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Echoes of Chitra Narayan Pudasaini
My name is Chitra Narayan Pudasaini. If I were to confess in an empty room that does not echo, I would acknowledge that I am not particularly intelligent or well informed. Neither am I highly educated, nor skilled in any field of essence. I am neither logical nor practical. I am neither mechanical nor creative. Neither can I type fast, nor can I run fast. Neither can I draw, nor can I paint. Neither am I good with Math and words, nor with Physics and Geography. Neither I know anything about free market and investments, nor do I possess any entrepreneurial genes. Neither I know any now, nor do I have any desire to gain knowledge of computer or Internet. Neither am I hands on, nor have I my mind on. Neither I work hard, nor do I value those who do. Neither do I fear my ignorance, nor am I intimated by other people’s intellect.
If I were still confessing in that empty room that did not echo, I confess that I can’t cook, I can’t sing, I can’t drive, I can’t dance, and I can’t play any instrument. I know nothing about gardening flowers or plants or grilling chicken or lamb. I have never written poetry, or participated in any vocational initiative. I don’t play any sport, recreationally or otherwise. With the exception of couple of books that I was required to read for my Bachelor’s degree, I have never read a single book out of curiosity. I don’t know how to laugh at other people’s jokes, and I can’t tell one myself. Neither I laugh with others, nor have I ever laughed at myself.
I don’t enjoy sports, I don’t enjoy movies, I don’t enjoy trekking, I don’t enjoy children, I don’t enjoy weather, and I don’t enjoy working out. I don’t have good friends; I only have transitory acquaintances. Because I don’t listen. I merely wait for my turn to talk. And when I talk, nobody listens to me as passionately as I do. Because I love to hear, I talk. Though always void in substance, I am loud, incoherent, and unyielding.
That being said, I ask, why would I confess in an empty room that doesn’t echo? Aptly put, why should I? Since I am not good at anything; that makes me an expert in one field: Nepali politics.
Can you think of anyone better to talk about Nepali politics than me? I am loud-mouthed, I am ignorant, I am idiotically adamant, and I am full of opinions. I know nothing about socialism or capitalism, libertarianism or Marxism, gender equality or secularism, civil rights or social justice, or anything about unionism or labor rights. I add nothing to reason, analysis, fact, and to the views of any school of thought. I don’t believe in theories and philosophies, I don’t believe in economics and laws, I don’t believe in precedents and system, I don’t believe in history and constitution, and I don’t believe in governing and the very idea of being governed.
Since I have so much to complain about today, I don’t believe in tomorrow either. And I certainly don’t believe in the current government because I don’t know anyone who knows anyone in the cabinet.
So who better to argue today’s Nepali politics than me? I am demonstrative and confrontational, prejudiced and ‘jaat-ist’, inconsistent and hypocritical, and more importantly, I am such a crybaby that I will resort to any means to win an argument.
I don’t stick to principles, because I believe in nepotism. I don’t stick to my role, because I believe my role should change as soon as I fail. I don’t stick to the course, because I know a shortcut that benefits my brother-in-law. And I don’t stick to my argument, because I never have a conclusion to my prologue.
Really, tell me, who better to argue Nepali politics than me? The only person better suited than me is the drunken version of me.
Because when I am drunk, I am not only ignorant, I am vulgarly ignorant. When I am drunk, I am not only noisy, I am deafeningly noisy. When I am drunk, I am not only monotonous, I go in loop monotonously. When I am drunk, I am not only thin-skinned; my inferiority complex wraps that skin. And when I am drunk, I hardly can finish a sentence without using vernaculars like “Paado”, “Bhottey”, “Madhise”, “Mandaley”, “chor Marwaari”, “Jaisi Bahun …”
Continuing on this hypothesis of confessing in an empty room that does not echo… Ok, for an assumption’s sake, say, I only found rooms that echo. Say I screamed in one of those rooms loudly:
“My name is Chitra Narayan Pudasaini.”
I know what will echo. I bet I will hear:
“My name is Pushkar Lal Tamrakar.” “My name is Gajendra Singh Thakuri.” “My name is Ananta Bahadur Gurung.” “My name is Bhairab Dev Panta.” “My name is Purushottam Nath Chaulagai.” “My name is Devendra Man Shrestha.” “My name is Gobardhan Raj Thapa.” “My name is Jhalak Kumar Serchan.” “My name is Parbindar Kishor Jha” … and I sure will hear many other names. Because there are just too many like me.
We act this way because we can’t help our daughter with her 7th grade Algebra homework. We act this way because we don’t know how to use a plunger, so we run away from our clogged bathroom and talk politics with our neighbors. We act this way because we are scared of commonsense and logic, so we give you solutions to problems that we don’t understand. We act this way because outside politics, we have no shared theme of interest, since we have no hobbies, ambitions, or subscriptions.
We act this way because it is so hard for us to admit that we know that you know that we don’t know.
Do you think this is echoing to me?
Hell no!… Hell no!… Hell no!… Hell no!… Hell no!…