गैनेय्को कथा, राजी को गुप्ती लेखक,गोर्खालिहरू को samasya

A minstrel's wanderings and experiences in the Himalayan republic of Nepal


Gainey: A Minstrel’s Songs of Love and Sorrow (Satis Shroff)

Once upon a time,
my grandpa said:
“In Nepal even a child
Can walk the countryside alone.”
It’s just not true,
Not for a Nepalese,
Born with a sarangi in his hand.

I’m a musician,
One of the lower caste
In the Hindu hierarchy.
I bring delight to my listeners,
Hope to touch the hearts
Of my spectators.

I sing about love,
Hate and evil,
Kings and Queens,
Princes and Princesses,
The poor and the rich,
And the fight for existence,
In the craggy foothills
And the towering heights
Of the Himalayas.

The Abode of the Snows,
Where Buddhist and Hindu
Gods and Goddesses reside,
And look over mankind
And his folly.

I was born in Tanhau,
A nondescript hamlet in Nepal,
Were it not for Bhanu Bhakta Acharya
Who was born here,
The poet who translated the Ramayana,
From high-flown Sanskrit into simple Nepali
For all to read.

I remember the first day
My father handed me a sarangi.
He taught me how to hold and swing the bow.
I was delighted with the first squeaks it made,
As I moved the bow on the taught horsetail strings.
It was as though my small sarangi
Was talking with me.
I was so happy,
I and my sarangi,
My sarangi and me.
Tears of joy ran down my cheeks.
I was so thankful.
I touched my Papa’s feet,
As is the custom in the Himalayas.
I could embrace the whole world.

My father taught me the tones,
And the songs to go with them,
For we gaineys are minstrels
Who wander from place to place,
Like gypsies,
Like butterflies in Spring.
We are a restless folk
To be seen everywhere,
Where people dwell,
For we live from their charity
And our trade.

The voice of the gainey,
The sad melody of the sarangi.
A boon to those who love the lyrics,
A nuisance to those who hate it.

Many a time, we’ve been kicked and beaten
By young people who prefer canned music,
From their ghetto-blasters.
Outlandish melodies,
Electronic beats you can’t catch up with.
Spinning on their heads,
Hip-hopping like robots,
Not humans.
It’s the techno, ecstasy generation

Where have all the old melodies gone?
The Nepalese folksongs of yore?
The song of the Gainey?
“This is globanisation,” they told me.
The grey-eyed visitors from abroad,
‘Quirays’ as we call them in Nepal.
Or ‘gora-sahibs’ in Hindustan.

The quirays took countless pictures of me,
With their cameras,
Gave handsome tips.
A grey-haired didi with spectacles,
And teeth in like a horse’s mouth,
Even gave me a polaroid-picture
Of me,
With my sarangi,
My mountain violin.

Sometimes I look my fading picture
And wonder how fast time flows.
My smile is disappearing,
Grey hair at the sides,
The beginning of baldness.
I’ve lost a lot of my molars,
At the hands of the Barbier
From Muzzafapur in the Indian plains,
He gave me clove oil
To ease my pain,
As he pulled out my fouled teeth,
In an open-air salon
Right near the Tribhuvan Highway.

I still have my voice
And my sarangi,
And love to sing my repertoire,
Even though many people
Sneer and jeer at me,
And prefer Bollywood texts
From my larynx.

To please their whims,
I learned even Bollywood songs,
Aginst my will,
Eavesdropping behind cinema curtains,
To please the tourists
And my country’s modern youth,
I even learned some English songs.
Oh money, dear money.
I’ve become a cultural prostitute.
I’ve done my Zunft, my trade,
An injustice,
But I did it to survive.
I had to integrate myself
And to assimilate
In my changing society.
Time has not stood still
Under the shadow of the Himalayas.

One day when I was much younger,
I was resting under a Pipal tree
When I saw one beautiful tourist girl.
I looked and smiled at her.
She caressed her hair,
And smiled back.
For me it was love at first sight.

All the while gazing at her
I took out my small sarangi,
With bells on my fiddle bow
And played a sad Nepali melody
Composed by Ambar Gurung,
Which I’d learned in my wanderings
From Ilam to Darjeeling.

I am the Sky
You are the Soil,
Even though we yearn
A thousand times,
We cannot be together.

I was sentimental that moment.
Had tears in my eyes
When I finished my song.’
The blonde woman sauntered up to me,
And said in a smooth voice,
‘Thank you for the lovely song.
Can you tell me what it means?’

I felt a lump on my throat
And couldn’t speak
For a while.
Then, with a sigh, I said,
‘We have this caste system in Nepal.

When I first saw you,
I imagined you were a fair bahun girl.
We aren’t allowed to fall in love
With bahunis.
It is a forbidden love,
A love that can never come true.
I love you
But I can’t have you.’

‘But you haven’t even tried,’
Said the blonde girl coyly.
‘I like your golden hair,
Your blue eyes.
It’s like watching the sky.’

‘Oh, thank you,
Danyabad.
She asked: ‘But why do you say:
‘We cannot be together?’
‘We are together now,’ I replied,
‘But the society does not like
Us gaineys from the lower caste.
The bahuns, chettris castes are above us.
They look down upon us.’

‘Why do they do that?’
Asked the blonde girl.
I spat out:
‘Because they are high-born.
We, kamis, damais and sarkis,
Are dalits.
We are the downtrodden,
The underdogs of this society
In the foothills of the Himalayas.’

‘Who made you what you are?’ she asked.
I told her: ‘The Hindu society is formed this way:
Once upon a time there was a bahun,
And from him came the Varnas.
The Vernas are a division of society
Into four parts.
Brahma created the bahuns
From his mouth.
The chettris who are warriers
Came from his shoulder,
The traders from his thigh
And the servants
From the sole of his feet.’

‘What about the poor dalits?’
Quipped the blonde foreigner.
‘The dalits fell deeper in the Hindu society,
And were not regarded as full members
Of the human race.
We had to do the errands and menial jobs
That were forbidden for the higher castes.’

‘Like what?’ she asked.
‘Like disposing dead animals,
Making leather by skinning hides
Of dead animals,
Cleaning toilets and latrines,
Clearing the sewage canals of the rich,
High born Hindus.
I am not allowed to touch a bahun,
Even with my shadow, you know.’
‘What a mean, ugly system,’ she commented,
And shook her head.

‘May I touch you?’ she asked impulsively.
She was daring and wanted to see how I’d react.
‘You may,’ I replied.
She touched my hand,
Then my cheeks with her two hands.
I found it pleasant and a great honour.
I joined my hands and said sincerely,
‘Dhanyabad.’
I, a dalit, a no-name, a no-human,
Had been touched by a young, beautiful woman,
A quiray tourist,
From across the Black Waters:
Kalapani.

A wave of happiness and joy
Swept over me.
A miracle had happened.
Like a princess kissing a toad,
In fairy tales I’d heard.
Perhaps Gandhi was right:
I was a Child of God,
A Harijan,
And this fair lady an apsara.

She, in her European mind,
Thought she’d brought human rights
At least to the gainey,
This wonderful wandering minstrel,
With his quaint fiddle
Called sarangi,
His jet black hair
And infectious smile.
She said in her melodious voice,
‘In my country all people are free and equal,
Have the same rights and dignity.
All humans have common sense,
A conscience,
And we ought to meet each other
As brothers and sisters.

I tucked my sarangi in my armpit,
Clapped my hands and said:
‘That’s nice.
Noble thoughts.
It works for you here, perhaps.
But it won’t work for me,’
Feeling a sense of remorse and nausea
Sweep over me.

* * *


THE GHOST WRITER (Satis Shroff)

When I close my eyes,
I see everything in its place
In the kingdom of Nepal.

