By Tushar Jha

It is the early hours of the morning in late July 2005 in this town in the North East region of the United States that I call home for the time being. I am up at this unusual hour mostly by force of habit but this morning finds me with issues that seem to be beyond my understanding and arguably beyond the understanding of reason, in particular the state of our nation and the unnecessary plight of our people.

It is with an utter feeling of helplessness that I sit down and force these words out of me partly inspired by Mr. Shukla’s recent article (in Nepalnews) in which he reminisces of a time long ago in his childhood days when the state of our nation was not unlike now. My helplessness stems from the fact that I cannot do anything to make things right for my country– my country that has shaped my life and my being; and my country, which seems not to be able to learn from its mistakes.

The sixties for me bring no memories, I think of it more as the era of Led Zeppelin and The Doors, for I was not born then. But I do remember that day in 1990 when I was frightfully young in the youngest democracy in the world. My young and obtuse mind did not fully comprehend the importance of that day, yet I could feel an air of change; that day for me when I walked out hand in hand with my mother was a day when the air truly had an aroma of freedom, of people rejoicing. It was a great day even for a kid who could not even say “democracy” properly.

Now, not a kid anymore, tears well in my eyes as I regretfully say that we squandered it. We filled our lockers and we built our palaces as our own people barely survived. Be sure to notice that I say we, even though it might not be you or me. I do not blame our politicians, I blame us for being so apathetic to all their misdoings. I blame us for being sheep. I blame us for taking things for granted and most of all I blame us for not having given thought to our nation, we who were capable of such thought and consequent action.

And now as a result we have been pushed back into the darkness that we sought to emerge from. Power hungry monsters who claim my nation, our nation, politicians who grant themselves the right to act in their own interests as opposed to nation’s merely because they were leaders in the fight for independence. Have they forgotten that there are 25 million others who call this nation their home? Or is it just that we have forgotten that we are not alone amongst 25 million others?

Here– in the richest nation on earth– so far away from my homeland, I sit and stttare at the progress that has been made by human beings quite like us, and I dream.

I dream of a day when I will be able to walk down the streets of every town and village of my country and not see poverty, but prosperity instead, not see mouths shut and hands tied by tyranny but see people rejoice in freedom. A freedom to be and a freedom to speak, a freedom to rise against wrongdoings and a freedom to fight oppression and injustice.

Someday I would like to see my dream come true. In spite of the overwhelming despair that I dare not succumb to but which nonetheless continuously threatens to take over and rid my dreams forever, I still remain hopeful.

However the little glimmer of hope that I maintain at the end of my tunnel fades everyday as I gather news of our nation from what sources are at my disposal. I hear of brothers spilling the blood of their own, without slightest regard to the tears that are shed by mothers and children, but how can one possibly be apathetic to such grief? I hear of the poor growing poor and the rich getting richer, but how can one so selfishly wallow in luxury when their wealth still drips the blood of their own? I see pictures of extravagant parties and events in the little cocoon that Kathmandu valley has become, but how can any true child of the nation rejoice when injustice and oppression rules the land?

These are questions that I alone cannot answer. I need the voice of my people, I need the voice of my land.