Updating the Nationalism

The talks and debate of nationalism and patriotic ideas are soaring as high as Mt. Everest and can be seen all over the Nepali circle in various social media. Though migrating to different destinations have become synonymous of going-to-the-office, there are still some patriots who condemn this practice. While Anuradha Koirala and Pushpa Basnet won million hearts with ‘CNN Hero of the Year’ award, while Prabal Gurung’s designs decorates famous female personalities, the unfortunate news of death of the Nepali workers in gulf countries while building roads and stadiums for privileged ones punctures our soul. These are the diversities of success and pain Nepali immigration have blessed us with.

Few years back, during a Facebook chat, a friend from Nepal asked if I would work in grocery store if I was in Nepal. I had answered him that if it would help me pay the semester fee, car costs, insurance, phone bill and shared apartment costs just like it does in US, then I would. Although, the chat ended with “nice talking to you” note, it had left questioning. I, and on the behalf of everybody that has left home for any purposes, apologize to my friends strolling the streets back home. We are sorry for not being there when ‘our country needs us the most.’

For a small country like Nepal; the whole length of the country less than 1000 kilometers, I believe the young hands present in Nepal should be able to irrigate a change. Since they advocate the possible changes, why not lead by example so that we migrants can follow? I do realize the power of united, strong teamwork. But then we are already the so called traitors that deserted Nepal.

Recently, Nepalese community claims to have evolved to appreciate labor and embrace the equality of every form of it. Often plagued by the culture of comparing our achievements with friends and neighbors, for decades we have only worshiped the white-collar jobs. The blues of leaving Nepal can be heard, seen, or often read all over the online Nepali community. If I have to summarize the content of a poem I recently read on a popular blog online, it was “I had a respected social lifestyle in Nepal, now I pitifully tussle with the cash register in a gas station. I miss my hills, meandering streams, peace and friends where as I do tedious work in US.” I- miss-home verses have become generic and overused. As soon as we are done celebrating labor, we are furious at our minimum wages jobs in foreign nations. Such hypocrisy nauseates me.

Even one of the greatest nations like America got founded by immigrants, people taking risks to create a better life for their families and future generations. I just hope we can keep pressing on towards this goal, and not just back-slide to the same condition that our fore-fathers tried to stave off. Everything is cyclical, though - there is no escaping the unending march of failure and progress. We just have to try and make sure we are on the right track.

I will not wander the streets wielding Khukuri to cement my patriotism. Sorry! A big Nepalese flag in the living room does not guarantee my nationalism. Spamming social media with “Buddha was born in Nepal” does not make you a die-hard Nepali fan. In addition, bashing India and using derogative terms like “dhotis” with foul language on YouTube comments should not make you feel proud for defending Nepali nationality. Winning India in occasional SAFF games should be not our ultimate victory. Also, wearing a handmade “Nepal” embroidered t-shirt cannot merely preserve the patriotism.

In this innovative era, stretching our horizon and thinking beyond the borders is cool. It might sound like a far-fetched task for a fellow Nepali when the country’s development is still in its infancy. But with the help of social media we've got today, it has never been so easier to share good works. Social sites have emerged as a pair of scissors that trims the barriers and shrinks the world into a global village. Our ideas, thoughts, high-spirits, actions and love should not stop at the borders but crush them. Communication and involvement has never been so easier. I can read Tsering’s blog from Namche Bazaar sipping a hand grenade in Bourbon Street in New Orleans. From any end of the road, from any corner of the world and from every walk of life, we can do something that allows us to invigorate mankind. Similarly, duty to motherland can be fulfilled from anywhere. Again, why not cultivate our minds to raise it beyond the social barriers and pave way for greater ideas and begin to think in terms of global citizens? Are not we already capable to do that?

looking out from my desk in University class

With plethora of social media, it is so easier to be heard, listen, watch and present. This is a generation of ideas, inventions and concepts, and high time for every one of us to come out of our cocoon, execute a positive change.

For few first steps, how about getting nominated or winning Oscars for Best movie in foreign language? Can we market Madal as an interesting musical instrument in foreign musical arenas? Or how about developing local tourism in your hometown? Have we tried exploring newer tourist destinations other than Pokhara and surroundings? How long should we wait to give our mouth some rest and exercise creativity? Can’t our thoughts soar as high as our mountains?