I see the highest building in Kathmandu,
What looms higher than the Dharara,
Swayambhu, Taleju and Pashupati?
The former King’s Narayanhiti palace,
Built by an architect,
From across the Black Waters.
Therein lived Vishnu,
Whom many Hindus still call:
The unconquerable preserver.

The conqueror of Nepal?
No, that was his ancestor
Prithvi Narayan Shah,
A king of Gorkha.

Vishnu is the preserver of the world,
With qualities of mercy and goodness.
Vishnu is all-pervading and self-existent,
Visited Nepal’s remote districts
In a helicopter with his consort
And militia.

He inaugurated buildings
Factories and events.
Vishnu dissolved the parliament too,
For the sake of his kingdom,
As I was told to write.

His subjects and worshippers were,
Of late,
Divided.
Alas, Ravana and his demons
Have besieged his land.
The king was obliged to go,
And with him I lost my life-job
As a ghost-writer.

I cannot remember
How many articles, speeches, decrees,
Proclamations I’ve penned
In His Majesty’s Service.
Who would have thought
That I’d have to look
For another job?

Towards the end,
My boss not only lost his shirt,
But also his land,
And blamed me,
His sincere ghost-writer,
For my bad verse and prose.
He barked in a tirade:
“You are to blame for the misery
In my country.”

I, who had praised him,
Written admirable speeches,
Full of love, pathos and empathy
For his poor subjects,
Was now a mere scapegoat.

I, who had written
Soothing lines for the unruly masses,
Who were in revolt,
After centuries of feudal hierarchy,
Mismanagement,
Bad governance,
Corruption and nepotism.

I, who had sought a voice
To pacify the lynch mobs
In the streets of Catmandu,
Biratnagar, Dolpo
And Janakpur.
That was the unkindest cut of all.

The royal newspapers and the paid-press
Were blooming with news
Of development in Nepal.
But the people knew better.
They were waiting.

The dam of development
Had been broken,
A word play on ‘development.’
When the royal dam collapsed in Pokhara,
The people had a big laugh.
The king’s dying father said:
‘When I die,
My country should live.’
On still moments,
I hear the refrain:
Ma marey pani,
Mero desh,
Bachi rahos.

Nepal is now a republic
With cantons instead of zones,
We even have a fish-tailed mountain
That looks like Zermatt.
We have tourism too,
But where are the bankers,
The executives and firms?
We have an Aid Industry,
Cashing in dollars
From foreign governments
And NGOs.

Nepal exports carpets,
Human labourers
For the emirates,
Sherpas for the climbers
And Gurkhas for the Brits
And flesh for the Upper and Lower Grant Roads.

When I open my eyes,
I see Vishnu still slumbering
On his bed of Sesha,
The serpent
In the pools of Budanilkantha
And Balaju.

Prithee,
Where is the Creator?
When will he wake up from his eternal sleep?
Only Bhairab’s destruction
Of the Himalayan world is to be seen.

Much blood has been shed
Between the decades and the centuries.
The mound of noses and ears
Of the vanquished at Kirtipur,
The shot and mutilated
At the Kot massacre,
The revolution in front of the Narayanhiti Palace,
When Nepalese screamed
And died for democracy.
And now the corpses of the Maobadis,
Civilians and Nepalese security men.

Hush! Sleeping Gods should not be awakened.
I, who wracked my cerebrum for the King,
Am sickened by the royal demeanour,
For Mr. Shah is now a mortal,
A politician to boot.

I, a royal ghost-writer,
Who once smelt the air
Of the Narayanhiti Palace,
Have nowhere to go.

I’m a writer no more.
I’m a ghost
Under the shadow of the Himalayas.

· * *


On Her Majesty’s Lyrical Service:

Poet Laureate (Satis Shroff)

Wanted:
A person who writes in lyrical form,
Composes verses for occasions,
Good stanzas in favour of kings and queens,
Princes and Princesses,
For the price of 5000 Sterling pounds
And, of course, 650 bottles
Of Sherry,
To inspire the poet.
And the title of Poet Laureate.

A court poet is a smith of verses,
Not a bass-guitarist
Of the royal band
Based in Buckingham.
Beginners need not apply.
Candidates should be
A professor of English Literature.

The last Poet Laureate penned
Verses in praise of Edward
And his beautiful Sophie,
A hundred years of the Queen Mother
And the latter’s sad demise.
The Queen’s diamond wedding anniversary,
A rap-rhyme for rosy-cheeked Prince William,
When he turned twenty-one.
Yeah! ‘Better stand back
Here’s a age attack.’
He even congratulated Charles and Camilla
On their belated marriage.
The Prince was overwhelmed
When he heard Motion’s
‘Spring Wedding.’
But all verses weren’t,
As we say in Germany:
Friede, Freude, Eierkuchen.
Motion’s ‘Cost of Life’ on Paddington,
‘Causa belli’ emphasised
Elections, money, empire,
Oil and Dad.
Themes and lyrics that bother us,
Day in and day out.
The rulers and battles won are expected
To be praised to Heaven,
Like Master Henry,
Ben Jonson et al have done

In 1668 John Dryden was sacked
Not for his bad verses,
But for changing his confession.
Sir Walter Raleigh and William Morris
Didn’t relinquish their freedom
And said politely: No thank you, Ma’am.
And with it a keg of wine
From the Canary Isles,
That could have been theirs.

Free literary productivity and court-poetry
Are strange bedfellows indeed.
In these times of gender-studies,l
Women’s quotes and emancipation,
It wouldn’t be far-fetched
If Carol Ann Duffy,
A Scottish poetess,
Became the next Poetess Laureate.
What a lass!
She’s openly gay,
Didn’t you say?
Has fire anyway.

What a thankless job:
A royal lyrical whisperer,
Striving for public relations
In poetry prize panels,
In the name of poetry.
A thankless job:
Take it
Or leave it.

* * *

Poet Laureate Shortlist

Carol Ann Duffy
Ian McMillan
Geoffrey Hill
Rowan Williams
Tony Harrison
John Betjeman
Simon Armitage
Michael Rosen
Stephen Frey
Lynne Trusse
Don Paterson

(Ed.: You are free to add some more of your own prospective poet laureate candidates).

The Chance to Change (Satis Shroff)

“Education is the best thing in the world for Nepal’s children, be they Gurkhas, Sherpas or Madeshis. And what Nepal needs most in this crucial transitional period is peace, co-operation between the different ethnic groups, a craving to mend ways, build bridges between its cultures, connect and find common goals.”Satis Shroff

Mr. Swaroop Chamling, who is a Rai and ex-Gurkha settled in UK, is gathering signatures for a Gurkha petition on www.Darjeeling Forum (google or yahoo search will do) and I find it interesting that the Gurkhas, civilians and military, are getting organised to fight for their rights at last, after years of discrimination, hiring and firing, and low-pay on the part of the Ministry of Defence (MoD) in Britain. What I found interesting was the inference of a Gurkha reader on www.Gurkhas.com that it was Bahuns and Chettris all the way in Nepalese history and even today, whether in the opposition or in the ruling parties. The same sort of infighting that you see in Delhi between the Punjabis, Bengalis and other Indian ethnic groups is to be seen in Catmandu’s ministries. It’s always Newars versus Bahuns and Chettris, with the rest of the ethnic groups as onlookers. If you want to make a career in Catmandu you have to learn the local lingo, which is a language with monosyllables---Nepal Bhasa.

It is a fact that there are only bahuns and chettris on both sides: among the maoists and political parties in Nepal. The reason why bahuns and chettris dominate the political, economic and other landscapes in Nepal is that they have been privileged through Hinduism, its raja-praja set-up and caste-system, with its purity and pollution implications that have swept and divided the families in Nepal and the Nepalese diaspora for centuries (as in India even today), and I think that Dor Bahadur Bista has illustrated this amply in his writings, and was cursed wrongly by critics in Catmandu and elsewhere as a 'Nestbeschmutzer.'

