On the road | Cover Story | wavemag.com.np

I had written, "Travel the world- the one within you and the one around you. You live, you truly do learn," in one of my earlier editorials. There's something about being out on the road that let's you travel both these worlds quite splendidly. My affair with the open roads started at an early age during family trips to eastern Nepal. Reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road and Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas only added fuel to the fire within me.

The last time I ventured out of Kathmandu was in November to cover the Darjeeling Carnival. The only Nepal I got to see from the airplane window was the changing roofs tops from tins and stones on edges and tops of hills, to brightly coloured in the Terai. The Nepal this trip entailed, was a quick drive from Pashupatinagar— our Eastern border with India, to Biratnagar, from where we flew back to Kathmandu. A lot has happened in the country since, particularly outside the valley. In February, news of people stranded across the country and food shortages in several districts amongst other things trickled into the Kathmandu valley during a devastating nationwide road blockade by the Maoists. Most of us in the capital felt very little tremors of this quake, except for the increase in price of a few food items. Several dozen buffalos being transported to the city, in defiance of the blockade, paid a heavy price by being burnt alive with the truck they were in. Many of my friends living or studying in foreign countries heard stories, a few news items and others quickly brewed urban legends.

But really, what has the situation been like outside Kathmandu? What has been in the minds of the youth? Nepal is waking up to so many new dawns, social, political, intellectual and cultural. And the educated, urban youth of today don't think like they used to till even three years ago. It is for this reason that WAVE's Event Manager Subel and I decided to go on the road and meet with students from across the cities of Nepal to conduct a nationwide survey, to find out what's in the minds of young Nepalis. While the survey's results are printed in the article My Generation [pg.16-17], the following are images of lifestyles, social structures and a world of Nepal and Nepali youth that those of us living in Kathmandu or abroad sometimes tend to forget exists.

Motorcycle Diaries:

7 March. On board the Fokker: Upon arriving in Biratnagar on Cosmic Air's Fokker 300, I quickly inform WAVE's regional branch manager Khagendra ji that we will be hijacking his motorcycle for a few days. He obliges with a smile, Subel takes over the driving seat and I, ready my notepads and camera, and hop on the back. In this combination, we travel approx. 110 km further east to Khudunabari, approx. 26 KM west to Inarwa and approx. 45 km north to Dharan in five days with Biratnagar as our pivotal point — an industrial/trade oriented city in the South- eastern edge of Nepal's terai— bordering India at the Rakshol bazaar by onlysix kilometres.

8 March. Destination Khudunabari: At an average speed of 60 km/hr, a few security check posts and pit stops, it takes us about 2 hours to reach Khudunabari. It somehow feels like whoever put the Bhutani refugees here really wanted to make sure that they were as far away from the general civilisation as possible. From the Birtamod junction, it takes almost 20 minutes to reach the camp area that begins with a de-tour dirt road in a small bazaar.

Our tire gets punctured seconds after entering the camp. Subel leaves to find a repair shop while I am distracted by other things. A water tap in the camp has a long line of empty containers queued up with a few children playing around it. On closer inspection, I can see names and initials painted on them. "The water comes on at 3PM," explains a 12- year old boy. It's only 2:37 PM.

There's a big hall like structure with women and girls spinning cotton into threads. It reminds one of a sweat- shop. "We've been here for 12 years," an elderly woman says. "Everyone seems to have forgotten this place and us." The women and girls are paid Rs. 45/kg of cotton, which takes about two days to spin. The thread is produced for a "certain" business house in Kathmandu. Not far away is a similar but a smaller setup for producing local sitting stools.

Further down the road Subel finds a bicycle repair shop. "Rudra fixes these things but he's not here now. He'll be back later," an older man says. A man sells ice cream down the road— flavoured water frozen into rectangles on a stick. A brisk walk around the camp reveals more taps and queues for water, youngsters walk around doing nothing or playing caromboard, two boys strum on a guitar, girls run back into their houses seeing us strangers wandering around. Over the years, I have heard news stories about prostitution and drug peddling in Nepal's Bhutani refugee camps.

