiar way of expressing their grief. They have a ‘wailing wall’ where they go to mourn; they write their prayers on scraps of paper and tuck them into the wall. By expressing our grief in a way which we find comfortable, we take a step closer towards liberation.

Then comes the time factor. It is true that a grieving soul must take their time to recover. As clinical psychologist Sue Morris indicates in her book ‘Overcoming grief,’ ‘grieving’ is entirely a ‘personal’ matter, so different people need different time frames to heal, ranging from a few weeks to a few years. At the same time, it should also be noted that it is not just the passage of time that helps ease grief’s hold; more importantly, it is what you do during that time that makes a difference. So, it is unrealistic to think that you simply sit back and get over the deaths of your parents or your dear ones in a matter of certain time. The time you take in fact allows you to use different coping strategies so that you can get back to your normal life.

In my experience, ‘healing’ is just an ‘adjustment’ where I have to learn to live without my parents’ physical presence in my life. I like the analogy of ‘right hand vs left hand’ used by Sue Morris. According to her, losing our parents (or loved ones) is like losing our right hand which we had used in writing throughout our life. Now onwards we have to learn to write from scratch using our left hand, so obviously it takes time for this hand to achieve a similar level of mastery. Yet, we never forget that we lost our right hand. Likewise, even if I have started living without my parents, as Catheryne Morgan says above, I feel my unprecedented loss day in and day out. When I need to share something about myself, the first people that come to mind are my parents. They cross my mind over a hundred times a day. What else is there to say? I feel them in every breath I take. They will be a huge part of my life for as long as I live.

(Published in an English Daily The Kathmandu Post on Sunday, October 18, 2015 

                                                 in the title 'Heal thyself)

[The pictures on this blog are posted here with permission from their owners or have been gathered from various sources on the Internet. If you are the copyright-holder to any of the photographs herein do not hesitate to contact me. They will be swiftly removed if desired so.]

गुलरको फूल : मेरो आँखामा

जब माधव प्याकुरेलको 'गुलरको फूल' उपन्यास मेरो हातमा पर्यो, कहिल्यै नसुनिएको फूलको नामले मलाई आकर्षित गर्यो। कस्तो फूल हो यो गूलर - मेरो मनमा उत्सुकता जाग्यो। मैंले फरफरी पन्ना पल्टाउँदा देखें - यो एउटा तथ्यमा आधारित सामाजिक उपन्यास रहेछ। आफूलाई काल्पनिक कुराभन्दा जीवनमा भोगिने सत्य घटना नै बढी मन पर्ने हुनाले यो पुस्तक पढौं भन्ने भावना जाग्यो। अब मैंले पत्ता लगाउनु थियो - शीर्षकको अर्थ। साहित्यकार मोहनराज शर्माको पुस्तक परिचयको शीर्षक, 'अप्राप्य अर्थात् गुलरको फूल,' ले मेरो यो कौतुहल पनि मेटिदियो। आवरण पृष्ठ हेरेर मैंले अनुमान गरें - यो उपन्यास एउटी नारीको कथा हो - जो कुनै अप्राप्य वस्तुको प्रतिक्षामा आफ्नो सम्पूर्ण जीवन उत्सर्ग गर्न तयार छे।

त्यसैले मैंले पढ्न सुरु गरें - गुलरको फूल। मैंले कतै पढेकी थिएँ - यदि कुनै कृति पढ्दा सुरुका पाँच पृष्ठले पाठकको मन तान्न सकेनन् भनें ठसठसी कन्दै त्यो कृति अगाडि पढ्नुको कुनै औचित्य हुँदैन। यसो गर्नु खालि समयको बर्बादी मात्र हो। तर 'गुलरको फूल' पढ्नका लागि मैंले पाँचौं पृष्ठसम्म पनि पुग्नु परेन। पृष्ठ संख्या १ लेनै मलाई मोहनी लगायो र यसलाई अन्तिम पृष्ठसम्म नपुर्याई मैंले छोड्नै सकिन। सबभन्दा पहिले भेट भएका पात्रहरु रुदल साहनी, रामाज्ञा, भुलुवा र गेगरीले मलाई डोहोर्याउँदै डोहोर्याउँदै अरु थुप्रै पात्रहरुसंग भेट गराए पनि मेरो मानसपटलमा जीवन्त भएर रुदलको परिवार नै रहिरह्यो। परिवारका यी चार सदस्यमा थपिई घरकी पाँचौं र कान्छी सदस्य कलावती अर्थात कलौतिया।

