Spare a Stick OR Spoil a Child

9^th graders, their young faces flushed with the nippy morning, stand up as Sharma Sir the Nepali teacher enters the classroom. It's the day for 'Sabdartha'(when the teacher asks for meanings of words from a chapter). As he points his finger to a student and begins his prodding, all eyes are downcast. Glances rise furtively as a student stumbles in her response.

"Okay Bhaju Ratna tell me the meaning of 'तिथि'".

Bhaju Ratna looks up at Sharma Sir, with a tinge of fear and guilt. He lowers his eyes and begins to stammer, "टिठी……टिठी…"

Sharma Sir admonishes him, "टिठी होइन तिथि".

"Huh!!!! टिठी…..huh……. टिठी".

"टिठी होइन तिथि भन्".

Bhaju is silent.

"भनेको सुन्दैनस्? तिथि!!! तिथि!!!!!..... तिथि भन्!!!"

Bhaju Ratna, by now scared our of his wits, gives it his best shot, the effort visible in his gaping mouth and startled eyes, "टि……ठी".

Sharma Sir, flushed furiously, walks up to the kid and grabs a lock of hair near his left temple and shouts, "तिथि!!!!! तिथि!!!!! तिथि!!!!!"

Bhaju Ratna lets out a cry of pain but still manages to reply, "टिठी!!!! टिठी!!!!!".

Sharma sir grabs the hair from both sides of his head and pulls them furiously as he threatens, "If you cannot pronounce तिथि tomorrow I'm going to uproot all your hair!". The only thing Bhaju Ratna is capable of is a silent scream.

As Sharma sir walks away, he adds indignantly, "I do not care if you hate me now. What matters to me is what you will think of me ten years from now".

 

I am sorry to say Mr. Sharma, but you have failed, and failed miserably. At least when I was in that classroom I used to think you had a point. But that was because I always did my lessons and had an impeccable standardized Nepali accent. But as I look back to that day now, I see an ignorant sadistic and self-righteous man.

I see now that a person's accent is just a cultural construct and to punish him for it is called cultural persecution. I see that you Mr. Sharma are just another agent of forced assimilation that has been going on in Nepal for centuries now. That you are the one who has marginalized ethnic groups for ages and you are the butt of the gun that has been humiliating the minority for centuries. But you don't realize it, do you?

I see now that you were the one who gave me the bogeyman that I am still trying to fight off. I see now that you were the reason why freedom was so hard for me to handle. I see now that you were the reason why it was hard for me to think of what I wanted when I did something. I see now that you were the reason why I developed an irrational hatred towards authority. I see now that you were reason why fear works better than reward for me. I see now that you were the reason why I had a tough time to figure out why one had to do something in life.

And I tell you now Mr. Sharma and I feel ashamed that I have to say it, that respecting cultures is more important than the marks you get in the SLC. I tell you now Mr. Sharma that creativity cannot flourish under fear. I tell you now Mr. Sharma that there is no bogeyman out there. I tell you now Mr. Sharma that desire for good is much powerful and lasting incentive than avoidance of harm. I tell you now Mr. Sharma that you are an anachronistic organism, a relic of the past.

I do not know what Bhaju Ratna thinks when he looks back at you now, but I, the student you never had anything but commendation for, think that you Mr. Sharma have no place in Nepal, if she is to ever move forward.

The Kiter Runner - Khaled Hosseini

I picked up this book to fill in the time between my computer's booting and rebooting after it had crashed. I was thinking it would be candy - books that you read as fast as you eat a candy and forget just as fast.

While there is no denying that this is a book of our times, infatuated with action and movements rather than the subtelities of life it would be gross injustice to lump it together with the Sheldons and Higgins. While the portrayal of Afghanistan through the various vagaries of time is commendable, what makes this book truly beautiful is the seamless weaving of an individual's dreams and desires with history.

The redemptive journey of the feeble Amir, introduces one to characters of different shades. When Amir shines his light on Rahim Khan, Soraya and others, it is palatable some time enlightening even. But when he does so on the three of the most black-and-white characters in the book- Hassan, Baba and Aseef, he is just setting of fireworks during the day. Does he ever truly understand Baba? When he says, "Less than two hours ago, Baba had volunteered to take a bullet for the honor of a woman he didn't even know. Now he'd almost choked a man to death, would have done it cheerfully if not for the pleas of the same woman" as though there actions are irreconcilable, while both the actions sprang from an adherence to truth. Amir didn't understand this part of Baba when they were fleeing Afghanistan. Did he understand him when they moved to the United States. While they warm up to each other in there, there is no evidence that he ever imbibes his dad's values. He betrayed Hassan out of fear of Aseef, but the fear was still there with him when he went to rescue Hassan's son from Aseef. Sure he did stand up to him this time, and that while being redemption enough for his actions, was not redemption enough for his soul. For he still feared Aseef and to fear something is to look up to it. A man who is sure of his path is not afraid, Baba wasn't neither was Aseef. 

Thus, Amir's is a journey from downright cowardice in both actions and soul to a path that is right and he thinks it is right, but still he doesn't feel its right. A pussy who finally learns to be brave, if there is such a thing as learning to be brave.

In spite of incomplete redemption in the main plot, this book is ultimately about hope. The hope that someday Amir will shed off his demons completely, the hope that the pomegrenate tree will again bear fruit and the hope that someday Sohrab's smiles will not be that rare.

-----------------------------------------------------

My favorite part :

"It was a dark little tale about a man who found a magic cup and learned that if he wept into the cup, his tears turned into pearls. But even though he had always been poor, he was a happy man and rarely shed a tear. So he found ways to make himself sad so that his tears could make him rich. As the pearls piled up, so did his greed grow. The story ended with the man sitting on a mountain of pearls, knife in hand, weeping helplessly into the cup with his beloved wife's slain body in his arms.

...............................

...............................................

"Mashallah, Amir agha, Bravo!" He was beaming.

"You liked it?" I said, gettin my second taste- and how sweet it was - of a positive review.

"Some day, Inshallah, you will be a great writer" Hassan said.

.........................

"Well," he said, "if I may ask, why did the man kill his wife? In fact, why did he ever have to feel sad to shed tears? Couldn't he have just smelled onions?" "

-------------------------------------------------------------