Rudra arrives and finally manages to fix the tire. Since there are no electronic air pumps that are normally used for car and motorbike tires, Rudra gets local boys to hand pump air into our tire with a manual pump used for bicycle tries. We ride back to Biratnagar.

It seems the biggest importance the refugee camp serves to Nepal is for businessmen who extract minimum wage labour out of it. As for three generations of Bhutani refugees that live there, 12 years later they still have no idea when they will be allowed to go back home to Bhutan. And everyone born in the camp in those 12 years has no national identity or homes. It's difficult to imagine what the youth here will grow up to become.

10 March. The Challenger is challenged: Subel and I have been shuttling to Dharan almost everyday. Prakash Poudel, the crying pop-star, and Dambar, a Himalmedia reporter is helping us with our work here. After finishing the day's chores, we decide to go up to Bhedatar, famous for its cold winds and view of the area. Bhedatar is particularly busy on Saturday afternoons with many young couples out on a date. The hill-top isn't very far away from the main Dharan bazaar but it is an uphill ride. Our bike Challenger has performed very well so far, even hitting 85 km/hr on the flat jungle road between Dharan and Itahari. Khagendra ji had warned us though; it doesn't work very well with climbs. While Prakash and Dambar steadily ride up to Bhedatar, our Challenger is challenged and drops to 20 km/hr on 2nd gear, barely managing to maintain it's pick up on the 3rd. But we make it and the chilly atmosphere, neat winding roads and the hill reminds us of Darjeeling. A new viewing tower has been built here. From it, one can see up to Hilley, Dhankuta to the north and a hazy Dharan bazaar to the south. On a nearby hill-top to the east, one can see the transmission towers set up by Image FM 97.9 and Kantipur FM 96.1. FM culture, both commercial and community, has become very popular since local FM stations started a few years ago. Image and Kantipur, both actually based in Kathmandu, transmit a relay of their regular shows from the capital. Immediately below, along the Bhedatar bazaar, you also see a heavy presence of both the Royal Nepali Army and the Armed Police Forces. The neighbouring areas are known to have a strong Maoist presence. The ride back to Dharan is much easier for our Challenger. From one of the popular viewing points along the way, we can see an army helicopter taking off. There is a small function at the Purbanchal Army Headquarters to welcome the new regional army chief.

11 March. Welcome to the jungle: About a week ago a local paper in Sunsari wrote about Prakash Ojha who had been arrested and has been spending his time singing for an audience of arrested political leaders and police officers on duty in the Inarwa jail. Today Prakash is presented in court for an important hearing in the case where he has been accused of sexual exploitation [read: Prakash Ojha: Case of the X. pg.32]. In the morning a local paper prints a photo of him being escorted out of the police station, while Prakash tried to cover his face. He is brought back to the Inarwa jail from his hearing in Itahari after 2PM. Dambar, Prakash Poudel, Subel and I ride down from Dharan to meet him there. But he is being transported to the prison facility in Biratnagar and we only get to exchange a few words. "I really need to talk to WAVE," he tells Prakash Poudel. "Please come to Biratnagar." The police jeep speeds off to Biratnagar. "Sure, sure you can meet him there if you go without any problem," a police officer tells us. We get on our bikes and follow the jeep to Biratnagar. "Prakash is already inside. You can't meet him because government offices don't work after 3PM on Fridays," one of the officers at the prison tells us. It is almost 4PM. "Meet him on Sunday," he adds. On Sunday, Subel and I will be in Narangadh. We decide Dambar will meet him then and get ready to head back to Dharan. Seconds later Prakash Poudel's bike runs out of petrol so we buy a bottle of mineral water, drink it up, pour some petrol into it from our bike, and then pour that into Prakash's tank. Good to go till the next petrol pump.

