Caste-based discrimination is in news once again in Kathmandu, propelled by the rare courage shown by Rupa Sunar to not quietly accept the fact that an “upper caste” family in Kathmandu refused to rent her rooms just based on her caste. Indeed, Rupa Sunar is not the first person to be refused room rental because of their caste, nor the first person to take legal action against caste-based discrimination in room rental. Karuna Bishwakarma and Deepa Nepali are two other examples of young Dalit women who spoke up and are still fighting for justice.

The difference in this case is that the landlady is an “upper caste” Newa who belongs to an ethnic and linguistic minority that has long been oppressed by the state. There is no doubt some validity to the claim that the Khas Brahmin-dominated media has been gleefully fanning the fire, happy about the opportunity to deflect the criticism from themselves. But the fact remains that there was fire to begin with. Saraswati Pradhan has acknowledged that caste was the reason she could not rent to Rupa Sunar. It is irrelevant that she sounded very pleasant while delivering an unpleasant, and illegal, message. The situation was made worse by the fact the Education Minister, Krishna Gopal Shrestha, himself an “upper caste” Newa personally went in an official vehicle to get Saraswati Pradhan released. Furor increased, justifiably, not only among Khas Dalits but also caste-oppressed Newas and others committed to caste abolition because a representative of the state had publicly flaunted his power on behalf of the perpetrator.

The “upper caste” Newas, used to portraying themselves only as the victims of state oppression, suddenly found themselves on the crossfire as the oppressors clinging to caste-based hierarchies. In order to defend themselves, Newa leaders are trying to portray it as a Khas vs Newa issue, one more way the Khas community that controls the state is oppressing Newa community. Indeed, the entire Newa community has legitimate complaints against the Khas-controlled state. There have been attacks on our language, culture, and even livelihoods in the name of national unity and development. Of course, Newas are not the only ones whose land and language has been attacked. Along with the Tamangs in the hills, Tharus in the flatlands, and many other indigenous and minority communities, Newa anger against the state is valid. But this case does not fall under that rubric. It is, unfortunately, a case where someone within the Newa community is the perpetrator of injustice.

Some Newa leaders have also wrongfully accused Rupa Sunar of taking money from the European Union to make false allegations against Saraswati Pradhan. It is ironic that a community that considers itself oppressed is using the oppressors’ language to deflect the criticism towards itself, more so when it comes from people who have branded themselves as human rights activists.

The Newa leaders are also trying to portray Newa community as a monolith, glossing over caste hierarchies and class discrepancies. They keep referring to the decade-old declaration and public statement as the proof that the community has been rid of all hierarchies. Even among those who consider themselves to hold progressive values, few are willing to reflect on their structural privilege or their role in continued caste-based discrimination within the community. Even those who have issued public apology to the Khas and Madhesi Dalits are unwilling to admit the inequalities and injustice within the community. It is possible that some of them genuinely believe that caste is history because they do not overtly discriminate and do not have to think about it in their daily lives. But it is important to remember that caste blindness is a luxury afforded to those at the higher end of the hierarchy who do not regularly engage with others further down the hierarchy as friends or family members.

Indeed, the caste hierarchy within the Newa community is different from Khas or Maithil communities, or as it exists in India. Rules of inclusion and exclusion are different. Caste groups that are considered higher or lower in the hierarchy are different. But regardless of how the details manifest in different communities, the underlying structure is the same — discrimination based on birth. It is not enough to point out the anomalies or few examples of people overcoming barriers to argue that the Newa community has rid itself of the caste system. Caste abolition is only possible when we come together and create joint strategies. But before that, we have to start with the acknowledgement that caste-based discrimination continues to be a lived reality and there are many Rupas, Karunas, and Deepas within Newa community.

If declarations could wipe away discrimination, there would be no injustice left in the world. There would be no racism, sexism, homophobia or any other forms of structural injustices. Every country, every community, at some point, must have made a statement against social ills. The United Nations General Assembly alone has 560 conventions and counting, upholding rights of women, of indigenous communities, of religious minorities and more. Yet, injustice remains a reality across the world. The Nepali Constitution, a legal document unlike the aforementioned declaration, also recognizes Nepal as a country free of caste-based discrimination. Yet, caste-based discrimination remains within the Newa community and within the broader Nepali society.

Indeed, things have changed and discrimination based solely on someone’s caste has become less visible. Especially in urban areas where people do not know each others’ family histories, it has become easier to go unnoticed or avoid caste conversations. For most parts, people are able to mingle in schools, in workplaces as equals, and of course, it is impossible to maintain “purity” in crowded public buses or in movie theaters.

Many families have started allowing their friends to enter their homes and even share meals, regardless of their caste backgrounds. Some also rent out their spare rooms. But even among those families, double standards persist. It is ok to touch running water, but still water will become impure. It is ok to enter the living room, but not the kitchen and never the pooja room.

Family is the sphere where the power of caste remains the strongest, more than any other part of the society; who can become family, who can remain family is determined by caste.

Caste is what forces a young person to choose between love and family. Most end up choosing the path of least resistance and renege on their promises and their love. Many choose their life partners only among the eligible, whether in arranged or love marriage, to prevent future heartaches, and thus, knowingly or unwittingly perpetuate the caste hierarchies.

The few who choose love against the antiquated and unjust worldview may be hailed as the vanguards of change in small progressive circles, but the coast is not clear for them even after they make the decision. Many are forcibly separated against their will, especially those who marry young. The extreme cases that end in death become news — the “lower caste” spouse killed by the family of the “upper caste” one like those of Ajit Mijar, Nabaraj BK, or Angira Pasi. News does not automatically translate into justice, or even nominal action as Ajit Mijar’s body still in the morgue in the Teaching Hospital in Kathmandu proves.