'गुलरको फूल' लाई धेरै तहबाट पढ्न सकिन्छ। यो एउटा विपन्न वर्गको जीवन संघर्षको कथा हो, खासगरि तराई समाजमा व्याप्त दहेज प्रथाले निम्त्याउने समस्याहरुको कथा हो, गौना प्रथाले गर्दा नारी जातिले भोग्नुपर्ने पीडाको कथा हो। अझ यो उपन्यासले विक्रम संवत २०१६ देखि २०६३ सम्मको कालखण्डलाई समेटेकाले यतिबेला घटेका अनेक राजनीतिक उतार चढाव र तिनले सामान्य मानिसको जीवनमा पार्ने असरलाई पनि वेवास्ता गर्न सकिंदैन। मैंले भने यो उपन्यासमा प्रत्यक्ष रुपमा नदेखिएको तर सम्पूर्ण कथानकमा उनिएको मानव जीवन अथवा भनौं मानव सभ्यताको भ्रमको जालोलाई अलि उधिन्न खोजें।  

त्यो जालोलाई केलाउनका लागि रुदलको परिवार एक प्रतिनिधि पात्रका रुपमा उभिएको छ। रुदल आफू र आफ्नो परिवारको सुखका लागि नेपाल र भारत सीमामा पर्ने भारतीय गाउँ भैंसालोटनबाट नेपालको तराई भागमा पर्ने गोठटोल गाउँमा बसाईं सर्छ। तर ऊ भैंसालोटनको सम्पूर्ण जायज्यथा त्याग्न सक्तैन। त्यसैले उसको जेठो छोरो रामाज्ञा घरबारको हेरचाह गर्न उतै छुट्छ। तर के रुदल जुन सुखको खोजीमा परदेशिएको थियो, त्यो सुख पाउँछ त? अँहँ, कहिल्यै पाउंदैन। आफू बसेको ठाउँमा भन्दा अर्को ठाउँमा सुख देख्नु मानव जातिको भ्रम मात्र हो। त्यहि भ्रमका पछि लागेर मानिस पहाडबाट मधेश झर्छन्, गाउँबाट शहर पस्छन्, देशबाट विदेशतिर भासिन्छन्। तर अफशोच! सबै ठाउँका आफ्नै चुनौती हुन्छन् र मानिसको सुख-सपना एउटा मृगतृष्णामा सीमित हुन्छ। रुदल परिवारको कथा यसको ज्वलन्त उदाहरण हो।मानिसले पालेको अर्को भ्रम - मुखैमा आएको एउटा जटिल काम फत्ते गरेपछि बाँकी जीवन सहज हुन्छ भन्ने हो। तर नेलसन मन्डेलाले "एउटा पहाड चढीसकेपछि चढ्नुपर्ने अझ ठूलो अर्को पहाड देखिन्छ," भने जस्तै हुन्छ वास्तविक जीवनमा। रुदललाई आफ्ना पितापुर्खाले गरिआएको माछा मार्ने कामले कहिल्यै सुख दिन सकेन। घरको गरिबी कहिल्यै हटाउन सकेन। उसले सोच्यो - नेपाल गएर नयाँ ठाउँमा काम गरौंला, आफ्नो आर्थिक स्थितिमा सुधार आउला, परिवारका सबैले केही सुखभोग गर्न सकौंला। तर अँहँ, उनीहरुका जीवनमा त्यो सुखको क्षण कहिल्यै आएन। गेगरीले गरिबीमै आफ्नो ज्यान तोडी। रुदलको परिवारले फेरि अर्को समस्याको सामना गर्नुपर्यो - कलौतियाको विवाह। रुदलले सोच्यो - बढेकी छोरी बिहे गरेर घर पठाइदिन पाए ढुक्क हुन्छ। सोहि मुताबिक जेठो छोरो भएको नाताले रामाज्ञाले केटो खोज्ने र बहिनीको विवाह गरिदिने जिम्मा लियो। केटो पनि भेटियो, के कति दाइजो लिने/दिने सब छिनाफाना भयो अनि कलौतियाको विवाह हुने निश्चित मितिसमेत तोकियो। यो विवाहको टुङ्गोले रुदलले सोचेजस्तो "ढुक्क" किन ल्याउँथ्यो र? विवाहको दिन बेहुलाले पहिले नै दाइजोमा कबोलेको बाहेकको साइकल मागेर बिठ्याँईं गरिहाल्यो। जति सम्झाउँदा पनि ऊ मान्दैमानेन। साइकल नलिई त म विवाह नै गर्दिन भनेर अड्डी लियो। आखिरमा बेहुली पक्षकाले हार माने र  तीन महिनापछि साइकलको व्यबस्था गरिदिने शर्तमा बेहुलो विवाह गर्न राजी भयो। कसो कसो बिहे त भयो तर बेहुली १३ वर्ष मात्र भएकीले त्यतिबेलै बेहुलाको घरमा नलाने भए। कलौतिया १६ वर्ष भएपछि गौना गर्ने र बेहुलाको घरमा पठाउने सल्लाह भयो।     