One can combat this discrepancy by uniting to create a new, ethnic-friendly Nepal by decree of law, and by observing the new democratic developments in Nepal as a chance to change the old, federal structures and bringing in a secular state, like our big neighbour India. India did, what Nepal is in the process of doing, by introducing Privvy Purse for the Royals fifty years ago. The king has been sacked and the Narayanhiti Palace now a museum, just like the Hanuman Dhoka palace which can be viewed by Nepalese and tourists alike, and should act as an incentive for young Nepali school-kids to preserve the democratic rights of the country, lest it fall in the wrong hands, and not let history repeat itself.

The Nepalese society finds itself in a period of transition and has yet to decide which form of government is suitable and practicable for the society. Naming the former anchals or zones as cantons alone won’t make a Switzerland out of Nepal, but the will of the people to live under a governmental form based on public opinion and votes might bring this Himalayan country closer to the wishes of its people.

I remember the first page of The Rising Nepal bore the latin words: vox populi, vox dei. That was a time when a king and reincarnation of Vishnu ruled the land. The king had to sadly realise that the voice of the people was not the voice of God. And the voice of the king was certainly not the voice of the people. It was perhaps the voice of the ghost-writer. And thereby hangs a tale.

Education is the best thing in the world for Nepal’s children, be they Gurkha, Sherpa or Madeshi. And what Nepal needs most in this crucial transitional period is peace, co-operation between the different ethnic groups, to mend ways, build bridges between its cultures, connect and find common goals.

But there’s the beginning of democracy in Nepal now, and the tribes and castes that were neglected in the past should get their rights by creating a federal form of government, like in German or in Switzerland, whereby the country has to be formed administratively as federal, local government with the power to carry out trade and commerce with neighbouring countries or states. Only then will there be a freedom of trade and commerce in all geographical and ethnic sectors.

The way it has been in the past: Kathmandu was Nepal. It was too centralised, the King lived in Kathmandu, the parliament was, and still is, in Kathmandu. Even for small things one had to have Kathmandu’s blessings. I hope the new governments will see to this matter and think of Nepal holistically, and not like in the past. I say government, because the political situation hasn’t shown much stability in the past for observers abroad.

Nevertheless, there is hope, and this torch of hope will be carried by the children and youth of Nepal. Whether we are Gurungs, Tamangs, Chettris, Bahuns, Bhujels, Kirats or Madhesis we have to unite and make Nepal a land that we can be proud of through our own endeavours. To borrow a line from JFK ‘ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.’ After all, we are a republican democracy, aren’t we?

The comity of nations would only be too willing to see a politically and economically stable Nepal and render assistance as in the past, before the war between the government troops and the maoists began.

So let us unite above the communal feelings and ideologies, and think in terms of Nepal as a nation, and not in terms of the opposite of democracy, namely anarchy. Let the children of Nepal from the plains and the hills have the same educational opportunities and work under human conditions. Let us show the world that we have a word for negotiation in our language, and that we also have the ability of carrying out a dialogue in the parliamentary sense of the word.

Peace, trust, faith, character, integrity, tolerance, dignity are qualities that cannot be attained by nurturing communal feelings and ethnic hatred. It is only through peaceful means, trust, honesty, cooperation and coordination that the long arduous task called development can be attained and the people can attain mental, physical and social wellness in the tedious march towards progress. To this end, we have to decide to change. Revolution is change, and the young men and women who were fired by their imagination during the decade long krieg have to do so in a constructive way, or else Nepal will forever remain ‘a yam between two rocks’ and a perpetual member of the least developed countries, in every sense of the word.

Change or perish should be the battle-cry of democracy loving Nepalese.
Yes we can, if we want it strong enough.

About the Author:

Satis Shroff teaches Creative Writing at the University of Freiburg, and is the published author of three books on www.Lulu.com: Im Schatten des Himalaya (book of poems in German), Through Nepalese Eyes (travelgue), Katmandu, Katmandu (poetry and prose anthology by Nepalese authors, edited by Satis Shroff). His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. Satis Shroff is a member of “Writers of Peace,” poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer. He also writes on ecological, ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world. He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Akademie für medizinische Berufe (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the Zentrum für Schlüsselqualifikationen (Lehrbeauftragter für Creative Writing, Albert Ludwigs Universität Freiburg). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.

What others have said about the author:
“I was extremely delighted with Satis Shroff’s work. Many people write poetry for years and never obtain the level of artistry that is present in his work. He is an elite poet with an undying passion for poetry.” Nigel Hillary, Publisher, Poetry Division - Noble House U.K.
Satis Shroff writes with intelligence, wit and grace. (Bruce Dobler, Associate Professor in Creative Writing MFA, University of Iowa).
‘Satis Shroff writes political poetry, about the war in Nepal, the sad fate of the Nepalese people, the emergence of neo-fascism in Germany. His bicultural perspective makes his poems rich, full of awe and at the same time heartbreakingly sad. I writing ‘home,’ he not only returns to his country of origin time and again, he also carries the fate of his people to readers in the West, and his task of writing thus is also a very important one in political terms. His true gift is to invent Nepalese metaphors and make them accessible to the West through his poetry.’ (Sandra Sigel, Writer, Germany).
'Brilliant, I enjoyed your poems thoroughly. I can hear the underlying German and Nepali thoughts within your English language. The strictness of the German form mixed with the vividness of your Nepalese mother tongue. An interesting mix. Nepal is a jewel on the Earth’s surface, her majesty and charm should be protected, and yet exposed with dignity through words. You do your country justice and I find your bicultural understanding so unique and a marvel to read.' Reviewed by Heide Poudel in WritersDen.com 6/4/2007.
“Beautiful prosaic thought and astounding writing. Satis Shroff's writing is refined – pure undistilled.” (Susan Marie, www.Gather.com

A young Nepalese teacher (c) satisshroff

Women’s Rights in a Former Hindu Kingdom(Satis Shroff)


The work draws on my own experience and observations during my visits to Kathmandu. Since Nepal is one of those rare places which Nature and culture-enthusiasts would like to visit, I thought the plight of the Nepalese women ought to be told in your website, because till now Nepal is only known for its tough male Gurkha soldiers who fought on the side of the British in the First and Second World Wars, in the Falklands and in Kosovo and Croatia, the sturdy male Sherpas who have worked for the glory of all climbing nations in the Khumbu area, and is also known as the Land of the Yaks and the abominal Yeti.


What about the fate of the Nepalese women in the Shangri-la? In James Hilton’s book ‘The Lost Horizon’ the local women never get old (unless they leave the enchanting Shangri-la environment), but the average Nepalese women have a lifespan of 50 years in one of the least developed countries in the world, and they never live to be 60.


Women who have spontaneous or natural abortions, or give birth to still born babies are charged with infanticide and sentenced to 20 years of imprisonment because Nepal’s abortion law is based on an ancient, draconian Hindu law. Imagine: 20 years of imprisonment when the average lifespan is 50 years ! Abortion is prohibited in Nepal under any circumstances (rape, incest, or when a pregnant woman’s life is threatened). There are no fair trials for the needy and poor women of Nepal and the justice caters only to the rich and influential people.


‘Due to the lack in clarity in Nepal’s Law, many Nepalese women have been victimised on the ground of spontaneous abortion, whether it was a simple miscarriage or abortion caused by the heavy manual labour on the part of the woman. The women of Nepal cannot defend themselves because of the lack of definition of abortion’, says Singh B. Moktan, the director of PAM Nestling Home (PAM= Prisoners Assistance Mission) in Kathmandu.