The crucial question that yields every time I see a fellow Nepali taking pride in birthplace of Buddha or Mt. Everest is “Are not we done embarrassing ourselves?”

The Questions we ask

  

“Say Sir! You got a dollar you could spare?”

I was about to dip my beloved fries in the creamy world of ranch, eating on the porch of the restaurant that overlooked one of the busy streets in the city of Houston. The outdoor sitting and gentle hustle and bustle of the city was entertaining me when the hoarse voice interrupted. My head quickly tilted up to witness the daring mortal who had just interrupted my delicious quest. Through the polarized sepia lenses of my Aviators I saw a tall, dark, and strong-built man probably in his thirties. His upper body was adorned with a white tank top stained in places while a pair of military green colored shorts hung weakly below his waist which looked like they were eager to kiss the floor anytime. His feet were wrapped up in an ancient pair of beaten up Air Jordans that covered his ankles. A small white-blue towel was hanging from his left shoulder which he kept grabbing with his right hand and wiping his sweating face as he talked to me.

“I am just trying to get on the bus, Sir,” he said, explaining his need for the dollar.

I put my unlucky fries back in the plate.

“Actually I might…,”

I murmured as I employed my both hands to search for that most wanted dollar bill which the plump lady at the restaurant counter had just given me as my change.

“Thank you. Appreciate that.”

The stranger began performing the custom of thanking before I could even hand him the bill.

“No problem man.”

I extended my hand to tender him his bus fare. He stretched and grabbed it by his right hand.

“ –Preciate that Sir.”

I just shook my head in affirmation. He wiped his face one more time while his left hand carelessly shoved the money in his left back pocket of his shorts.

Actually, I am not the giving kind most of the time. Many times I have walked away on guys on the streets asking for quarters and dimes. I have often ignored those pretenders under the freeways that walk around high on crack and holding cardboards claiming to be veterans or useful to society at some point of their lives. They actually might have been at some point in the past. But it is human nature to focus on the present. I could only see their present. I infrequently gave.

But today was different. It was a beautiful day with cool air doing somersault. My heart felt good inside out. It had one of those rare beautiful weather during dreaded Texas summer. With a grilled fish taco, fries and some bottles of Heineken, I was savoring the joy of the afternoon sitting out on the porch of my favorite restaurant. This place was my favorite because I could get good fish tacos with avocados and it also allowed me solace from my sometimes frustrating schedule. I enjoyed sitting out watching the cars zoom by on both sides while my mind got some rest. I was feeling great so I gave. After all, it was just a dollar. People donate hundreds.

“So, where you from Sir?”

I realized that he had not left and was still lingering on the sidewalk while I had resumed my eating. He threw me one of those frequently asked question in American cities. I got annoyed.

“No, I don’t want to go through the geography again. Not today” I thought.

If I tell him where I was from, chances are likely that he would have no idea about it and at present I was in no mood of discussing geography. I just wanted to be left alone with my green bottle. Actually, the first few years in the US, my eyes would light-up at that question and like a bright, junior school kid I would hold my head straight, stretch my body and say “I come from Nepal.”

And as soon they confirmed that they did not know where it was, I felt like my job began. I would educate them how Nepal is such a blessed country for being naturally beautiful, being land of Birthplace of Buddha, home to tallest mountain in the world, Mt. Everest and so on. I thought it was my utmost duty to enlighten people about Nepal.

“Nepal is a beautiful country. We got Mount Everest. And yes it’s the birthplace of Gautama Buddha. Well, it’s sandwiched between India and China but we have unique cultures.” I had elaborated it so many times. Often times I also shared facts and information about Gurkha soldiers, another interesting topic for enthusiasts wanting to know about Nepal.

But it was interesting how ever since I have flew over the Pacific Ocean and have been living in US; I have had the chance to become everyone. “Hola Amigo” was the frequent I would get. And I have also been assumed as Filipino, Hawaiian, Indonesia, Iranian and Indian. It all depends on who is making the assumptions. Back home, I was myself with no variations. Here, I have the opportunity to become anyone.

 “So much for diversity!!!”

Often times I have exclaimed.