अब चढ्नुपर्ने पहाड थियो - कलौतियाको गौना। गौनाअगाडि बेहुलालाई कबुलेको साइकल पनि त दिनु पर्यो नि! नभए टेढीएर ऊ परपरै हुने! बैनीको विवाह भएको दुई वर्षपछि बल्ल बल्ल रामाज्ञाले कसो कसो ऋणपान गरेर साइकल किन्ने पैसा जुटायो। साइकल पाएर बेहुलो खुशी भयो र ससुरालीसँग नजिकिन थाल्यो। यसरी "छोरीको घर बसेकोमा रुदल खुशी छन्। बिहेको कर्जा बाँकी नै भए पनि दहेजको टन्टा हटेको छ।  कर्जा भन्या कमाएर तिरौंला भन्छन्," (पेज नम्बर २०४)। यता कलौतिया धैर्यपूर्वक गौना हुने दिन पर्खिएर बस्ताबस्तै सत्र वर्षकी भई। त्यहि वर्ष गौना गर्ने कुरा चल्दा चल्दै उसकी सासूको मृत्यु हुन्छ।अनि सासूको वर्ष दिनको काम नसकी कसरी गौना हुनु ?

       

यहि बिचमा रुदलको परिवारमा अर्को झमेला थपिन्छ - नागरिकताको। रामाज्ञाले ज्वाईंलाई नेपालमा जनमत संग्रहको भोटर लिस्टमा आफ्ना बाबु र भाइको नाम चढेकाले उनीहरुले त्यहाँको नागरिकता पाउन सक्ने र त्यसपछि कलौतियाले पनि नेपालको नागरिकता पाउने कुरा सुनाएको रहेछ। यस्ता कुरा सुनेपछि केटा पक्षका मानिसहरु अहिले नै बेहुलीलाई घरमा ल्याउँदा आफ्नु छोराले नेपालको नागरिकता नपाउन सक्छ, त्यसैले बुहारीले नागरिकता पाएपछि मात्र गौना गर्ने भन्ने सुरमा भएजस्ता देखिए। उनीहरुलाई फकाउँदा फकाउँदा बल्ल बल्ल विवाह भएको पाँच वर्षमा गौना गर्ने मिति तोक्नका लागि राजी भए। नभन्दै केटाका बाबु - छोरा रुदलका घरमा आए । उनीहरु गौना गरेर बेहुली लान पनि राजी भए। तर यस्तो सुअवसरमा फेरि अर्को संकट थपियो - केहि महिना अघिदेखि कलौतियाको निधारमा देखिएको दुवीको सेतो दाग। सब कुरा मिलिसकेको थियो। दुर्भाग्यवश् बाउ छोरा दुवैले कलौतियाको निधारको त्यो सेतो दाग देखे। त्यहाँबाट फर्कनेबित्तिकै उनीहरुले बहाना बनाएर खबर पठाइदिए - केटीले नागरिकता पाएपछि मात्र गौना गर्ने। यस्ता प्रतिकूल परिस्थितिका बारेमा उपन्यासमा भनिएको छ - "रुदल एकथोक चिताउँथे। भाग्यले अर्कै थोक गरिदिन्थ्यो। अघिपछि भैरहन्थ्यो दु:ख। सधैं लखेटिरहन्थ्यो, झम्टिरहन्थ्यो र दपेटीरहन्थ्यो," (पेज नम्बर १८८ )।