Its almost 6PM in the jungle between Itahari and Dharan. We are about 10 kms before seeing the first "Welcome to Dharan" billboard. Prakash and Dambar have gone ahead. Just as we are about to overtake two girls on a scooter, our motorcycles makes funny noises and decide to go to sleep. The girls realise we could be in trouble. They turn around and come to help us, thinking we might have run out of petrol. Happily for us, both the girls knew WAVE magazine and recognised us. "The engine's over heated," Subel explained. After a brief conversation we thank them as they get going homeward. In Biratnagar, shy girls and boys alike can be seen going around the bazaar on their cycles. In Dharan, two girls on a scooter helped us in the middle of a jungle at dusk.

After being stuck for almost half-an-hour, Prakash and Dambar come back to look for us and help us get the bike to the nearest maintenance shop. "You need to change your spark plugs," the mechanic tells us. Half an hour later we're in Dharan's Sailung Restaurant. Last dinner here with Aastha's Naren, Prakash, Dambar and my cousin Sailesh. We hand over the keys to Dambar, who will give it to Khagendra ji. Tonight we sleep over at Sailesh's place.

12 March. Good morning Ranga Chow. Good bye Purbanchal: It is the fact that it's sound is so annoying which makes an alarm clock work so well. 3:45 in the morning, we get up and get ready. The bus stop is only a minute's walk from here. 4:24 AM, our bus comes to a halt in front of us, gathering a nasty dust ball. "There are no lahurey residents in Ranga Chowk that's why the road isn't black topped yet," a few locals had told us. "Its one of the last streets in Dharan that's in a bad state." The local lahurey community has over the years helped the municipality a great deal to fix roads and invest in maintenance of communal infrastructures. The residential areas of Dharan are quite well kept, for now. Off to Narayangadh!

The afternoon sky above is a hundred shades of blue with a thousand spots of white and the open road ahead just as many shades of gray. Bridges come and go, with only sand and people but no river below. But monsoon is just around the corner, and then they will flood. The landscape changes from bustling towns crowded with buses, trucks and cycles to small settlements steadily growing into such towns. Fields with cattle grazing and jungles with people gathering fire wood.

The bus is stopped every now and then, all its passengers made to get off, walk for a short distance, get their handbags checked at a make shift security post. Buses and trucks slowly drive ahead and queue along the road as they wait for their passengers. Hundred of trees have been cut down where security forces are based to clear the area, so that they can see what or who is approaching. Big tin barrels zig- zag on stretches of the highway, with barbwires on alternate sides. The police station or bases of the security forces are further secured by several layers of barbwires and trenches with broken glasses in between them. A harsh reminder about how Nepal is no longer just pretty pictures and postcards with a harmonious multi- ethnic/ cultural population but also a news item of more than 12,000 people being killed in 9 years due to a violent political uprising that seems to have hopelessly spiralled out of control.

13 March. Take me to the river: I have travelled through Narayangadh several times but this is the first stay here. It's Subel's second in the last 1 month. His friend in Chitwan got married a few weeks ago. We are taking a later afternoon bus to Butwal with no work in the morning. Our branch manager Buddhi ji suggets a trip to Devghat, and before we know if, we're half way there on a taxi. Devghat is an interesting place. There are many Ashrams here, young children clad in saffron robe walk around this serene place. Devghat has a cremation site on its riverbank where Trishuli and Gandaki meet and merge into the Narayani. Back in town, we have lunch and get on a bus. Destination Butwal.

14 March. Connecting at the Net Club: Subel and I enter an Internet café near our hotel. There's good music playing. Pearl Jam and Travis. A young lady sits at the counter, who sings along with the cd. She offers us the main server since all the other computers there are occupied. She tells us, she and her husband opened the net club together. The young couple and their friends are also responsible for several dance parties that have happened in Butwal and Tansen. The main bazaar has a line of Internet cafes crowded in the evenings. But at the same time a quick glance at a few of the survey forms filled by college students here reveals that they haven't used the Internet ever. If you are ever in Butwal, make sure you go to Batauli, the old Butwal bazaar across the Tinau bridge, only a few minutes ride on a rickshaw. From the bridge, one can see many children playing in the river below, jumping off boulders while older women wash clothes. Batauli is also where the Butwal branch of Nanglo restaurant is, a must eat-at joint. Sizzlers for only Rs.110! A botanical garden further up is a popular dating spot, quite like Bhedatar in Dharan.