Intercaste marriages are becoming more accepted, even if not fully embraced. Among the Newas, there has not been any recent news about deaths for choosing a life partner outside of the accepted groups. But an overwhelming majority of those who choose intercaste families face everyday discriminations, death by a thousand cuts, each cut too small to be newsworthy. Many are entirely cut off from their immediate and extended families. Among Newas, men who marry someone considered beneath them are excommunicated from guthis, the much-vaunted system of communal wellbeing. As guthis are patriarchal structures, the rules of excommunication only apply to men. Even those who have a semblance of normal relationships with their family members are often excluded from major religious functions and even prevented from mourning the death of their loved ones by participating in their last rites.

When we talk about the caste system, we often only discuss the problem of untouchability. Indeed, untouchability is the worst form of caste system. However, caste hierarchy also shows up in who gets to lead a community, who gets to set the narrative about the community as well. We have a long history of Newa leadership in the fight against caste injustice and to uphold Dalit rights. When we discuss Newa history, we talk about Padma Ratna Tuladhar going to Dalit settlements, we talk about Dharma Ratna Yami changing his caste. It is worth questioning the role caste plays in the fact that we rarely talk about pathbreaking anti-caste activists like Saharsha Nath Kapali, the or Mithai Devi Bishwakarma.

We critique and complain about overrepresentation of Khas Bahuns and Chhettris in Nepal, as we should. But, if we use the same lens within the Newa community, we will find that only a handful of last names are overrepresented as well. Regardless of whether they are Buddhist or Hindu, majority of the Newas in leadership positions in politics, education, or NGO/INGO sector all come from the castes considered to be the highest among Newas. The list of the vanguards of Newa language and literature also repeats the same few last names. It is not possible to argue that inherent merit is concentrated in only a small part of the community. How can we in good faith fight against the injustice against the Newas while turning a blind eye towards injustice within the community?

Of course, things have morphed over time. Some things have gotten easier, but only the heart that has experienced suffering understands the pain of discrimination. Those who are preaching patience, heralding miniscule changes and ignoring the ongoing injustice, must understand that not feeling the sense of urgency is itself a luxury only available to those who do not have to live with oppression. The least they can do is to listen and validate the experiences of those who are living with everyday experiences of discrimination, and of course if they are brave enough, they can pick up the jackhammer and join in the fight to smash the caste system.

Death By A Thousand Cuts: Newa Community & The Caste System

I can tell my immigration story two different ways. One, I came here with $200 and two suitcases holding almost all of my worldly possessions. Two, I came here with a full scholarship to a rich liberal arts college. Both are true, and have shaped who I am and the way I view the world. Give or take a few details, my story is not that different from that of other immigrants who came to the U.S. for higher education or white collar jobs since the post-Civil Rights era. But immigrant narratives are rife with stories with the first arc — we came here with nothing, worked hard, and succeeded, look at us now!

Of course, most of us came here with very little. We started out with few worldly possessions, only what we could cram into our suitcases. We struggled to find our footing, away from family and friends. But we were among the most privileged. Even for those of us who did not come from affluence, we had enough to pay our fare or at least the social capital to be able to borrow against future income potential. That $200 and a one-way ticket almost wiped out my parents’ entire life savings. Yet, my family could afford that airfare, even if just one-way — a luxury still not available to most of the people back home.

Hard work definitely played a big role in my success. But, the scholarship gave me a flying start (regardless of whether you look at it as charity to save a Third World Brown girl or a more sinister agenda to undermine the Civil Rights movement by creating a buffer community). It gave me freedom and helped me save up even on a nonprofit starter salary — a luxury not available to majority of my friends from the U.S. who are still paying off their education debt.

My time in the U.S. hasn’t been all milk and honey. For more than a decade, I was constantly running an obstacle course set up by the U.S. immigration system. I spent countless number of hours gathering documents to prove my worth and tens of thousands of dollars to pay the lawyers and the U.S. government. Things fell through, and my life almost fell apart. A last minute contact with a wonderful immigration attorney saved the day, thanks to the social and financial capital I had been able to build — a luxury not available to millions of immigrants.

So, if I tell my story as coming to the U.S. with $200 and two suitcases, I would be lying, even if every single word is factually correct.

Two Arcs of My Immigration Story

In the cool morning of November 8, 2016, I stood in line at the Joseph Pulitzer Intermediate School 145 in Jackson Heights, Queens, New York to cast the very first ballot of my life. I carefully filled out the bubbles on the ballot, thinking about my father. It had been exactly twenty-two months since he had passed.

I never got to vote while my father was alive because I was not old enough while living in Nepal, my country of birth, and I did not have U.S. citizenship for the first two decades of living and working here. When I finally got my right to vote, after years of supporting others to engage in the electoral process, I was thrilled about finally being able to participate in the electoral process but not about the candidates. My vote ended up being symbolic anyway, unable to change the election results that shocked the world. I still wish I could share my experience as a first time voter with my father, my political idol who taught me by example to question the status quo and rise up for justice.

One of my earliest memories is holding my mother’s hand as she registered at two different gates on the way to visit my father in jail. He had been arrested a few days earlier, supposedly for translating into Nepali a text that the government deemed dangerous. I was too young to fully understand the details. I was just happy to see him. He came home after a few more days, but the image of speaking to him through the bars has stayed with me all these years. I also remember smugly judging the guards for misspelling my mother’s name, turning Panna, an emerald, into tanna, a bedsheet.