“Today I will pick Hawaii.” I told myself.

I took a sip of my beer and looked at him. He was standing idly looking at no fixed thing but everywhere. Then he looked at me with a look that reminded me that he had just asked me something.

 “I am from Nepal. It’s between South-China, North-India. It’s small.”

I finally belched out the answer.

“ Ohh-wee. Never heard of that.” he exclaimed and slightly shook his head left to right and while he squeezed his lips in a whistling position.

 “Must be far, huh?” he inquired.

I just shook my head in affirmative. Any more words would lead into continuation of conversation which I did not want at all. I think he understood my hesitation as he began to find a direction. He shook his right leg, wiggled the foot as if something was stuck in his shoes. He gently stumped his foot on the ground and turned to me.

“You have a nice one.” he wished and flashed a victory sign with his left hand while I lifted the bottle with right.

“I always do.” I said inside my head.

 But I just smiled and nodded. He walked away humming a song. His body kept swinging to the rhythm.

 “That’s life” I murmured.

How cool was it! You can just stop anywhere, make a conversation as long as you want, ask a dollar and not worry about anything. No really, for a while I got jealous of that stranger’s life. How many times have I just walked along the streets without having to rush to get somewhere? When was the last time I was happy with the digits my bank account had? I mean would a dollar suffice me like it did for that happy-go lucky guy? Not me. OK! So how often have I developed enough interest to talk to a stranger? Piled up with my ego, arrogance, rushed life and insecurities I often try to avoid any conversation with others even though I share this world with millions of fellow human beings. I looked at him as he kept walking away from my eyesight becoming smaller. As he was going, I felt something coming towards me. No, it was not another individual, not any object, but a sign. A big question mark came flying towards me.  As it approached, I figured it was the same question the guy had asked me. 

“Where you from Sir?”

“So where am I from?” I asked myself.

I quickly realized it had been almost three years since I  left home without going back to visit. I rarely felt homesick compared to my friends who often felt sorry that they were missing everything back home. Well, there are moments too when I’ve felt that situations were too demanding and I could use some physical, mental and emotional family support but I’ve consoled myself and engineered myself to accept the challenges. I have taught myself to look ahead of my comforts and easy life. I began to adore the US for number of reasons. It might sound cliché but it definitely is the land of opportunities. All the basic needs are easily granted to you. Resources are huge. There is respect for work of any nature. Here you have a complete freedom, which can be overwhelming for an immigrant, who can then feel alienated or left out. But I have taken this opportunity as a time to be with myself. I can choose what to wear, what to do, my grocery, my phone company, and so on. Here, you have multitude of choices that I think we lack back home. Though I have not completely abandoned rice, spices and so on, which are the staples of a kitchen in Nepal, I realize I have developed a huge taste for mayonnaise and ranch. I too like steaks as much as I enjoy mo:mo. Burgers are convenient, I believe compared to the cooking one has to do. Assimilation has never a problem for me. With an open mind, positive and optimistic ideals, life is always brighter.

“Can you believe the bills here? No rest, no social life and all work. I wish I could go back home and just lie around and just devour my mom made dishes. US have no culture! It is too vulgar here. It is all about money. People do not care. They are very individualistic. Oh!! How I miss Nepal? My mother land! I would trade anything for a life in Nepal. Man next time I go home, I will travel all the hills and mountains. I will sleep under the stars,” my friends and social acquaintances have often declared. And the moment I hear them, I want to refer them a good travel agency that offers good deals on flights to Nepal. Those self-claimed victims never ceased complaining and but did not leave either. The option of leaving is as open as the choice of coming into this country. But I am not being bitter or aggressive to people who complain about the fast paced society here or miss home. I too miss my family and friends, the hills, the long-winding roads and so on. Everything is beautiful back home I know. But I also do not fail to acknowledge that the US is a modern developed society. Like every society it has its own strengths and limitations.

I have a solid, fresh memory of my day of departure back home. Maybe because it was a huge turning point in life I’ll never forget.

“Where are you? It’s getting dark. You don’t want to miss an international flight, do you? You better come home and make the last minute check of your luggage,” my mother snapped as soon as I pressed that green button on my phone.

“Ok. I will be there.”

