Tags:
Journalism of Courage
As Nepal finally freed itself from the clutches of the monarchy, I heaved a sigh of relief. For entirely selfish reasons. Over the past year, the cooks at our place had belonged to the Himalayan kingdom 8212; and their happiness had become ours.
On more than one occasion, I8217;d discovered pages missing from my weekly newsmagazine. Just when I started wondering who at home had the temerity to do this, I found the answer. Tucked away in a corner of the kitchen cabinet 8212; among our stocks of oil, salt and sugar 8212; was a leaf from the magazine with a piece on a Maoist surrender. One of the men in the photo had been circled with a red pen. Must have been an acquaintance, I gathered.
He was replaced by one who claimed he was a spy. He once showed me a carefully concealed identity card, saying he had been sent to Delhi to rescue a Nepali women who was being exploited. From then on, every now and then, he would relate tales of extraordinary valour. He spoke about how he had managed to survive after the bus he was travelling in had fallen into a ravine. He also revealed how he had undergone rigorous training to handle arms, speak English, cook and clean, so that he could slip into any set-up.
He made me swear that I would keep his real identity to myself. I did so, only to realise later that everyone in the house, at some point or the other, had been made to take a similar oath. He finally left saying his 8220;mission8221; in the city was over.
He was replaced by a resident of Bihar. Before I could feel relieved that we would now be spared stories of raw courage, the man told me that his village was just a stone8217;s throw from the border. The day it was announced that Nepal was to be a constitutional democracy, he was beside himself with happiness and actually served lunch on time!
And that was how our lives came to be linked to developments occurring many hundred miles away, across the Indo-Nepal border.