It was not the first time my father had suffered from state-sanctioned violence. As a teenager, he walked out of classes to march in the streets of Kathmandu for democracy, for people’s right to choose who governs them. He was apparently hit by a rubber bullet during one of the marches, and lived with recurring pain for many years.

But jail and injury was not enough to wipe out his radical hope. He dedicated his life to ensure that voices from the margins were heard. He went on to do transnational work through Afro-Asian people’s solidarity movement, while continuing to work locally for language rights and religious freedom and against caste-based discrimination. He was always on the move, visiting old friends and making new ones, first on his old-school bicycle and later on foot when a botched knee surgery left him unable to pedal. Friends and cousins reported running into him all across the city, wearing one of his signature khaki short-sleeve bush shirts. He wrote, he educated, he agitated, but more importantly, he read a lot, all the time. Truly a Renaissance man, his thirst for knowledge and new experiences did not diminish even in his last days.

In his later years, he became disillusioned with the political class, including his comrades who went on to rule the country. However, he never stopped engaging with the system. He cast his last ballot in 2013 for the second Constituent Assembly. He would not have liked the Constitution pushed through in the wake of the 2015 earthquake that shook Nepal, particularly the reactionary definition of secularism. But by then, he was no longer with us.

If he were alive, we would have had many looping conversations about the power and symbolism of voting, about vote trading between Democrats and Greens, about patriarchy and racism, and why the Dakota Access Pipeline did not rise up to become an election issue. He would have been glued to the television and probably yelled at every mention of Trump, as he did about Modi during the election in India two and a half years earlier. Although he spent almost all his life in Kathmandu, he fancied himself a global citizen and had strong opinions about the way the world was. We would not have always agreed and would have argued well into the night. But we would have both enjoyed the conversations.

Every day, I miss talking to my father and on certain days, I feel it more. Our conversations are now no longer possible, except in my head. So, I choose the next best alternative. I follow his footsteps, and cast my vote in his honor for putting his life in line for people’s right to vote and for teaching me that voting is not just my right but also my responsibility. I vote knowing its limitations. I vote hoping for its full potential.

Every time I line up to vote, and often on days in between, I think about that November morning. I was excited like a child to get an “I Voted” sticker as I exited the polling station. I stuck it on my jacket, took a rare selfie, and thought “Ba, this one’s for you!”

Voting in honor of my father

कान्तिपुर टेलिभिजनमा हाल १२ एपिसोडको छोटो शृंखला “जातको प्रश्न” प्रसारण भैरहेको छ। शायद महानायकको रुपमा चिनिने राजेश हमाल प्रस्तोता रहेको कारणले पनि होला यो कार्यक्रम धेरै दर्शकहरु माझ पुग्न सफल भएको छ। लाखौँ मान्छेले हरेक हप्ता नबिराई हेरेर जातको बिषयमा छलफल नेपालभरी र नेपाली आप्रवासी भएका सबै ठाउँमा पुगेको छ।

केहि आलोचना पनि भएको छ — कार्यक्रमको प्रस्तुति, अतिथीहरुका साथसाथै राजेश हमालको छनौटको बारे पनि। केहि हदसम्म यी प्रश्नहरु वैध नै छन्। मेरा पनि केहि आलोचनाहरु छन्। भन्नै पर्दा जातको प्रश्न एउटा औसत कार्यक्रमको रुपमा प्रस्तुत भएको छ। केहि त्रुटी, कमजोरीहरु छन्। कतै कतै अलि गृहकार्य गर्न नपुगेको हो कि भन्ने पनि लाग्यो। निखार्न मिल्ने ठाउँ अझै छन्। तर कोरोनाको महामारीको समयमा लक्डाउनको अनिश्चितताको बीचमा कार्यक्रम बनाउन लागिपरेको टीमको सराहना गर्नैपर्छ।

मेरो मुख्य प्रश्न थियो सबै जसो अतिथीहरु “उपल्लो” जातका पुरुष नै किन? के अरुले जातको बिषयमा कुरा राख्न मिल्दैन? तर पछि रियलाइज भयो कार्यक्रममा अतिथीहरु निर्णायक तहका व्यक्तिहरु थिए। भने पछि सोध्नु पर्ने प्रश्न त अर्कै रहेछ — निर्णायक तहमा किन सबै उपल्लो जातका पुरुषहरु छन्? महानायकको पदवीका दाबेदार हमाल नै किन? कलाकारदेखि पत्रकार, न्यायाधीश, प्रमुख जिल्ला अधिकारी, सरकारी कर्मचारी, राजनीतिज्ञसम्म नेपालको सम्पूर्ण क्षेत्रमा एउटै समुदायको बाहुल्यता किन?

कार्यक्रमको गुणस्तरको कुरा गर्ने नै हो भने के कान्तिपुर टेलिभिजन वा अरु नेपालमा बन्ने कार्यक्रमहरुमा सबै कुरा मिलेका हुन्छन? सयमा एक-दुई मात्रै त हो नि उत्कृष्ट हुने। के उपेक्षित समुदायलाई गल्ती गर्ने, औसत हुने अनुमति छैन? के दलित समुदाय वा अरु उपेक्षित वर्गको नेतृत्वमा बनेको हरेक कार्यक्रम उत्कृष्ट हुनै पर्छ?