It was a beautiful Kathmandu evening and I was on a small hilltop looking at the city clad in its beautiful variety of evening lights. I often taken refuge in this hilltop alone and with my friends whenever we had leisure time. This was a beautiful view point; the air blew cool and fresh. The city noises sounded distant. The whole city was lit up with artificial lights but it looked beautiful. The valley downwards looked like thousands of lights sewn together on the ground. It also gave an illusion if the lights were floating on water. The cool air kept caressing my face and hands as I pondered about a new life abroad and having to leave everything behind. I was desperate to leave and I could not be any happier realizing that in few hours I would be on a plane that will take me far away. I was tired here. The pollution of the city had choked me, the rampant corruption gave me headaches, the crazy unmanageable traffic pierced my tranquility, and the poor conditions and lack of basic infrastructure infuriated me. I felt the country lacked intellect. It was adorned more by the hooligans. In my personal opinion, there were only two classes that were characteristic of Nepal. One faction of Nepalese population was hooligan. They did not know, they did not care but yet they were everywhere. They ran the streets and offices. They screamed, ran and created havoc. The other half was just too naïve and silent. They were just silent receivers of the hooligans. I was often saddened by the serious lack of wise population. I took a deep breath.

“I will miss it all definitely but I have to leave” I told myself as I rose from the stone I was sitting on.

I rode my motorbike and the headlights guided me downhill towards home. It was like a mini festival around my house. A few neighbors, my family and a few friends were gathered to bid me farewell. Everyone looked happy and it made me happier to see everyone in a cheerful form. The day noises had died and houses in neighborhood were lit with Edison’s invention. Again, the evening was beautiful and I felt like as if everything was congratulating me and wishing me the best on my journey ahead. The few stars in the sky, the moon, the few barking dogs in the neighborhood, the friends who kept patting me on my shoulders. All of them congratulated me in unison. My grandfather was enjoying the air on the side of the house when we bumped into each other. All my life I have known him as a good listener, few soft words and for his smile. He was tall and good-looking man. His words always contained respect for everyone. The conversations he made were full of grace and calmness. He was charismatic man with his soft speaking style. He did not walk too fast or nor too slow. Just few well calculated steps and body language. With his signature smile and piercing eyes, he looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and went up to him.

“It’s a nice evening. Isn’t it?” I said.

“Sure is. Enough warmth and cool. I have been outdoors all day today.” He looked at me and smiled.

He gently grabbed me by my elbows and kept walking as in a manner of guiding me somewhere. I knew he wanted to talk but I did not know about what.

“So when will you reach there?” he inquired.

“Well, my first stop is in Hong Kong. I have a layover there for about eight hours. And then I will fly to Los Angeles. And then connect to a flight to Chicago. And then finally!! St. Louis! I think they said probably around 25 hours. Should be around that.”

“Phew!!” he smiled at me.

“That’s a long journey but…well… you are young and strong. You will make it safe and sound.”

“Oh yes, Grandpa. I will make it. Do not worry”

“Yes, a strong man like you should travel. Go places, talk to people, reason and question, watch and learn.”

“I will try to do that” His words had inspired me again.

I was encouraged already and my excitement was only pumping up. In few more hours I would be on the plane to one of the strongest nations in the world.

“But…” he stopped as we reached a little distance from the house. The dogs kept barking in the background. All the stars, the moon, the evening lights and the air were silent listeners to our conversation. The cool air had the same pleasant flow.

He turned to me.

“One has to find a way back home no matter how much he has travelled down the road. Your parents and family were not earned by you. You did not choose them. They were gifted to you by god. There is no joy other than being amidst family. Do what you have to do. Earn your education, learn a life-skill and make sure to come back. We should unite soon.”

“Yes, I totally understand. And I will,” I uttered those words as I tried to ease his feelings even though I had no idea if I was coming back to settle down. But I just was not sure.

But due to my respect for him, I agreed. I totally understood his concern about hundreds of youth who leave the country for a purpose and settle elsewhere. It is sad but I did not know anything better. I was leaving too.