What is needed is a mobilisation of women in Nepal, the USA, Europe and the world over in fighting this ancient, archaic practice of the Rule of Garbhabat. Despite the fact that democracy has dawned in Nepal and different political parties are allowed, the male population still dominates Nepalese politics and the plight of women hasn’t changed much, even though there are tourists in Kathmandu and along the trekking-trails, flocking to Nepal to see the Himalayas and take pictures of its rural women and children for mellow home slide-shows, amid relatives and neighbours. The benefits of democracy and westernisation haven’t caught up with the majority of the Nepalese women as yet.


The entire world knows how hard the average Nepalese woman works in the fields and in urban areas, and the price she has to pay is immense. Ethnic Nepalese women sell their own products in the local markets and provide for the family. In other cases, the men give their earnings to their wives and the latter have a feeling of sharing the income, but when it comes to deciding what to buy, it’s always the men who take over. The desires and plans of the women are just ignored. Nepal’s males control property and decide all financial transactions in the family, and the women are left with peanuts. The women cannot take credits from the banks because they never possess anything, and hence have no security. The women tend to be traditionally docile and dependent upon their husbands due to the fact that they’re cut-off from financial sources.
The Nepalese men spend the family-savings as they please, for drinks and eating out with their friends, and for their own chauvinistic needs. The women and children, on the other hand, have to do without basic items like clothes and school-fees. The majority of the illiterate and thus socially handicapped women think in the traditional hinduistic way and leave the men to make decisions. Many women also fear that they might lose their positions as family-treasurers.
There are a lot of doctors for the rich people in Kathmandu but none for those in the rural, isolated and God-forsaken hamlets of Nepal, and those deprived, hungry souls eking out a miserable existence in the hovels and slums under the Bagmati and Vishnumati bridges.



A land where children are jailed if a mother is sentenced for aborting a dead child. The women in Nepal are handicapped from birth till death in their Himalayan environment--in their families, education, farms, offices and in every sphere of life. It’s a long and thorny path till the Nepalese women are accepted as persons, and not as properties that are malleable, and without wills of their own. The Nepalese women have to develop an awareness and self-esteem of their own worth, women’s rights, potential and the important roles they play in the economy of their families and the country in general.


According to a Unicef report, the children of Nepal have to start doing important work at an early age. They have to do baby-sitting, gather fire-wood, forage for feed for the domestic animals or drive them to the meadows. These chores take such a lot of time that the children don’t have time for school, especially daughters who have to help in the households at an early age. They have to work eight hours a day and the sons work just half of the time. Most Nepalese children work barefoot and wear inadequate clothing because they cannot afford it. Nevertheless, Nepalese children attract your attention with their attentive looks, open and curious faces and their spontaneous and cheerful laughter. 46 per cent of Nepal’s population are younger than 15 years. And although 45 per cent of the six to eight year olds go to school, only half of them do their primary school exams. Nepal has millions of children without school-education and without carefree childhoods. Education can improve the survival chances of the children because there is a direct relationship between the literacy of women (4 per cent in Nepal) and infant mortality (child-death). In Nepal 134 out of 1000 children die in the first year of their birth.


It was only in 1950 that Nepal’s doors were opened to the outside world. Till then we lived in an age of political darkness. To the average Nepalese, going to Kathmandu was traveling to Nepal, because Kathmandu was Nepal. Later, the Panchayat government talked about a decentralised form of government but it was just a hoax. It was very much centralised, and still is, even after the democratic movement in 1990.


A lot of men and women lost their lives in their attempt to free themselves from the shackles of the Panchayat government and monarchy, and the result is that there’s no stability in Nepalese politics. There’s a change of government after short terms, with an alarming corruption and nepotism, and the NGOs in the aid-giving countries only shake their heads in disbelief, because their counterparts are shuffled and posted to remote places, depending on their political color.
The fact that the Nepalese woman suffers in society is deeply rooted in the social system and the anachronistic and discriminatory, patriarchal, hinduistic Civil Code (Muluki Ain) which was formulated under the reign of a king named Surendra Bikram in 1853. It was modified by King Mahendra (the father of the present King Birendra) in 1963. If a Nepalese woman gives birth to a still-born child she is charged with infanticide on the evidence of a denunciation, without so much as a gynacological examination, and sentenced by the rule of Garbhabat, which is the Nepalese word for: destruction of life. The Nepalese Civil Code was made in a dark age of Nepalese history during which another form of social and cultural values were prevalent. Though the winds of change have swept in the Nepalese kingdom, the Code still remains unchallenged as far as the poorer section of the Nepalese population is concerned.


Many women who miscarry hide the evidence by not going for medical tratment and this can lead to infertility or even death. The Nepalese Code assumes that every pregnancy that fails due to natural causes is the fault of the mother --in effect, a deliberate attempt to abort the pregnancy, and it’s horrible to see a woman hauled off to jail as a criminal on top of the personal tragedy of the loss of a child that may have been longed for. It is possible for influential Nepalese women to get away with abortion without much fuss in the male-dominated Nepalese society.
Hindu marriage ceremony:


If a Nepalese couple wants to elope and marry fast and cheap, all they do is perform a minimum of ‘tika-talo’ ritual ceremony, and they don’t even have to be registered. The normal hinduistic marriage is elaborate and arranged by the parents and is a family matter in which the caste plays a big role even today. The well-educated bridegrooms of Kathmandu Valley prefer to see a video of the bride-to-be in the case of arranged marriages to avoid the ‘cat-in-the-sack’ phenomenon. For the family of the bride it is a matter of prestige and the marriage is celebrated with much ado, and hundreds of guests are invited. This may have ruinous consequences for the family of the bride, because it means blowing up a lot of borrowed money in case the family isn’t wealthy. The dowry comprises both gifts and money and this is also an incentive for the bridegroom. The tradition is stronger than the legislation .


During the marriage ceremony the couple sit down cross-legged in front of the altar where scores of sacrificial objects are spread out on small cups made of banana leaves held together with tooth-pick sticks. The offerings consist of flowers, incense, water, oil-lamps, cinnober-powder, rice, sweets, fruit (depending on the season), coins, and even cloth.


Not all the stainless-steel thalis and Meissner porcelain are ritually pure in compari­son to the hand-made natural taparas from banana and other smooth leaves for the Gods and Godesses of the hinduistic pan­theon. The priest who performs the marriage-ceremony is a Benaras-educated Sanskrit-reciting Brahmin. In civil-life he works for the Nepalese government, but since he is a Brahmin by birth, he is often invited to carry out all forms of pujas by the Hindu population of Kathmandu. The house-bahun is consulted, who calculates the time for the rituals to be performed by consulting his astrological calendar. An auspicious day for the wedding has to be found, for the human being is a microcosm of the rhythm of the universe.


A young daughter is treated as a holy person, even holier as the cows that you see in the streets of Nepal, Sikkim and India and a young daughter brings a lot of positive aspects or punya to her parents. Normally the parents of the bride wash the feet of both bride and groom. The foot-washing is accompanied by the recitations of vedic lore by the Bahun priest beckoned by the parents of the bride. After that follows the gift-of-the-virgin (kanyadan) ceremony.
The bride wears a scarlet seven meter long sari, an embroidered silk blouse, traditional jewelry and her hair is parted in the middle. She wears pearls on her ears decorated with gold. A number of sacrifices are made to the Gods and Goddesses by sprinkling their symbolic effigies with jamara and holy water. This is followed by the entire family chanting "Om jaya jagadisha hare" to the accompaniment of a small ritual drum (dama­ru), the chiming of a bell and the blowing of a conch.