हुन त जातको विषयमा राष्ट्रिय टेलिभिजनमा यसरी कुरा राख्न पाउने थोरै मात्रै अवसर हुने हुनाले सबै पाटा सम्हालेर राम्रो गरेर देखाउने मौका गुमेको हो कि भन्ने पनि लाग्न सक्छ। यस अघि जातिभेदको आवाज देशभरी फैलाएको टेलिशृंखला दलन आएको करीब एक दशक पछि जातको प्रश्न आएको छ। फेरी अर्को अवसर कहिले आउने हो? त्यसैले यहि मौकामा एकदम राम्रो गरेर देखाउनु पर्छ। हो, सकेसम्म राम्रो गर्ने कोशिश त हुनुपर्छ तर साथसाथै यो पनि सोध्नु पर्यो कि — हामीले जातिभेदको कुरा राष्ट्रिय टेलिभिजनमा उठाउन किन एक दशक पर्खिनु पर्यो? के अझै अर्को कार्यक्रमको लागि एक दशक पर्खिनु पर्ने हो?

यदि दश वर्षमा एउटाको साटो बर्षमा दश वटा जात सम्बन्धि कार्यक्रम आउँदो हो त के हामी हरेक कार्यक्रमलाई यसरी नै आक्थ्यौं? शायद निष्पक्ष रुपमा कुरा गर्न, मूल्याङकन गर्न र आलोचनालाई अङ्गाल्न पनि सजिलो हुन्थ्यो होला। जातको प्रश्न जतिसुकै उत्कृष्ट भए पनि, जति सुकै हिट भए पनि एउटा टेलिभिजन कार्यक्रमले जातिभेद निम्ट्यान्न पार्ने पनि त होइन। यो त जातिभेद विरुद्धको अभियानमा एउटा अर्को सानो पाइला मात्रै हो र आम संचार क्षेत्रमा काम गर्ने, सिक्ने एउटा अवसर पनि।

राजेश हमाल, कान्तिपुर टेलिभिजन र निर्माताहरुको आलोचनाको बीचमा बिर्सिएको नाम हो निर्देशक शान्ता नेपालीको। यस कार्यक्रमबाट एक युवा दलित महिलाले आफ्नो कला खार्ने मौका मिलेको छ। यसो भन्दै दलित महिलाले गरको यत्ति पनि धेरै हो भन्दै ताली बजाउने भनेको होइन — त्यो त प्रशंसाको नाममा गरिने अपमान हो। तर सिक्ने त गर्दै गर्दै नै हो, यदि अभ्यास नै गर्न नपाए कसरी बन्छ प्रतिभाको पाइपलाइन?

पाइपलाइनको कुरा गर्दा नेपाल भाषाको पहिलो फिल्म सिलु सम्झिन्छु। नेवा समुदायबाट निर्देशक नभेटिएर निर्देशनको जिम्मा प्रदीप रिमाललाई दिईएको थियो। नेपाल भाषा बोल्ने निर्देशक हुनु पनि कसरी — सिलु बन्न अघि नेपाल भाषा मात्र होइन खस नेपाली बाहेक कुनै पनि भाषामा फिल्म बनेकै थिएन नेपालमा। निर्देशक मात्र होइन अनुभवी कलाकार पनि कमै थिए। मदन कृष्ण, हरिबंश बाहेक सबै जसो कलाकारहरुको लागि पहिलो फिल्मी अवसर थियो। सिलु बाट करियर शुरु गरेका कलाकार नवीना श्रेष्ठ मुलधारका फिल्ममा पनि पुग्न सफल भएका थिए।

प्राविधिक रुपमा सिलु एउटा औसत फिल्म थियो। अहिले जस्तो सामाजिक सन्जाल हुँदो हो त धेरै आलोचना सुनिन्थ्यो होला । धेरै जसो आलोचना सहि पनि हुन्थे होलान्। तर त्यस फिल्मले मेरा अजी जस्ता नेपाल भाषा मात्रै बुझ्ने हजारौं व्यक्तिहरुलाई हलमा गएर फिल्म हेर्ने मौका दियो। साथसाथै अन्य भाषाका फिल्म बनाउने बाटो खुल्यो। एक भाषा-एक देशको नीति भएको बेला अर्को भाषामा फिल्म बनाउनु मात्रै पनि एक किसिमको प्रतिरोध थियो। यी अन्य पाटाहरुको मुल्यांकन कसरी गर्ने?

यो त भयो तीन दशक अगाडीको कुरा। अहिले पनि बराबरी र सम्मानित प्रतिनिधित्वको लागि संघर्ष जारी नै छ। संघर्ष दलित समुदायको मात्रै होइन। मधेसी मूलका कलाकार, निर्देशकहरुलाई अवसर नदिने, अन्य समुदायका व्यक्तिले कालो मोसो दलेर कमेडिको नाममा स्टिरियोटाइप गर्ने, खिसी गर्ने उदाहरणहरु त हामीले यसै वर्ष पनि देखेकै छौं। त्यस्तै अन्य अल्पसंख्यक समुदायहरुलाई गुण्डा, आतंकवादी आदि रुपमा प्रस्तुत गर्ने चलन पनि छँदैछ ।

समस्या नेपालमा मात्रै पनि होइन। समसामयिक हलिवुडकै कुरा गर्ने हो भने नेपालमा पनि शुटिङ्ग भएको डाक्टर स्ट्रेन्ज फिल्ममा तिब्बती पुरुष पात्रलाई बदलेर गोरा महिला बनाइएको थियो र त्यसलाई नारीवादको उदाहरणको रुपमा प्रस्तुत गरिएको थियो। २०१७मा घोस्ट इन द शेलमा जापानी पात्रलाई गोरा कलाकार स्कार्लेट जोहान्सनले खेलेर विवाद भएको थियो।