रुदल आफ्नु जीवनकालभरि आफ्नी छोरीको गौनारुपी पहाडको टुप्पोमा पुग्न सकेनन्। रह्यो कुरो नागरिकताको। पछिल्लो समयमा उनले आफ्नालागि भन्दा बढी कलौतियाका लागि यो चाहेका थिए। नागरिकता भए तै छोरीको घर बसिहाल्छ कि भन्ने झिनु आशा उनको थियो, जुन पूरा हुन सकेन। आफूले सोचेको र चाहेजस्तो नहुने त मानव सभ्यताकै नियति हो तैपनि मानिस चाहन छोड्दैन, योजना बनाउन छोड्दैन। शायद यी भौतिक जीवन जिउने आधार होलान्। 

पुस्तक पढिसकेपछि मलाई लाग्यो - गुलरको फूल मोहनराज शर्माले भनेजस्तो “अप्राप्य” नभएर दुर्लभ हुन सक्छ, उन्यूँको फूलजस्तै। किनभने यहाँ नागरिकता र गौना दुवै प्राप्य देखिएका छन् , तर सहज रुपमा होइन। रुदल मृत्युशैयामा भएका बेला उनको, भुलुवाको र कलौतियाको नागरिकता हात लाग्छ। आफ्नु नागरिकता पिलिक्क हेरेर मात्र उनी सदाका लागि आँखा चिम्लन्छन्। त्यसैगरी उही दिन आफ्ना चालीसौं बसन्त पार गरिसकेकी कलौतियाका अगाडि एउटा आधिसरो दाह्री फुलेको अधवैंसे मानिस देखा पर्छ। ऊ आफूले बिर्सिसकेको लोग्नेको अनुहार सम्झन पुग्छे। ऊ खुशी हुन्छे। अनि आफैंलाई प्रश्न गर्छे - "को हो त्यो मान्छे ? ऊ किन आएको हो यहाँ ?" पक्कै पनि त्यो मान्छेले कलौतियाका लागि विवाह भएको २७ वर्षपछि गौनाको मीठो सम्झना ल्याएको हुनुपर्छ। 

यो पुस्तक पढ्दा मलाई खट्किएको कुरा यसको फितलो सम्पादन पक्ष हो। यहाँ देखिएका भाषिक त्रुटिको त कुरै नगरौं; बारम्बार दोहोरिने विषयवस्तुले मिठो खाना खाइरहेका बेला दाँतमा कोड्याङ्ग कोड्याङ्ग लाग्ने ढुंगाको अनुभूति गराउँछन्। उदाहरणका लागि:

"कलावती दिनदिनै हुर्कदैं छे। दुइटई भैयाले खुबै माया गर्छन् …" (पेज नम्बर ३४)

"कलौतिया पनि शुल्क पक्षको चन्द्रमाझैं दिनदिनै बढ्दै छे। … दुवै भैया खुब माया गर्छन् ..." (पेज नम्बर ४०) 

"उनीहरुको एउटा छोरो छ मुकेश…" (पेज नम्बर ७५)

"पण्डितजीको एउटा छोरो छ मुकेश…" (पेज नम्बर ८०)

"भुलुवा र मुकेश चाहिं एकछिन पनि छुट्टिदैनन्…" (पेज नम्बर ९३)

"हुनपनि भुलुवा र मुकेश एकछिन छुट्टिदैनन्…" (पेज नम्बर ९८)

मेरो विचारमा यदि 'गुलरको फूल' को सम्पादन पक्ष बलियो हुन्थ्यो भने यो पुस्तक मदन पुरस्कारको दावेदार हुन सक्थ्यो।                          

Hole in place of soul

While I was travelling to and from the eastern part of Nepal recently, the English singer Lily Allen’s song “F * *k you very very much…” was echoing loudly inside my head the whole time. Even though the song is one about George W. Bush, it is equally relevant to reflect the actions of the corrupt politicians in Nepal at present.