And then comes the actual swayamvara-ceremony with the sacrificial fire, which is made in the form of a quadrangle that encloses the ritual article: the sacred altar, with the fire in the centre.
Hindu Offerings:
Various offerings are made to the dieties: Ganesh, Agni the God of Fire, the sky, wind, earth, water, and the hinduistic trinity: Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Sacrificial rituals have been an essential part of the vedic way of life. The sacrifice is simple but its meaning can be complex. This is followed by the sindur-potay ceremony. The bridegroom has to place vermillion (sindur) as a sign of marriage on the parting of the bride’s hair. A Hindu bride is expected to apply the sindur as long as her husband lives. After that the couple are obliged to walk around the sacrificial fire three times. In Hinduism, Agni (latin: ignis) is not only the God of Fire and ritual but also the fire itself and summons the power of the Sun God Surya to the sacrificial altar.
Divorce among Hindus:
Even though Hindu marriages are elaborate, they can be annulled quicker than the marriages that end on the rocks of Reno. The divorce rate among the Nepalese is rising even though most marriages are arranged by the parents. It’s the male who files the divorce because he might have been forced to marry by his parents, and later when he has financial resources and is independent from his father, decides that his spouse is an unsuitable match. A couple is divorced when the man denies the relationship. And if the woman has the misfortune to be pregnant or has children, then she’s stigmatised and branded as immoral.


Article 11 of the Nepalese Constitution states that the State shall not discriminate against any citizen on the grounds of sex, but in Article 9 it states that the children of Nepalese male citizens are deemed to be citizens of Nepal by descent. The children of Nepalese female citizens with foreign fathers are considered foreigners, and have to reside in Nepal for fifteen years before they can be granted Nepalese citizenships.
Nepalese males should examine their own attitudes towards girls and women in their immediate surroundings. Do our daughters and sons get the same attention, affection and the same status?
Motherhood and Child-rearing:
Marriage and rearing children shouldn’t be the sole aim of a woman’s life. In Germany, for instance, there’s an alarming high number of mothers-with-kids (alleinstehende Mütter). Living with a partner seems to have gone haywire and they prefer to live alone, cashing alimony cheques from the fathers of their children or living on hand-outs of the Social Department throughout Germany. The German law makes it possible. The Nepalese women have a tough time in their hinduistic, patriarchal milieus, which hardly give them a chance to get up once they have fallen in the eyes of the pollution-purity professing Hindu society.
Despite the sweeping changes that have been introduced in Nepal’s Civil Code since 1975, most women are ignorant of their rights because of the high illiteracy, low self-esteem and lack of self-consciousness. The Nepalese society plays a pivotal role in victimising women who have divorced or have separated from their partners. Widows are not allowed to wear scarlet saris, no wedding necklaces and the vermillion powder called tika. They have to wear white as a sign of mourning . The social stigma attached to these unfortunate women reduces their chances in the marriage-market. Nepalese males prefer chaste, untouched females, almost girl-children, as their brides.
After the success of the people’s movement, the new constitution of Nepal was promulgated in November 1990 and broke new ground as far as women’s rights to equality and fair-play are concerned. The State has been given the authority to legislate specific laws for the protection of the special rights of women.


Nothing has changed since then in practice. Although provisions have been made in the New Nepalese Constitution (1990) in favour of women, the elections showed that the major parties are not prepared to improve the status of women in Nepal. Women are treated as second-grade citizens and even like servants, as can be seen in the laws relating to property rights, family rights and sexual rights. My question is: Quo vadis Nepal? Will the new government formed by the Maoists, Congress and other parties also take the role of the women in Nepal's development?
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What others have said about the author:
„Die Schilderungen von Satis Shroff in ‘Through Nepalese Eyes’ (www.Lulu.com) sind faszinierend und geben uns die Möglichkeit, unsere Welt mit neuen Augen zu sehen..“ (Alice Grünfelder von Unionsverlag / Limmat Verlag, Zürich).
“ Since 1974 I have been living on and off in Nepal, writing articles and publishing books about Nepal-- this beautiful Himalayan country. Even before I knew Satis Shroff personally (later) I was deeply impressed by his articles, which helped me very much to deepen my knowledge about Nepal. Satis Shroff is one of the very few Nepalese writers being able to compare ecology, development and modernisation in the ‘Third’ and ‘First’ World. He is doing this with great enthusiasm, competence and intelligence, showing his great concern for the development of his own country”. (Ludmilla Tüting, journalist and publisher, Berlin).
“Due to his very pleasant personality and in-depth experience in both South Asian, as well as Western workstyles and living, Satis Shroff brings with him a cultural sensitivity that is refined. His writings have always reflected the positive attributes of optimism, tolerance, and a need to explain and to describe without looking down on either his subject or his reader”. (Kanak Mani Dixit, Himal Southasia, Kathmandu)
“Satis Shroff writes with intelligence, wit and grace”. (Bruce Dobler, Professor in Creative Writing MFA, University of Iowa).

EINE REISE NACH GORKHALAND (Satis Shroff, Freiburg)

Die Fahrt von Kathmandu nach Kakarbhita in Ost-Nepal war ein eigenartiges Erlebnis. Die Sicherheitsvorkehrungen waren streng. Ein Nepali Polizist verteilte Karten auf denen die Reisenden ihren Namen, Adresse und Bestimmungsort angeben mußten. Das Gepäck wurde identifiziert und zur gründlichen Untersuchung geöffnet.

Mugling: In Kathmandu starten Busse nach Birganj vom zentralen Busbahnhof aus. Es gibt auch Nachbusse. Von Birganj fahren Busse nach Kathmandu über Mugling (272km). Außerdem kann man die alte Strasse hinder Hitauda über Daman benutzen, ist 100 km kürzer aber sehr kurvenreich. In Mugling hatten wir um 22 Uhr einen Aufenthalt um eine kurze dal-bhat-tarkari Sitzung abzuhalten. Man bekommt einen Löffel nur auf verlangen, da die meisten mit den rechten Hand essen. Die Stadt machte den Eindruck eines Grenzortes im Wilden Westen. Als Toilette dienten jede Winkel und dunkle Gassen. Das ununterbrochene Plärren der penetranten indischen Filmmusik im Nachtbus sorgte dafür, da viele Reisenden wach blieben, während einige wenige davon auch eingeschläfert wurden. Nepali Musik ist ja so weich, dezent und unaufdringlich. Der Busfahrer und sein Angestellter diskutieren und gestikulieren. Letztere schien der Sündenbock zu sein und wurde regelrecht angefahren.

Tribhuvan Rajpath: Die Tribhuvan Rajpath erschien als eine Berg und Talsilhouette, ab und zu zeigten ein oder zwei kleine Lichter die Existenz von Nepali Höfen in der Gebirgswildnis an. Die Rajpath ist 200km lang und verbindet Kathmandu mit Raxaul an der indischen Grenze. Sie wurde mit indischer Hilfe erbaut und 1956 eröffnet.Wir erreichen Itari um 6 Uhr 30 und halten bei einem Graben, gefüllt mit stehenden grünlichen Wasser, an dem acht Enten herumstanden, schweigend und in Gesellschaft eines Wegweisers: Kathmandu via Mugling 519 km. Itari war am Expandieren, was von halbfertigen Neubauten angezeigt wurde.

Ein Sadhu schlenderte heran um Geld zu erbetteln. Es gab Strassenhändler mit nepalesischen Gebäck. Heruntergekommene Hütten waren in Teehäuser verwandelt worden, geschmückt mit Coca Colareklame. Eine elegante Nepali Frau in einem Bakhu-kleid aus dem Norden war dabei sich zu waschen.

Im Bus gab es fünf Thakali Schulkinder, die auf dem Weg nach Kalimpong waren, zu Dr. Graham's Home. Scharen indischen Touristen tranken Tee. Das ist das vernünftigste um den Kathmandu Quickstep (Durchfall) zu vermeiden.