त्यसको एक वर्ष पछि क्रेजी रिच एसियन फिल्म बन्यो। ठुलो बजेटमा नामी कलाकारहरु भएको फिल्म भए पनि त्यसमा समस्याहरु थिए। एसियन समुदाय भित्रै पनि धेरै आलोचना भए फिल्मको वर्गभेद, रंगभेदको बारे। तर बीस वर्ष पछि पुरै एसियन कलाकारहरु भएको फिल्म हेर्न पाएर संयक्त राज्य अमेरिकामा रहेका अधिकांश एसियनहरु खुशी थिए। अदृश्य भएर बसेको समुदाय मुलधारमा आउनु नै पनि एक किसिमको क्रान्ति हो। क्रेजी रिच एसियनले गर्दा हलिवुडमा अहिले अरु एसियन मूलका लेखक, निर्देशक र कलाकारहरुको लागि बाटो खुलेको छ र अरु प्रगतिशील फिल्म, टेलिशृंखलाहरु आउने बाटो पनि केही हदसम्म खुलेको छ।

त्यसरी नै जातको प्रश्नले दलित समुदायको मुद्दालाई राष्ट्रिय मंचसम्म फेरी पुर्याएको छ। शायद यसले दलित मात्र होइन अन्य समुदायका नसुनिएका कथाहरु बाहिर ल्याउन पनि सहयोग गर्ने छ। त्यसैले दलित समुदायका साथसाथै जातिभेद अन्त्य गर्न लागिपरेका हामी सबैले यसका कमी कमजोरीहरुलाई आत्मसात गर्दै खुशियाली मनाउनु पर्छ भन्ने लाग्छ।

मुख्य प्रश्न त अब पाखा पारिएको, ओझेलमा परेको समुदायहरुले आफ्नो कथा राष्ट्रिय मन्चमा ल्याउनको लागि दशक-दशक कुर्न नपर्ने वातावरण बनाउन तपाईं हाम्रो भूमिका के हो?

[**CC BY-NC-SA 4.0**](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/)

“जातको प्रश्न”ले उठाएका प्रश्नहरु

“महिनावारी भनेको गर्भ रहन नसकेको डिम्बको आँसु हो” — केटाकेटी हुँदा रेडियोमा सुनेको यो वाक्य म अझै भुल्न सक्दिन। सानोमा त यसलाई नै सत्य मानियो। तर पछि प्रश्न उठ्न थाल्यो — के महिलाको जीवनको अस्तित्व गर्भाशयमा अडिएको छ? के गर्भवती हुन नसक्ने वा गर्भाशय नै नभएका महिला नै होइनन्?

म एक विवाहिता महिला जसले बच्चा नजन्माउने निर्णय गरेको छ। पन्ध्र वर्ष अघि हामीले जीवन यात्रा शुरु गर्दा हाम्रो उद्देश्य, मूल्य, मान्यता, पैसा प्रतिको धारणाका साथसाथै बच्चा जन्माउने कि नजन्माउने भन्ने बिषयमा निक्कै छलफल गर्यौं। हाम्रा तर्क फरक फरक भए पनि हामी एउटै निष्कर्षमा पुग्यौं — बच्चा नजन्माउने। हामी परिवारबाट टाढा विदेशमा बस्थ्यौं। हाम्रो सपोर्ट सिस्टम थिएन त्यति बेला। हामीलाई वंश बढाउनु पर्छ भन्ने पनि लाग्दैन। हामीले निर्णय गर्यौं कि यदि पछि बच्चा चाहिन्छ नै जस्तो लाग्यो भने अडप्ट गर्ने। हामीले बेला बेलामा यो निर्णयलाई केलाएका छौं र निष्कर्ष अझै त्यहि नै छ — बच्चा बिनाको जीवन नै हाम्रो लागि सहि हो।

यो निर्णय हाम्रो समाज, परिवार र हाम्रै समकालीन कति साथीहरुलाई पनि पचेको छैन। आफन्त र साथीहरु मात्रै होइन ट्याक्सी चढ्दा ड्राइभर, छिमेकको किराना पसले, सभा समारोहमा भेट्ने अपरिचित वा अर्धपरिचित व्यक्तिहरुले पनि मातृत्वको महत्वको व्याख्यान गर्न पछि पर्दैनन् — नेपालमा मात्रै होइन, विदेशमा पनि। नेपालमा त एउटा सभामा एक महिलाले मेरो निर्णय गलत हो भन्ने सार्वजनिक रुपमा घोषणा नै गर्नु भयो। उहाँलाई म त्यतिबेला चिन्दिन थिएँ — पछि थाहा भयो उहाँ त एक महिला अधिकारकर्मी हुनु हुँदो रहेछ। जब महिला अधिकारकर्मीलाई नै मेरो शरीरको फैसला गर्ने अधिकार मेरो हो भन्ने कुरा पच्दैन भने पुरै समाजको त के कुरा?