Let me start from the beginning. I needed to go to Dhankuta from Kathmandu for an urgent personal reason. Until I bought a night bus ticket for Sunday, the 30^th of August, the situation sounded normal but when the departure date approached, many problems started creeping up. The bus company was not sure about whether or not the bus would be leaving Kathmandu on the day it was supposed to because of the intense Madeshi andolan. Things turned out just as I had feared they would; on Sunday morning, I received the news that the bus could not go to Dhankuta that evening. Now I had no choice but to go via aeroplane, spending thousands of rupees more in the process. “F * *k you very very much. ‘Cause we hate what you do and we hate your whole crew. So please don’t stay in touch…”

Well, luckily I got a plane ticket to Biratnagar for Tuesday morning, the 1^st of September. As soon as my older sister and I exited the airport in Biratnagar, a bunch of rickshaw pullers encircled us and informed us that there were no bus or taxi services from Biratnagar to Dharan. We could either hire a motorbike or rickshaw to go up to Itahari, then only God knew how we would manage to reach Dhankuta. We decided to hire a rickshaw so that we did not have to split up. The rickshaw puller charged us Rs. 1,000 for the trip whereas a bus would have normally charged less than Rs. 100. “F * *k you very very much. ‘Cause your words don’t translate and it’s getting quite late. So please don’t stay in touch…”

It took us two and a half hours to reach Itahari, usually the journey would have taken half an hour at most. Itahari was also banda because of Limbuwans. No vehicles were available to go to Dharan from there. We could do nothing but spend the night in Itahari. Miraculously, there was no banda the next day so early in the morning we could take a bus which would go directly to Dhankuta.

Then there was the challenge of returning to Kathmandu after 12 days in the midst of the ongoing ethnic unrest and frequent bandas; taking a bus was not an option. The option of coming by aeroplane via Biratnagar was also closed because of curfews between Itahari and Biratnagar airport. I needed to fly via Bhadrapur paying an airfare of Rs.7, 910; I only paid Rs. 4, 365 to get to Biratnagar from Kathmandu. Generally, the total bus fare from Kathmandu to Dhankuta and back again would have been less than Rs. 3,000, and I had to blow another Rs. 10,000 to get there and back this time around.  “F * *k you very very much. Do you get, do you get a little kick out of being small-minded…”

A lady I met in Damak had a different story. Her grandson needed to travel to Kathmandu in order take an examination. He had heard that the army would be escorting buses to Kathmandu - don’t mind the fact that it would take three days to get to Kathmandu from Damak in this manner. Calculating his time he got a ticket. Alas! At the very last moment, he was informed that the bus would not be going to Kathmandu, so he had no choice but to pay Rs. 8,000 for a plane ticket. The grandmother sadly remarked, “Oh…I don’t understand what’s happening to this country!” 

 

These are only a few examples of how the general public is suffering because of the short-sightedness

of the so-called politicians. I have heard countless people cursing them. Most of the rickshaw pullers from Biratnagar airport to Itahari were Madeshis who were willing to sweat in order to earn their bread; they were not demanding a separate state. The Limbus were sad because of their interrupted chores. All that these people wanted was peace, security and the assurance that their government was concerned about their rights. I saw the protesters were innocent people, some were even minors. One of the civilians remarked, “The 601 netas are safe and happy in Kathmandu. Only us, the commoners, are suffering for nothing! They should be in the front line on this battlefield, not the innocent ones!”

Countless people are dying every single day. What for? To further divide the nation? Or to fulfil the vested interests of political leaders? Is killing each other the single best option to solve problems? Why can’t we sit together, have friendly dialogues and find solutions? What is stopping us? Has the humanity inside us died completely? If not, how can someone drag an injured security personnel out of an ambulance and smash him to death? It feels like we are going back to barbarism instead of moving forward towards a civilized society. What is the reason behind this? The answer is simple: dirty politics and political games. “F * *k you very very much. Do you, do you really enjoy living a life that’s so hateful? ‘Cause there’s a hole where your soul should be! You’re losing control a bit, and it’s really distasteful…”     

                             (Published in an English Daily The Kathmandu Post on Sunday, September 27, 2015                                                                         in the title When trouble strikes)

[The pictures on this blog are posted here with permission from their owners or have been gathered from various sources on the Internet. If you are the copyright-holder to any of the photographs herein do not hesitate to contact me. They will be swiftly removed if desired so.]