Hitauda: Schon um 2 Uhr 30 erreichten wir Hitauda. Das steile serpentinenreiche Abenteuer namens Tribhuvan Rajpath war überstanden. Vor vierzig Jahren wurden Autos von gewaltigen Trägerkolonnen auf dem Rücken aus Indien nach Kathmandu gebracht. Man könnte die Geräusche von anderen Bussen, die ankamen oder abfuhren vernehmen. Straßenhändler schrien sich die Kehle heiß und verkauften heißen Tee, hartgekochte Eier, Papad, Orangen und gerösteten Mais.

Leibesvisitationen: Es gab eine Kontrollenstelle und Leibevisitationen. Ich erinnere mich, dass in Mai 1985 reifen die Nepali Congress Partei und die Nepal Communist Party zu einer Satyagraha-Bewegung (wie einst in britische Indien) auf und viele Mitglieder dieser Parteien wurden damals verhaftet. Die Situation eskalierte am 20. Juni, als Bombenanschläge in Kathmandu und anderen Städten Nepals acht Tote und 22 Verletzte forderten. Zu den Anschlägen bekannten sich Organisationen wie: Janvadi Morcha (Volksforum) und Samyukta Mukti Bahini (NepalsNaxalite Gruppe. In einen schäbigen Hütte mit zwei Türen fühlte der Gendarm die Schlüssel in meiner Tasche und Fragte mich was das sei.

"Meine Schlüssel" antwortete ich auf Nepali, woraufhin er mich aus der Schlange winkte. In der Nähe wartete eine ältere tibetische Frau ebenfalls darauf abgetastet zu werden.
Kakarbhita: Kakarbhita war eine kleine Grenzstadt, schäbig, armselig und mit einer Menge kleiner Restaurants, die Linsensuppe, Reis und Curryhuhn anboten. Sie hat 3000 Einwohner, eine Polizeiwache, kein Krankenhaus, nicht einmal eine Apotheke, einige Drogerien und unzählige Stroh oder Bambushütten.

Siliguri: Siliguri ist ein Eisenbahnnetz und das Tor zu den Darjeeling Bergen. Beim Sukunawald sah man die Plantagen in der Nähe der Straße und Gorkhali Pflücker, die "drei-Blätter-und-eine-Knospe" um 11 Uhr morgens sammelten, die Mahanadibrücke und dann, in Richtung Hochland, Tindharia, wo es eine Werkstatt für die berühmte Darjeeling-Himalayan-Eisenbahn gibt, ein niedlicher 'Spielzeug', der malerische kleine Gurkha Städte passiert, wie Ghayabari, Kurseong, Sepoydhura, Tung, Ghoom und schließlich Darjeeling selbst.

"Der ganze Weg bis dahin war noch vor zwei Jahrzehnten dicht bewaldet, aber jetzt werden die Berge nach jedem heftigen Monsun ein Stück weiter abgetragen", sagte Mr.Dixit, ein Ingenieur im Ruhestand den ich in Kurseong traf. Der Andrang in die Berge sei die letzte Zeit sehr groß gewesen. In der Nähe von Ghoom zog sich eine hässliche Narbe durch die Landschaft, die von einem Erdrutsch herrschte. Straßenarbeiter waren damit beschäftigt sie mit Steinen und Zement wieder zu befestigen.

Tiger Hill: In Darjeeling hatte ich bei einem Reisebüro in der Nähe des Capitolkinos den Tag vorher eine Karte reserviert nur um dann herauszufinden, dass es mehr als ein Dutzend Jeeps und Landrovers vom Zeiten Weltkrieg Richtung Tiger Hill um 4 Uhr morgens gab. Der Gurkha Angestellte sagte, "Es ist besser ein bisschen früher zu kommen. Die ersten Kunden bekommen die besten Plätze." So ging ich um 3:30 dorthin.

Der Gurkha und seine Fahrzeugflotte war nirgends zu sehen. Ein Einheimischer mit mongolischen Zügen und einem Bart wie Djengisch Khan erschien um 4:15 und sagte, dass wir zu einer anderen Stelle gehen müssten, wo der Jeep geparkt wäre. Indische Standard Zeit, dachte ich. In einem solchen Urlaub muss man cool bleiben. Ein Indischer Mitreisender mit einer Deutschen Frau meinte: "Wenn ihr so spät kommt, ist es kein Wunder, dass ihr Gurkhas kein Fortschritt macht." Der taktlose dunkle Reisender, der das sagte war ein Flachländer.
"Wie zum Teufel können wir Fortschritt machen, wenn ganze Darjeeling Bezirk zum Sperrgebiet erklärt wird, und wenn alle Teeplantagen den Bengalis von Kalkutta gehören, und wenn die indische Regierung Geld nur in Sikkim investiert, und wenn unsere Gorkhalisprache bis neulich nicht anerkannt wurde?" erwiderte der Gorkhafahrer.

Das war ein schlagfertiger, verärgerter Gorkha, der keinen Spaß verstand. Das ist was ich an den Gurkhas von Darjeeling bewundere. Sogar ein Jeepfahrer spricht ausreichend Englisch, Hindi und Gorkhali (Nepali).

Die Gorkhas von Darjeeling haben seit Oktober 1988 ihre Waffen nach 28 Monaten andauernden Kämpfen mit der indischen Regierung niedergelegt. Der Gorkhaland Aufstand kostete 200 Leben und brachte eine Ergänzung (Amendment) zum Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council Erlaß.

Schließlich wurden neun Leute in den Jeep gepackt und wir fuhren in Richtung Tiger Hill. Es gab ein großes Tor mit den traditionellen tibetischen Schnitzereien--zwei Tigern--durch welches die Fahrzeuge den Berg hinauffuhren. Manche Jeeps hatten Schwierigkeiten und keuchten wie Asthmatiker.

Der Jeep hielt 300m unterhalb des Gipfels und wir gingen zu Fuß zum Gipfel. Ein Sherpa mit Moon-Boots lief mit einem großen Stein den Hang hinauf um sein Jeep zu bremsen, der gerade begann rückwärts die Straße hinunter zu rollen. Die Bremsen schienen nicht so gut zu funktionieren, bei dieser Steigung jedenfalls.

Kanchenjunga Massif: Dann konnte man sehen wie sich die Spitze des 8598m Kenchanjunga Massif plötzlich Rot färbte, die ersten Sonnenstrahlen. Nach kurzer Zeit wurde sie Orange und nahm allmählich eine Gelbe Färbung an. Man konnte die Vögel des Himalaya in den Büschen und Bäumen zwitschern hören und zugleich das Klicken der Touristenkameras.
Nach einer kurzen Fahrt durch Pinienwälder und blaue Berge wurden wir durch eine Aussicht auf das Kanchenjunga in seiner ganzen Majestät belohnt.

In Ghoom, das ist der höchste Ort auf der Old Hill Cart Road, besuchten wir das buddhistische Kloster aus dem 19.Jahrhundert (circa 8km von Darjeeling). Im massiven, pompösen Pagoda ähnlichen Gebäude befanden sich ein Altar des Maitree Buddha, Butterlämpchen und tibetanische Khadatücher in leuchtendem Rot, Weiß und Gelb. Es war ein Fest für den Augen. Tibetische Kunst im Exil. Eintritt 0.50 Paise. Wir warfen einen Blick in das Museum mit wertvoller Buddhistischer Literatur, traditionellen rituellen Masken aus dem Himalayaraum und einer numismatischen Sammlung in der Mitte des Raumes, mit Münzen und Banknoten aus dem Tibet, die bis 1959 im Umlauf waren.

Ein kleiner, freundlicher Lamanoviz posierte vor den Touristen, und ein anderer Lama mit schwarzem Haar sprang hinter einer Dämonenmaske hervor um für die Nachwelt festgehalten zu werden.