I went inside the house and checked my bags and luggage. While I packed my suitcases with some clothes, books, music player and other items recommended by friends in US for a first time traveler, my heart and mind were already packed with dreams, hopes, aspirations and excitement. I could not wait to see the Statue of Liberty. I felt the journey ahead of me was going to be very interesting and worthwhile. I bid my final goodbyes and headed to the airport. After making my way through the few checkpoints and through some waiting, I sat myself in my assigned seat inside the plane.

“It’s a big plane” I thought.

There were all kinds of dream chasers in that plane. Most of them were males. Tall, short, well-built, lean and weak, fair, dark and so on. Exciting faces, tired eyes, nervous eyes and loud excited talks filled the inside of the plane which always looked like a tunnel to me. Most of the faces had a Tika on the forehead, silk shawl, a flower garland which is a huge characteristic of Nepali festive or special occasion. I decided to go to sleep as I was tired from all the rush of preparations for this trip. I closed my eyes.

I felt a knee hit mine gently. I opened my eyes immediately.

“Sorry. Sorry there. I just slipped trying to loosen my seat-belt,” the young man apologized.

“It’s ok.” I said and smiled to my companion who would sit beside me on this trip.

I tilted my head back into the seat. In few minutes the air hostess read instructions and the big bird took off into the dark sky. I could see people congratulating each other. Excitement definitely ruled this airplane. I remembered how my friend, Sajin and I often looked at these big planes while we were riding on our motorbikes around the city and said “Look! How lucky those creatures are!!” From inside the plane, I just hoped someone was down there, sitting on his or her balcony and wishing to be on this plane. Someone who was wishing to get out of here!

“So where you headed to?” My seatmate tried to start a conversation. I scanned him briefly without paying much attention.

“US... I am going to US” I answered.

 His eyes grew slightly bigger and he slightly nodded.

“Ah!! I see. That sounds great,” he replied more in a whispering manner.

“What are you going there for?”

“Study. Going to get a degree. That’s it.” I stretched my tired body.

“That is awesome. America is superb they say. From what I hear you can make loads of money there. You earn in dollars,” he exclaimed.

I did not blame him. It was sad to know that how for some people leaving a country had only one purpose; make money. Mine was different. But when you have a majority of people with the same problem then that problem somehow belongs to you too if you are living in a civilization. You can’t deny it when hundreds of others are facing it. I had just traded a comfortable middle class life for an international study-journey. He was a product of our weak economy like most of our fellow countrymen.

“I think so. I have to find out,” I answered. I grabbed a magazine out of the back pocket of the seat in front of me.

“Definitely,” he replied as he moved his right palm over his well-oiled hair.

 “What about you? Where’s your destination?” It was my turn of inquiry. I kept flipping the pages not interested in any words. Just scanned through the pages.

“I am going to work in a construction company in Qatar. Pay is all right. My cousin brother is already there. Because of his recommendation, I am making this trip. He even bought small piece of land last year in the village. So I think it will be worth it.” His eyes sparkled while he said this.

It looked like he was trying to comfort himself that it was worth to leave his parents back home. He was flipping though a magazine too and looked at me at times while he talked.

I looked at him. He was young boy with dark complexion. He was tall but slender. His hair was well-oiled and had a strong scent. Maybe coconut? He wore a well-ironed white cotton shirt and khaki pants. I could not see his footwear as the magazine he was holding blocked the view. Going to gulf countries has become very common for the young unemployed youth of Nepal. Every year hundreds of young males leave for various gulf countries for employment.

“You look young though. How old are you?” I gave way to my utter curiosity and looked at him with a faint smile.

“Ha-ha…” He laughed briefly.

 “I am almost turning twenty by the mid of this year. Yes it is time to be a breadwinner,” He talked mature for his age.

“No it is time for you to be in school and learn.” I said to myself, not to him.

“So did your parents approve of this happily? I mean did you force them for approval or were they fully supportive?” I continued.

“There is no question of denial. What are they going to say after all? There is no work here. Nothing! And you know how my uncle’s family’s life has changed ever since my cousin has started sending money.”

He looked at me. “It is time for me to earn and support my family. My father said that this is the right time. According to him, this is the time a guy works hard and saves money for his marriage. And I am planning to marry in next four years.” He patted his hair one more time. Maybe he was checking if the hair still sat in its place as he might have told them to when he left the sight of last mirror before he left for the airport.