आज भोलि बच्चा नजन्माउने निर्णय गर्ने व्यक्तिहरुको संख्या बिस्तारै बढ्दै छ। तर पनि हाम्रो परिवारमा बच्चा नजन्माएका विवाहित जोडी हामी मात्रै छौं। पन्ध्र बर्ष अघि त एकदमै गाह्रो थियो — बर्षौं लाग्यो परिवारका सदस्यहरुलाई सम्झाउन। अहिले पनि पुरै सफल भएका छैनौं।

हामीलाई धेरै सोधिने प्रश्न — बच्चा भएन भने बुढेसकालमा कसले हेर्छ? बच्चा हुँदैमा उनीहरुले पछि हेर्छन भन्ने के ग्यारेन्टी छ? उनीहरुका आफ्नै इच्छा, आकांक्षा हुनेछन। उनीहरुको जीवनले कता लग्ला — हामी संगै बस्न मिल्छ भन्ने पनि छैन, बस्नु पर्छ भन्ने पनि छैन। अविभावकहरुको काम बच्चा हुर्काउने र सक्षम बनाएर आफ्नो बाटो लाग्न मद्दत गर्ने हो। थाहा छ, यो विचार आत्मसात गर्न नेपाली समाजमा धेरैलाई गाह्रो पर्छ।

हामी आफैँ पनि पढाइ र कामको सिलसिलामा विश्वको अर्को कुनामा दुई दशक भन्दा बढी समय बिताइसकेका छौं। यसरी परिवार बाट टाढा बसिरहेका हामी मात्रै त छैनौं। आजकाल त यहाँ विदेशमा परिवार नभएकाहरु भेट्टाउन पनि गाह्रो हुन्छ। “आप्रवासी कामदार”हरु त आफ्नो कार्यकाल सिध्याएर फर्किन्छन तर विदेशमा परिवार बसाइसकेकाहरु कति जना आमा बुवाको रेखदेख गर्नु पर्छ भनेर फर्किन सक्नेछन्? त्यसमाथि पनि बच्चा भएकाहरु त उनीहरुको स्कूल र अन्य क्रियाकलापले गर्दा अकस्मात केहि परिहाल्यो भने पनि फर्किन गाह्रो हुन्छ। आइहाले पनि लामो समय बस्न सक्दैनन्।

भन्ने नै हो भने हाम्रो बच्चा नभएको कारणले हामी परिवारको लागि चाहिँदा आइहाल्न र लामो समय बस्न सक्षम छौं। यसपाली त लक्डाउनले गर्दा लामो समय काठमाडौँमा बसियो। यो भन्दा अघिल्ला वर्षहरुमा पनि हामी दुई महादेश बीच समय बाँडेर बसेका थियौं। हामीलाई न त स्कूलको समयतालिकाले बाँध्छ न त बच्चाहरुको भविष्यको लागि भनेर मरी-मरी काम गर्ने बाध्यता नै छ। यो स्वतन्त्रताले गर्दा हामीले परिवार मात्र होइन समाजको लागि समय निकाल्न सकेका छौं। पाँच वर्ष अघि नेपालमा भुकम्प जाँदा रात-दिन खटेर राहत र पुनर्निर्माणको लागि पैसा उठाउन सक्षम भयौं । अहिले हामी दुवै कोरोनाको बारे जनचेतना बढाउने कोशिशमा लागेका छौं — एउटा स्वयंसेवक समूहमा आवद्ध भएर कोडिङ्ग गर्ने, प्रबन्ध मिलाउने आन्तरिक काम र बाहिर हल्ला गर्ने काम बाँडीचुंडी गरिरहेका छौं। त्यस बाहेक पनि विभिन्न संघ संस्थाका साथीहरुलाई समय, सल्लाह, सहयोग सक्दो दिईराखेका छौं।

मुख्य कुरा बच्चा नभएर हाम्रो उत्पादकता बढ्यो भन्ने होइन। बच्चा भएका साथीहरु हामीभन्दा निक्कै बढी सक्रिय पनि हुनुहुन्छ। कुरा हाम्रो जीवन आफ्नै इच्छाले बाँच्न पाउने स्वतन्त्रताको हो र कुरा हो संवेदनशीलताको पनि। मलाई मातृत्वको बारे भाषण दिने धेरै जसो शुभचिन्तकहरुलाई यो थाहा हुन्न कि मेरो स्वास्थ्य कस्तो छ, म गर्भधारण गर्न सक्षम पनि छु कि छैन। विवाह अघि नै बच्चा नपाउने निर्णय गरेकोले मैले मेरो प्रजनन क्षमताको बारे धेरै सोच्नु परेको छैन। तर दशमा एक जना भन्दा बढी महिला जसले चाहेर पनि गर्भधारण गर्न संघर्ष गर्नु पर्ने हुन्छ वा एकमा पाँच महिला जसको नचाहँदै पनि गर्भपात हुन्छ, उनीहरुको लागि प्रजनन स्वास्थ्यका कुरा सैद्धान्तिक व्यायाम मात्र हुँदैन। मैले धेरै साथीहरुको संघर्ष नजीकैबाट देखेको छुँ। मातृत्वको गुणगान गर्न अघि एक चोटि सोच्नुस कि तपाईंले कतै आलो घाउमा नून खुर्सानी छर्ने काम त गरिरहनु भएको छैन?