Eine blaue Darjeeling Himalayan Dampflok gebaut 1881 von Sharp & Co Glasgow, ratterte bergab auf ihrem weg nach Kurseong, einer weiteren Bergstation. Einige Jungen aus Ghoom vergnügten sich, indem sie bei fahrendem Zug hinaus und wieder hinein sprangen. Der hilflose Schaffner schrie sie an, tat es ihnen gleich und versuchte einen zu erwischen. Die Ghoom-Jungs waren frech und flink. Es war ein herrliches Spektakel wie aus einem slap-stick Filmstreife.
Entlang der mini Schienen, die einen an die Schwäbische Eisenbahn denken ließen, waren scharen von Verkäufern von tibetischer Herkunft die Altkleider, Halsketten, Gürtel, Taschen und viele andere Gegenstände verkauften, wie sie üblicherweise an der Laden La Straße in Darjeeling angeboten werden.

Eine kurze Fahrt zum Batasia loop, wo die Eisenbahn bei der abfahrt nach Darjeeling, ein paar Schlaufen fährt, erwies sich als interessant. An diesem dunstigen Morgen sah man die Wolken langsam aufsteigen von den berühmten Teegärten in den Tälern.

Bei den Gorkhas: Am nächsten Tag fuhr ich mit einem Gorkha Freund, Susil Basnet, nach Dow Hill über Kurseong an den Tbc Sanatorium vorbei, in einem Jeep noch aus dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, der von einem Gorkha namens Norden Lama, mit Alkoholfahne gefahren wurde. Es gibt keine Promillen-Kontrolle in Darjeeling oder Indien. In den kalten und regnerischen Monsunmonaten ist es nicht unüblichen zu beobachten wie Jeep und Lastwagenfahrer anhalten um einen Schluck Raksi (Reisschnaps) zu trinken um sich warm zu halten. Ich muss zugeben ich war erleichtert als wir unser Ziel erreichten. Wir wurden mit einer vorzüglichen Rai-Mahlzeit bestehend aus Dal-Bhat-Shikar (Linsen-Reis-Ziegenfleisch) belohnt.

Nepalis bzw. Gorkhas sprechen normalerweise nicht beim Essen. Aber moderne Nepalis (Gorkhas) neigen dazu, die neue fremdländische (westliche) Angewohnheiten anzueignen, was von der ältere Generation nicht so gerne gesehen wird. Es gehört sich nicht. Mein Gorkha Freund sagte, er hatte sowohl Gefallen gefunden an den letzten Harold Robbins, Alstair Maclean und John Grisham Romanen, als auch Bhanu Bhakta Acharyas "Grasmäher Verse", Babulal Pradhan's Kurzgeschichten, Shiva Kumar Rai's "Dak Bungalow", Laxmi Prasad Devkota’s "Muna Madan" und Guru Prasad Mainali's Kurzgeschichten. Die in Indien Lebenden Gorkhas zitieren Urdu shahari Verse, Gedichte und Dialoge aus Indischen Kinos und Videofilmen.

In Kurseong traf ich Mr. Snehalata Roy, ein liebenswürdiger alter bengalischen Herr, der etwas vom intellectuellen Flair eines Nirad C. Chaudhuri hatte. Er hatte graues Haar, war korpulent und fochte einen immerwährenden Kampf gegen Rheumatismus, Arthritis und Tuberkulose, denn er war Kettenraucher. Er war ein vielgereister Versicherungsangestellte aus Kalkutta und hat sich schließlich in Kurseong niedergelassen. Mr. Roy sprach Gorkhali mit einem starken Ballygunj-Akzent aus Bengal. Er spöttete: "Die Gorkhas erschienen immerhin in den Schlagzeilen und erreichten es die Aufmerksamkeit in Delhi auf sich zu ziehen." Er zeigte mir sein Bibliothek und wir tranken Tee und plauderten.

TV und Video-Sucht: Fernsehen ist geradewegs zu einer Sucht geworden, was ein Besuch bei einer in der Stadt lebenden Gorkha-Familie deutlich sichtbar wurde. Video und Fernsehen scheinen Gespräche oder Spiele im Kreis der Familie ersetzt zu haben auch in den kleinsten Ecken des Landes. Die ganze noch-intakte Grossfamilie, die aus drei Generationen bestand, war im Bann der Mattscheibe. "Dallas", Cricket-Matches und politische "Sketch-up" am Sonntagmorgen. Zwischen den schlüpfrigen Intrigen JRs und einer Tasse Darjeelingtee sprach ich mit Mr. Chettri, einem pensionierten Inspecteur der Darjeeling-Himalaya Eisenbahn. Er meinte: "Die Tage der Wildschwein- und Fasanenjagd im Sukuna-Dschungel (Terai) sind vorbei." Er fuhr fort, die Patronen wären in Indien so teuer, dass er sein altes Winschester-Gewehr verkauft habe. Video, Fernsehen und lange Spaziergänge interessierten ihn nun am meisten. Erstere seien sein neuen Spielzeug.

Die klaren blauen Berge um uns, aus denen Tälern Wolken, die überbleibsel des Monsuns, emporkletterten, waren überwältigend.

Unmengen von Photographen aus Darjeeling, bewaffnet mit Polaroiden oder andere Kameras, versuchten schnell zum Zuge zu kommen. Einer näherte sich einem älteren einheimischen Gorkha und fragte, warum er denn die Kappe nicht von seinem Teleskope nehme und der erwiderte mit großem Ernst: "Schauen Sie Sir, ich bin nicht wie die anderen. Wenn die Aussicht schlecht ist und es wirklich nichts zu sehen gibt, mag ich den Leuten kein Geld abnehmen um sie dann den Dunst betrachten zu lassen. Ein Mann von Charakter und Ehrgefühl, wollte man glauben. Über 90 % der Touristen auf Tiger Hill waren Inder aus dem Flachland.

Tenzing Norgay’s Bergsteigerinstitut: Nach einem kurzen Frühstück strebte ich Richtung Chowrasta zu. Dorthin geht man zum Ponyreiten, um die Auslagen in den Schaufenstern zu betrachten oder um den Mall entlang zu spazieren bis zum Regierungsgebäude (Governor's Palast) und wieder zurück. Es ist der selbe Ort wo englische Damen und Herrn promenieren und ihren 5 O' Clock Tee in Keventer's oder Planters Club zu trinken. Danach ging ich zum Tenzing Norgay's Institute für Himalaya Touren, das sich in Birch Hill befindet, welches von den Indern heute Jawahar Parbat genannt wird. Der Eintrittsgebühr betrug eine Rupee. Es gab einiges zu sehen: Hochgebirgszelte, Bergsteigerausrüstung, Andenken, Glückwünschkarten und eine Fotoausstellung von Bezwingern und Alpinisten des Everest, welche an den verschiedenen Expeditionen und natürlich jener mit Reinhold Messner teilgenommen hatten.

Eine Plauderei mit einem Gorkha bediensteten des Himalayan Mountaineering Institut (HMI) erwies sich als interessant und führte zum Kauf eines Heftchens über "grundlegende, fortschrittliche und abenteuerliche" Kletterkurse. Seltsamerweise waren diese Kurse nicht für Ausländer gedacht. Vielleicht deshalb, weil die Inder seit ihrem Krieg mit China 1962 im Himalaya die Regionen Darjeeling, Sikkim und Bhutan zum Sperrgebiet erklärt haben.
Im Zoologischen Garten gab es gähnende sibirische Tiger zu sehen, Schwarzbären, Lamas, die bei der kleinsten Provokationen zu spucken anfingen, Pandas und exotische Vögel. Auch gab es im Gymkhana Club ein ausgestopftes Lama: Es fand gerade eine Ausstellung statt--mit der Aufschrift: "Bitte haben sie Geduld. Ein Cousin dieses Lamas wird sich bald einstellen". Das Naturgeschichte Museum zeigte ausgestopfte bengalische Tiger, Krokodile, den Wilden asiatischen Büffel und Reptilien.

