Interesting comments here. About two khagendras. One Khagendra doesn't have PhD, but knows a lot. Lives in the shadow of rapacious vultures of Kathmandu who have picked their prey among intellectual classes one by one in the last several months, yet undeterred, Khagendra writes what he sees. He writes for democracy, for people's right. He needs no doctorate, he needs no visit of the most developed and democratic country, he needs to dollars as his sallary, he needs no fancy English education. He has seen his country, he has known his people, he writes in the language that touches his people, people can read what he has written, and concur to it immediately. He writes policial columns that classy, he writes columns that will be memorialized as a masterpiece of literary politics, that will create a subgenre of its own in literature in the future: those columns are that good, that imbued with durability. Another Khagendra has a PhD, lives in the world's most developed country, could have seen further but refuses to open his eyes to the truth. He manufactures data to suit his purposes in his article, he has dispensed with shame to ingratiate with the dictator, he has no courage but an infinite desire to please the puissant, he sees fault in victims and pens a paean for the oppressor, for him victims are guilty because they are victims and because they are weak.His articles are worth no one's time, they are that worthless, they are that evanescent in their impact, that momentary. This is really a tale of two men, living in two cities. One spinning a spiderweb of lies to sleep there comfortably in illusion and possibly attract others too, another walking a path strewn with thorns so that people know how to fight for the truth.