अर्को कुरा, संधै मातृत्वको बयान हुन्छ तर पितृत्वको कुरा किन हुँदैन? बच्चा नपाउने निर्णय हामी दुवै जनाको भए पनि भाषण र प्रश्नको ओइरो जति मैले थापेको छुँ त्यसको सानो भाग मात्र मेरो श्रीमानले बेहोर्नुपरेको छ । चाहेर पनि बच्चा पाउन नसक्ने जोडीहरु मध्ये २०-३० प्रतिशतमा कारक पुरुष भए पनि समाजले दोष संधै महिलालाई नै दिन्छ र सर्भे, तथ्याड़कहरु पनि धेरै जसो महिला माथि नै केन्द्रित हुन्छन। जसले गर्दा महिलाहरु आफैलाई दोषी ठान्छन। समाजको यो दोहोरो मापदण्डले महिलाको गर्भाशयलाई पनि छोडेको छैन।

म त मान्दिन मेरो अस्तित्व मेरो गर्भाशयमा अडिएको छ। मेरो परिचयमा आमा शब्द नभए पनि सूची लामै छ — म छोरी, साथी, सहकर्मी, दिदी, बहिनी, फुपु, सानीआमा, ठूलीआमा, भान्जी, भदै जस्ता धेरै भूमिका खेल्छु र मेरो आफ्नै लागि मेरो परिचय हो एक अधिकारकर्मी र अहिले बामे सर्दै गरेको एक लेखक।

म आफ्नो जीवन आफ्नो खुशीले बाँच्न चाहन्छु र त्यसमा पुरा साथ दिने जीवनसाथी पाएकी छुँ। जीवन साथी रोज्ने, विवाह गर्ने, बच्चा पाउने यी सबै व्यक्तिगत स्वतन्त्रताका कुरा हुन्। यदि हाम्रो आफ्नो जीवनको लागि हामीले गरेको निर्णय तपाईंलाई पच्दैन भने हाजमोला खानुस — हामीलाई हाम्रो जीवन बाँच्न दिनुस्।

[**CC BY-NC-SA 4.0**](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/)

निर्णय निस्सन्तान जीवन यात्राको

A few days ago, it was reported that the President of Nepal expressed concern about the Nepalis in the U.S. in her conversation with the Nepali Ambassador, as she did with other envoys in countries with large numbers of Nepalis. A lot of “progressive Nepalis,” including a few friends, jumped on her for not caring about the migrant workers stuck at the Indian border and only caring about those in the affluent country. Indeed, it is important to remind the President and the entire government about the plight of migrant workers who are stuck at the border (not just when they are stuck at the border, but let’s talk about it another day). **But is compassion in such short supply that we cannot care about both communities?**

After all, Nepalis in the U.S. are seeing the crisis unfold in front of their eyes. What is still hypothetical in Nepal has been a reality in the U.S. for a while now. A Nepali man has died, most likely infected while working. A recent [New York Times coverage](https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/09/nyregion/coronavirus-queens-corona-jackson-heights-elmhurst.html) of the crisis opened with his story. His wife and two of their children have also tested positive. Hundreds of Nepalis are infected, and thousands of Nepalis have lost their livelihoods, maybe permanently, and are staring at an uncertain future. The Jackson Heights-Elmhurst neighborhood of Queens, which has been the epicenter of the Covid-19 crisis in New York, in the country, and perhaps the world, is also home to a large number of Nepalis. The area has more than twice the rate of infection compared to other parts of the city and almost five times as much as the nation.

I see my former colleagues at [Adhikaar](http://facebook.com/adhikaar) working nonstop, day after day. I hear about the volunteer efforts of many Nepali brothers and sisters, alongside the medical professionals of Nepali origin. There are many thousands of families in Nepal — not all affluent — who are living in fear for the lives of their loved ones in New York and elsewhere in the U.S. I realize that not everyone has the experience and luxury of comparative lives, but the people who are commenting on social media certainly have access to international news.

Closer to home, when the local governments in Kathmandu started distributing food for people who had lost their livelihoods due to the lockdown, many people complained that “undeserving” people were getting it. They complained that people wearing nice clothes, carrying mobile phones, were lining up — as if poor people do not deserve to have nice things. Because of the sudden lockdown, people have been caught without an opportunity to make alternative arrangements. People who may not be living in abject poverty are also faced with loss of income — taxi drivers, small shop owners, craftspeople. Some of them may have homes and even fields ripe for harvesting outside Kathmandu, but right now with the lockdown, they are of no use. In a crisis, isn’t our goal to make sure no one goes hungry, instead of worrying about a handful who might be double-dipping? Is compassion really in such short supply?

Maybe it is because the pandemic is still theoretical for many in Nepal. My social media feeds are filled with stories of friends and their loved ones affected by the virus, not just Nepalis and not only in New York. However, with only a handful of confirmed cases, most people in Kathmandu do not personally know anyone who is suffering. While people are using the crisis language and peddling doomsday scenarios, most of our lives have remained untouched. Lockdown is a bit of a bother, but we are enjoying the cleaner air. We can get most things we need, even delivered to our door. Some are organizing cookouts and playing cards. There is more time to spend online, and more time to complain.

When I see the negativity, I feel despair creeping in. But then I think about my many friends and all the others, across the city and around the country, who have not wasted their time complaining online, but jumped right in to supplement the efforts of the local governments. I think cash transfers are better as it allows the recipients to choose food items that best suit their need, and also supports local shops. But I understand this needs a longer conversation, and in the midst of a crisis, I am happy to see the volunteers distributing food items as well. Some have made sure to partner with small farmers and dairy producers who have lost access to markets. Others are distributing cooked food. Some are volunteering their vehicles for emergency hospital visits. Others are making masks and face shields. Some translated documents into other languages to make sure people without Nepali language proficiency are getting informed. Some are thinking long term and working on policy solutions or creating educational platforms. Two lawyers have taken legal action to bring home the migrant workers stuck at the border, and the Supreme Court has issued an interim order in their support.

