Saturday Surgery

Totally personal guff…I don’t suggest anyone to read this!

विनाशकाले विपरित बुद्धि

विनाशकाले विपरित बुद्धि

मैले भन्न खोजेको सबै कुरा यसैले भनिदियो आहा कस्तो सजिलो भयो ।

तर वाइ सि एलको जमानामा संस्कृत जान्ने युवाको सङ्ख्या चाहिँ कति छ ?

यो चाहिँ पक्कै अनुसन्धानको विषय बन्न सक्दछ !

The Morning

Personal ramblings..

Protected: …realism and sanity…

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I was just thinking about…

The worst thing for me, concerning this blog is how it ends on a heavily sentimental note. (.i.e) a emotion-laden entry is the first post on the screen. I don’t intend to but the impulsion to write, is only there when the ‘emotions’ are felt. Anything else would make up for a ‘jhyas’ reading or not give any peace of mind to the writer as well. Not that, THAT, Is the only thing capable of instigating any emotion but it’s a more blissful experience doing go, owing to the hypothesis that it is like establishing some kind of connection with the intangible. Quite a number of things have propelled me to ‘write’ in my mind in the recent days though. All of them being political, though the ‘thoughts’ generated were on being personally exposed to such political realities. One was on attending a program titled ‘Indigenous Communities and Biodiversity” while the other was a meeting at a Ministry and also a short speech given by a secretary of a ministry in yet another program in a five-star hotel. I’d thought of penning down my thoughts as articles but they took a backseat on being asked to write something ‘serious’ with specific suggestion ‘not to have any dramatic element’ in them like in other ‘articles’ I have written for the papers. Well, with the global attention on ‘Jaibik bibidhata’ and also the occasion of International Day on Biodiversity (May 22) something had to be done as a duty, thereby the rest never materialized (though the issues could be contemporary and still create some buzz). Nonetheless, getting back to ‘jaibik bibidhata’ ( biodiversity) I just realized that unfortunately I can’t be Dictated or Be Told What to Do, especially when it concerns my writings. Thereby though I did do the assignment I opted for a different language and the output is yet to be seen (on which I have no control). And I have a feeling; it’s only me who will be able to comprehend whatever I have written till this point!

एक

इच्छा धेरै छन् जस्तो लाग्दैन, छन् तर पुरा नगरी यो अस्तित्व नै अर्थहीन होला जस्तो लाग्ने खालका छैनन्। कम भएकाले सायद तेरो जति पनि आफ्नो मानेर पुरा गर्ने मलाई फुर्सद छ। समय अलि बदलिएको छ, बेफुर्सदी भएजस्तो लाग्छ। एक वर्ष बितेछ , पत्तै नपाई होइन, प्रत्येक क्षेण बितेको पत्ता पाएर नै बित्यो। कुरा त मलाई त्यो दिनको विवरण दिएरै सुरु गर्न मन छ। तर त्यो हामीले एकै दिनमा तीन पटक मर्नेगरी ब्लाक फरेस्ट खान मनलागेर युरोपियन बेकरी धाएजस्तो यात्रा रहेनछ। त्यसैले धेरै सोच्दिन, साँच्ची भनेको।

The economist and the Kathmandu kid

I was searching the web for information about a college in Kathmandu and came across this article! Found it really interesting, thereby have absolutely no regrets on opting for the ‘copy-paste’ mode of blogging either Take a read:

The economist and the Kathmandu kid

Jane Nicholls | January 16, 2008

Source: Click here

THIS is a story about a poor boy in Kathmandu. It is also about his friend and mine, a man so differently placed from that boy that comprehension is difficult. It is a history, too, of a long, collaborative association and friendship founded in higher education policy, that began in violent antipathy back in 1988. It is a story about student financing and about a child in Nepal who wanted more than anything else to get to university.

It was April 2002. Economist Bruce Chapman was in Nepal for a World Bank seminar on higher education. On a free afternoon he ventured out of the Yak & Yeti, Kathmandu’s premier hostelry. Wandering in the Durbar Marg, the main drag outside the Yak & Yeti, Bruce encountered a small boy. Slight, he looked about eight but, as Bruce was to learn, was 10. He was dressed in faded, patched trousers, a thin jacket and worn white sneakers. “Excuse me, sir,” he began. “Where are you from?”

“Australia,” replied Bruce.

“Ah, yes, Australia,” the boy said. “The capital of Australia is Canberra.” His English was that precise, classic sub-continent version, unusual in a street urchin. “I know the capitals of every country in the world, sir, except the new ones because my book is old. Please ask me a country.”

“OK,” said Bruce. “What about France?”

“Paris,” said the boy promptly.

“Not bad,” said Bruce. He was impressed: he upped the ante.

“How about South Africa?”

“Ah,” said the boy. Do you mean the administrative capital, Johannesburg — known to its residents as Jo’burg — or the political capital, which is Pretoria?”

“How the hell do I know?” exclaimed Bruce, and laughed. They formally introduced themselves. The Australian economist and the Nepalese schoolboy, Suraj, struck up a fleeting friendship.