Vom Hotel, wo ich mich eingerichtet hatte, hatte man einen überblick auf die Dächer und die Hinterhöfe von Darjeeling. Die meisten Häuser waren heruntergekommen und die Stadt konnte eine Schönheitsoperation gut gebrauchen. Es macht Mühe zu glauben, dass diese Stadt die Perle im Jewel der Britischen Besitzungen gewesen sein sollte. An allen Ecken gab es Momo- und Thukpaläden mit schmuddeligen Vorhängen vor dem Eingang und Marktschreien und Kleinhändler aus der Gangesebene, die in den Straßen der Bergstation ein bisschen zum Leben suchten. Es scheint als wachse Darjeeling, wie Kathmandu, ohne Plan. Die Häuser schießen in die Höhe, wie Pilze nach einem Monsunregen. Die Bevölkerung hat sich ebenfalls vergrößert und natürlich haben die Preise angezogen. Die Einwanderung von Leuten aus der Gangesebene, auf der Suche nach Wohnraum und Arbeit in der Bergen vergrößert das Elend noch weiter.

In Darjeeling gingen wir ins Simla-Restaurant. Kein Ort für Touristen, sondern für die Gorkhas. Gorkhas sind trinkfest und sie trinken gewöhnlich Raksi oder Chang, aber auch Rum oder Scotch. Die Rechnung war beachtlich aber mir wurde nicht erlaubt auch nur eine einzige Runde zu bezahlen. "Du bist ein Gast und Gäste von Gorkhas zahlen nichts," war die Antwort. Ich bekam dennoch eine Gelegenheit zur Gegenleistung am nächsten Tag bei Lobos, wo ich Kuchen und anderes Gebäck bestellte. Wie überall in der Welt, wo die Gorkhas zusammenkommen, gab es ausgedehnte Trinkgelage.

Am nächsten Tag wurde ich von einer Gorkhafamilie zum Mittagessen ins "Glens" eingeladen. "Als wir noch Schulkinder waren, waren wir verrückt nach einem Essen und Date bei Glenary's," sagte Mrs.Rai, die eine der teueren, von ausländischen Nonnen geleiteten Klosterschulen besucht hatte.

Ein Gelübde: "Während der 60iger Jahre hatten die Fentones, eine Musikgruppe aus Shillong und die "Diamonds" aus Darjeeling großen Erfolg mit ihren Beatlesstücken wie "Yesterday", "Can't Buy Me Love", und "Pretender" und "Satisfaction" von den Rolling Stones. Glenary ist nicht mehr was es einmal war. Es hat seinen Glanz, seine Eleganz und auch seine Gäste und Ambiente verloren", meinte Mrs.Rai, eine hübschen, schlanke Frau, während wir irgendein unbeschreibliches chinesisches Gericht mit unseren Essstäbchen zu uns nahmen.

Mrs.Rai hatte ein 'Bhakal' (ein Gelübde) abgelegt mit dem Versprechen an eine Gottheit ihre Gedenkstätte aufzusuchen, sollte ihr Wünsch in Erfüllung gehen. Ich konnte mir vorstellen, dass sie die Erfüllung einen ganzen Reihe von Wünsche nötig hatte. Wir gingen zum Mahakal-hügel. Den Weg säumten tibetische und indische Bettler. Im Tempelgelände flatterten Hunderten von orange-roten, gelben und weißen Gebetsfahnen fröhlich im Wind. Und in etwas, das eine Höhle ähnelte, befindet sich der Lama mit Abbildungen von Buddha, Avtars, Boddhisattvas, der verstorbene Panchen Lama, Dalai Lama und dem König von Nepal Birendra Shaha Deva, der als eine Inkarnation des Hindugottes Vishnu betrachtet wird. König Birendra hat in Darjeelings St. Joseph die schulische Ausbildung absolviert.

Kleine Fortschritte: In Darjeeling trifft man überall auf Plakate mit Willkommensgrüßen: Welcome to Gorkhaland. Und Mr. Dhurba Mohan Rai meinte: "Der Grund warum wir keine Fortschritte unter der indischen Regierung gemacht haben, besteht darin, dass wir untereinander so zerstritten sind. Überall gibt es Gorkhas:in der Kongress Partei, im CPI (Marxist), GNLF (Gorkha National Liberation Front), GVC(Gorkha Volunteer Force) und so weiter. Wir sind zu stark verstreut. Jetzt ist es das erste mal, dass sich eine größere Mehrheit in der Front der nationalen Befreiung der Gorkhas unter Subhas Ghising zusammengeschlossen hat. Vereint sind wir stark. Getrennt können wir uns gegenüber den anderen politischen Parteien von West Bengalen nicht behaupten."

Nach einer kurzen fahrt vom Haltestand der Taxis in Darjeeling zum North Point, bestieg ich Indiens älteste Kabinenseilbahn, die von Österreichern gebaut worden war und welche zum Singla Bazaar führt, gelegen im Tal des Little Rangit Flusses. Überall neben und unter einem könnte man die Teebusche (Thea sinensis) der Takdahplantage sehen. Man sah Gorkha-männer und Gorkhafrauen in ihren traditionellen Kleidern beim Wiegen und Rollen der Teeblätter, die sie nach der Herbst-Lese zum trocknen ausgebreitet hatten.

Es waren die Engländer gewesen, die die Nepalesen zur Einwanderung in den östlichen Himalaya ermutigt hatten, um in den neuangelegten Teeplantagen von Darjeeling und Assam zu arbeiten. Allein zwischen 1983 und 1986 beschäftigten die Plantagen 84,000 Menschen. Allerdings ging die Darjeeling Teeproduktion während der Gorkhalandkrise um 65% zurück.
In der Kabine der Seilbahn traf ich auf einen australishen Entwicklungshelfer aus Ost-Nepal, der gerade Ferien machte und stolz auf sein gebrochenes Nepali war; und eine ortsansässige Didi (große Schwester), welche einen Teeladen in Singamari betrieb, war ebenfalls auf dem Weg nach Takdah. Direkt der Seilbahnbergstation gegenüber befindet sich die britische Schule St. Joseph, an der, unter anderen, die Königlichen Familie von Nepal ihre Cambridge Schulabschlussprüfungen abgelegt hat. Die Prüfungsarbeiten werden nach England ausgeschickt, dort korrigiert und die Zeugnisse werden ebenfalls in England ausgestellt. In den nahegelegenen Frazerhalle gibt es Zusammenkünfte, die von europäischen und amerikanischen Priestern (Jesuiten) und Nonnen organisiert werden, wo Jugendliche der indischen, nepali, bhutanesischen und sikkimisischen Elite Walzer, Tango und Mambo tanzen lernen.

In Singamari, auf dem Weg nach Lebong, wo sich eine der höchstgelegenen Pferderennbahnen der Welt befindet, konnte man sehen, wie erfahrene Sherpas am Tenzingfelsen Unterricht gaben--ein Felsen, der eine ziemliche Herausforderung für Möchte-gern-Kletterer und Alpinisten darzustellen schien.
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About the Author: Satis Shroff is a writer & poet based in Freiburg. He writes regularly for www.Americanchronicle.com and its twenty-one affiliated newspapers in the USA. He has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and Manchester. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.

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Reader's feedback:

Satis Shroff's article remains the finest ever written on Darjeeling. It brought me memories of the young people of Darjeeling,Kalimpong and Kurseong who always remained smart even in the worst crisis. My heartiest congratulations to him. Having stayed and worked in Bhutan for a number of years, I am aware of the politics in North Bengal and the exploitationby the Marwaris and Bengalis of the simple hill people of this area. In the eighties I was surprised to meet a Member of Parliament from Darjeeling who was a journalist and never belonged to Darjeeling or North Bengal. In fact he was from Punjab and stayed in Delhi.
Regards
Dr. Amitabh Mitra