“Wow!! You already planned for it?” I jokingly asked and looked at him as the conversation got interesting.

“Yes. Why not? You know you have to have some economic soundness before you marry. All this year, I will save money. When I come back I will marry Rinky,” he looked shy when he said this.

I shook my head with a smile and kept looking at him. I closed the magazine and put it back into the back pocket of the seat.

 “Well, she is not that beautiful but she is smart and well mannered. I think she will take care of me and family well. It is just a dream for now.” He took a long breath as he stretched his upper body.

“Yes. Good luck with that. Dreams might take time but they will come true as long as you work on it.”

With his mouth open, half-yawning, he nodded his head in the affirmative.

“ohawaaa…. I feel sleepy now,” he said as he slacked his body back to the uncomfortable stiff plane seat. The noise of the engine grew stronger as people noises have diminished. I tried to look outside but could not see anything. I too closed my eyes and made way for some sleep.

I suddenly woke up. I rubbed my eyes gently and checked the time to find out that I hardly slept for 40 minutes. I looked around inside the plane and saw most of the passengers enjoying a good sleep. I turned to my right to check on my travel mate. He was leaning to his left with his head slightly touching his left shoulder. His right leg was slightly bent and rested on the seat. His well ironed shirt was now in the process of getting wrinkled. His mouth was slightly open while he slept.

“What a tragedy!” I exclaimed to myself.

“What on earth has this guy done wrong to be here on this plane?”

I had heard stories about cruelty by owners in gulf countries. The working conditions are harsh while the pay and living conditions are low. Not to forget the maltreatment by the bosses. I felt a seed of sorry feeling growing inside me. What would his mother give to keep her son in the house, around her? Watch him grow and develop in perimeters of her comfort zone? How hard it must have been for her to drown her sorrows and congratulate him on going to be a breadwinner? I mean why there is nothing being done when young souls like these are getting robbed of their beautiful youth?

I kept watching him and sank in deep sea of apologies for him as he kept sleeping.

“I am sorry man. But I cannot help you even though I know you are being done wrong. I mean the system that allows is bigger than me. I am helpless myself.”

My thoughts raced as far and high as this plane has reached right now. The fact that this young man did not even realize the injustice that has been laden on him pinched my soul. He deserved to be around his family, his friends, his town and his place of choice. Who would have thought the two of  us, from such social differences, would be sitting next to each other on the same plane but with such different destinations and such different purposes, and yet both leaving home willingly? I, almost as young as him was leaving to one of the most advanced countries to earn my education while my friend sleeping here was on journey to earn a living, to do some manual labor jobs. How much does an opportunity cost? How much of it does he need right now? Can we at least try to give him some time so that he can enjoy the beauty of his youth? Within some months he will be a part of this modern slavery system that will gradually murders his creativity and joy. He will learn to become subservient and associate everything with money. Very soon he will forget what it feels like to go the local river with friends for a swim. In few years he will not feel the same joy from lying around the house doing nothing but getting lost in thoughts. Yet still so many youth are seeking life in the midst of this grand robbery. No more he will enjoy the beauty of running around the streets in the rain trying to make it home dry.

“But who are you to judge?” A million angry voices countered my thoughts in unison. I sat helplessly.

“What are you even suggesting? You are on the same plane too. You talk about family and friends whom you just have left back too. Why are you judging a person’s future here?” The voices grew stronger and louder.

That voices continued, “Who knows if this young lad you are expressing sympathy for will make it big in the land of heat he is headed to? What if the stars have a better way crafted for him than yours? There is no escape of misery and hard work. Happiness and poverty are only relative. Do not judge him by your ideals. I warn you”

The shady, smokey face pointed his finger at me. I felt warm and nauseated.

“Hey would you like to get another Heineken?” a sweet female voice brought me back to senses. The street noises came into life again.

It felt as fresh as if someone had just splashed a bucket of ice-cold water on me on a sunny day. I looked up to her. This same face has greeted me for past few months and I liked it. Shanira has never failed to smile with those cute dimples on her cheek. I looked back into my plate. The unfinished taco stared back at me. The fries were all gone and the liquid that was left in the green bottle was warm by now.

I looked up to her grinning widely.

“I think I am done. Thank you.”