If the virus spreads in Nepal — I hope it doesn’t — I wish there will be more people jumping into action, and fewer people complaining. Even if people do not jump into action, I hope they will at least think about how our lives are intertwined and practice compassion.

Compassion in the time of Covid-19

Holiday season is upon us, and the festivities are accompanied by shopping sprees on adrenaline. Consumerism really seems to have become a new religion with the Black Friday and Cyber Monday as its holy days. In the past, I too would have gotten caught up in the frenzy. This year, however, I am surviving relatively unscathed as I am halfway through a year-long experiment of buying nothing but the essentials. I am not completely immune as friends and family members around me are still participating.

I used to pride myself on being a conscious consumer, a bit of a minimalist even. My kitchen is full of mismatched glass jars used for drinking water and storing leftover food. I have resoled my favorite pair of boots multiple times. My winter coat has gotten me through almost fifteen New York winters. Heck, I had even gotten married in borrowed saris. Yet, when we were moving two years ago, I realized how much stuff I had accumulated. I came to the U.S. with two suitcases worth of clothes and personal items, almost all of my possessions in the world. Here I was two decades later, getting rid of more than that in a week.

How did I get to this point? Online shopping was definitely a culprit. I ordered more than I needed thinking I would only keep what I really liked, but I got too busy to think about return deadlines. I also got addicted to finding deals, buying multiples to unlock the savings. I bought outfits for special occasions that were worn once at most. The unused items got shoved into the dark corners of the closets, and remained forgotten — until I started to pack and move.

Since I was moving to a smaller place, I had no choice but to shed some of the excess. However, I did not want to add to the pollution, so I donated and recycled as much as possible. I made multiple trips to the Salvation Army thrift store. I carefully sorted paper and plastic and metal, and deposited them in appropriate bins. I felt I was doing the best I could to be a good global citizen, until I started to fully understand the perils of fast fashion; how much of donated goods end up in landfill anyway; the U.S. recycling crisis and how triple-washed peanut butter jars are ending up in incinerators.

I decided to tackle the problem at the source and become more intentional about what I buy. I started out by implementing zero-dollar days, when I did not spend any money, including on grocery. Using what I already had in the pantry, I created some interesting recipes. These sporadic moratoriums on buying did not help much since I could simply defer purchases and splurge the very next day. Therefore, I decided to make a longer term commitment to intentional buying. Earlier this year on June 21st, I decided to embark on a year-long journey of buying just the essentials. I chose the day of the solstice to mark a turning point.

I am aware that I am operating from a position of immense privilege that I can undertake this experiment without really impinging on the quality of my life. I also do not have to worry about a child outgrowing their clothes. It is a luxury not available to everyone, including many family members and friends. Additionally, my ban on buying is only limited to things, and not experiences like travel and restaurants.

Six months into the experiment, I have fared fairly well. I have not added anything to my wardrobe, or home decor, or kitchen utensils. When I had to accompany out-of-town friends for shopping trips, I have found deals that I could not have resisted in the past. A lovely sweater for less than $20. A velvety soft full-sleeved button down shirt. But I was able to walk away without buying anything, every single time. When I travelled, I did not buy souvenirs and gifts. I have made exceptions a couple of times and bought a few items of clothing as gifts. However, I specifically chose each piece with exact recipient in mind, unlike in the past when I would buy things that would eventually migrate to the box labeled “gifts” and remain there for years.

Books have remained in a grey area. I am not sure if they can be labeled as essential items in the same vein as food, soap, and medicine, but if I have a book in my hands, I can forget about everything else. So, I have bought a few books in the past six months. Also, to my defense, when you find George Orwell’s Burmese Days in the streets of Yangon, how do you pass it up? Buying books has always been my weakness; however, even books, I have bought sparingly.

Since I embarked on this experiment, I have re-discovered the joy of things I already own. I have worn clothes I have not worn in years, including some whose existence I had forgotten. I am fixing things, and getting things fixed. For minor rips and missing buttons, I can fall back on the skills I learned from my grandmother. Changing zippers and resoling, I needed professional help. But with these fixes, many items have been salvaged from reaching a landfill, at least for a little bit longer.

Some things I could not save, but I have been careful about not replacing them immediately. When a toaster stopped working, instead of buying a new one, I started using a cast iron skillet. I enjoy the more hands-on preparation, and now have one less gadget taking up valuable space on the kitchen counter.

With the bonus time I am not spending on scouring online deals for things I do not really need, I am reading and re-reading books I already own. When I am in need of different reading materials, I am raiding friends’ bookshelves. After many years, I have also renewed my Queens Library card, a passport to more books than I can ever read in my lifetime.

I am fortunate to have a support system of close friends in the neighborhood who have made this experiment of not buying so much easier. We have long been borrowing and lending more than just books. Sometimes, we lend each other clothes for special occasions or give away the ones we are no longer wearing. Sometimes we show up at each other’s doors to ask for a bowl of sugar or to give a quarter of a winter melon. When I recently decided to serve soup at a party without owning soup bowls, my sister-friend saved the day with six matching bowls — the same bowls she had used as decoration at a party I had helped plan earlier in the year.

I know that I have difficulty parting with things (and people). So, I am not planning to Konmari anytime soon. I also do not like that minimalism itself has become commodified — however, that is a conversation for another time. For now, I am doing what I can — not bringing things into my apartment, and my life, that I will later not be able to let go.

**_(This is the first part of a series of reflections on my year of trying to become more conscious about consumption and look critically at the consumerism culture.)_**

[**CC BY-NC-SA 4.0**](https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0/)