15 March. Ranighat Mahal, the Taj Mahal of Nepal: In the morning, our branch manager hires a car. We are joined by J.B. Pun Magar, a journalist for our sister publication Himal Khabarpatrika. Last week Anti- Maoist vigilantes in Kapilvastu kidnapped him and took him to India, where he was blindfolded and held captive for three days. Today he goes to Palpa with us. I was supposed to come here on a class trip almost 9 years ago but couldn't make it. Here I am now. A local FM station called Srinagar FM has been giving on- air tuition classes to sSLC students. Sometime ago the Maoists stopped tuition centres because of the fees they charged, so Srinagar FM started free tuition on the radio almost immediately. Students and teachers both take these tuition classes seriously and in fact, many schools in areas where the FM reaches have advised their SLC candidates to listen to Srinagar FM's tuition show for tips and schedules for this year's SLC. A young local who works as a news reporter at Srinagar volunteered to be our guide. Getting to Ranighat Mahal is now easier than it used to be, we can drive half- way down. The other half is a downhill hike, sometimes against our will we are compelled to jog. We get quite tired by the time we reach the palace but oh what a site!

Governor Khadga Shamsher built Ranighat Mahal in 1892AD in memory of his queen Tej Kumari. The palace is built on a rock bed below a hill, just above the Kali Gandaki river, which still crashes against the compound's left walls. The palace is a marvelous piece of architecture, with lavishly landscaped layers of gardens. It is said that the bricks that built it were manufactured at the construction site itself and that sheets of gold were used on the roofs of three temples in the compound. It was renovated several years ago but today there isn't a single person on duty to maintain the palace. Since it is a shrine for lovers, hundreds of couples have scribbled their names on every possible inch of the palace walls, even the high ceiling. Its quite difficult to explain in words just how beautiful the palace area is. If anyone is up to it, they could just take a sleeping bag and spend the night here. The palace, in simple words, is empty, unkempt, unguarded and still very beautiful. The bank of Kali Gandaki below is a cremation site. Subel and I stand in the river a few minutes, cooling our feet. Apart from the few houses with families that sell cremation wood, you cannot find another settlement till after a bit of a hike.

The downhill trek we took to get here now turns into an extremely steep climb. It takes us an hour's strenious climb to reach the car. Hungry and tired, we head right to Nanglo's Tansen branch. It is already dark by the time we reach the Tansen bazaar and we need to reach Butwal before 10PM, at which time a curfew is imposed. Even in the dark, the bazaar is beautiful, almost like parts of old Ason, Patan or New Road. Must come back again and spend more time here. Jackals and other wild cats cross the highway several times on our way back.

16 March. 0 kilometre: We fly back to Kathmandu at 2PM today. At 11:45 we hire the hotel's car and head towards the Bhairawa Airport. Half way down, the car's tire is punctured. "I don't have a spare," the driver says, standing on the side of a highway surrounded by fields. 12:30PM. A stranger with a KIA Sportage SUV gives us a ride till the closest bazaar, Srinagar. We take a taxi, pick up our tickets from the Cosmic Air branch office and head to the airport.

The female air stewardess on the flight to Kathmandu today was also on our flight to Biratnagar from Kathmandu at the beginning of this trip. The male steward is different.

After being on the road for 10 days, through 16 districts from Palpa in the West to Jhapa in the East, meeting hundreds of teenagers in five cities and 5 radio interviews later, we are back in Kathmandu at about 3PM. Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal. A growing number of us here, it seems, forget that though small compared to our immediate neighbours or our preferred countries in the West, Nepal is more vast than one can imagine. Just as vast are the disparities of an umpteenth kind amongst our youth population. But the Nepali reality for Kathmandu's modern youth gets directed and consequently grows further limited within the hills that surround the valley. And It gets harder to find open roads and open minds here.