Mahesh Paudyal

Mahesh Paudyal One of my students and a youth activist Ganesh Aagam Dhungana recently twitted, “To those people who ask you the relevance of ancient wisdom, ask back, ‘What is the relevance of the sun and the moon?’”To this, an American follower Sean Casey   wrote a rejoinder: “I find that ‘ancient wisdom’ often reflects ideas made to get men in power and keep them in power. Tradition is largely the blind belief in old ideas for nostalgia more than reason. Ideas/beliefs aren’t right just because they’re old.” Christine Toniolo , another commentator wrote, “I am not sure if I understand all in English, but I am always surprised about Nepal: tradition is always present, too much for me! And sometimes I think it does not help this country to make progress!” Joining the discussion, Art Kaufman of the World Movement for Democracy wrote, “I think the important thing is the dialogue between the old and the new based on reason. It is the most difficult thing because much of what h

Mahesh Paudyal Neelam Karki Niharika's novel Yogamaya  wins Madan Puraskar for the year 2074.  The book was published by Sangri-la Books. Congratulations!  What is Yogamaya all about? Yogamaya has its heavy bearing on history. History is slowly slipping off the hands of the official historians, and is fast passing into the hands of the new historicists, who are better adept with historicization of fiction and fictionalisation of history. This bottom-up approach to history is bringing newer facts to limelight, and is subverting the erstwhile power-driven political allegory under the camouflage of history. This new approach to history has been instrumental in empowering two categories of people: the women, and the ethnic subalterns. Neelam Karki Niharika’s latest fictional work Yogmaya is one of such feats that takes conventional history headlong. The work follows the author’s overwhelmingly successful feministic feats Arki Aaimai and Chiraharan . Unlike conve

[Courtesy: www.onlinekhabar.com]  अरु बिसौनीमा दुई मिनेट रोक्ने बस ओखारपौवामा दस मिनटभन्दा पनि बढी रोकिन्थ्यो । यात्रुहरू ओर्लने र चढ्ने काम सकिएपछि पनि चालक गाडी कुदाउने सुर नै गर्दैनथ्यो । नयाँ नयाँ भएको हुनाले सहचालक चालकसँग खासै कुरा गर्दैनथ्यो । ऊ एकोहोरो बसको छेउ पिटिरहन्थ्यो । यात्रुहरू केहीबेर चुप लाग्थे, तर केहीबेरपछि रोकाइ असामान्य लागेपछि कराउने थाल्थे, “गुरुजी, जौँ न हो, अब त । ढिलो भयो ।” अनि बल्ल चालक स्टेरिङ घुमाउन थाल्थ्यो । काठमाडौँबाट त्रिशूली जाँदा होस् वा त्रिशूलीबाट काठमाडौँ, ओखरपौवाको यस बिसौनीमा उनीहरूको रोकाइ सधैँ नै लामो रहन्थ्यो । केही दिनपछि सहचालक अलि पुरानो भएपछि ड्राइभरसँग अलि नजिकिन थाल्यो । चालक–सहचालकहरूको बीचमा समान्यतः सुनिने हाँसोठट्टामा पनि सरिक हुन थाल्यो । मन खुल्दै गएपछि र अलि आँट आएपछि एक दिन उसले ओखरपौवाको यस असामान्य रोकाइका बारेमा चालकलाई सोध्यो । “अहिले भन्दिनँ । कुनै दिन भनौँला ।” यत्तिकैमा एक दिन त्रिशूलीबाट काठमाडौँ आउँदा उनीहरूको बस रानीपौवा पुग्दानपुग्दै खाली भयो । तीनचार जना यात्रु लिएर ओखरपौवा आए, र बिसौनीमा बसे । पछिपछि त

Mahesh Paudyal  This write-up is an apology in favor of a recent argument that has gained wide currency in Nepali poetry: Nepali poetry should turn towards local resources for freshness. The argument is double-edged. In one hand, it questions the claim of originality in those poems that have fished metaphors from the global sea. Second, by arguing that poetry shall find a safer and fresher stay in being rooted in the domain of indigenous episteme, the argument calls for better research and understanding of what the ‘local’ is, in the era of globalizations. However, there are a couple of important theoretical risks associated with this claim, and as a supporter of the idea, I hereby undertake to defend the claim in anticipation of the possible rejoinders. Metaphors, perhaps, are among the most overused elements in poetry. By metaphors, I do not merely  mean the direct comparison as is commonly understood when this figure of speech is talked about. Metaphor, more broadly, refers

महेश पौड्याल सप्तकोशी उर्लिएको थियो । माथि हिमालमा निकै पानी परेका हुनुपर्छ, नदीमा उफान थियो डरलाग्दो । धमिलो पानी, पानीको माथिल्लो सतहमा वाफ उडेजस्तो पनि देखिन्थ्यो । विशाल नदीको कर्कश सुसाइ — कुनै शोकगीत जस्तो । लाग्थ्यो, आकाशले यसै नदीको छातीमाथि आफ्नो कुनै मृत सन्तानको देह भर्खरै विसर्जन गरेको छ, र अहिले ऊ शोकमा आँसुका धारा खसाइरहेको छ । यो बेला कोशीमा कोही थिएन । बेफ्वाँक बगिरहेको थियो नदी, सागरतिर । किनारमा माझीका दुईचार डुङ्गा बाँधिएका देखिन्थे, तर मान्छेको छावासम्म पनि देखिँदैनथ्यो । तल कोशी ब्यारेजमा भने केही चहलपहल थियो, तर आज माछा तारेर बेच्ने, अथवा किन्ने–खाने मान्छे देखिँदैनथे । कोशी पुलमाथिबाट पूर्व–पश्चिम गुड्ने गाडीको सङ्ख्या पनि, बर्सातले होला, निकै नै पातलो थियो । शुक्र माझी सप्तकोशीका निर्जन बगरहरूको पर्यटक बन्न थालेको करिब एकवर्ष भइसकेको थियो । घरमा भुनी दिनरात भन्थी, “किन जान्छौ कोशीमा सधैँरु घरै बसे हुन्न ?” तर ऊ मान्दैनथ्यो । छिमेकी भन्थे, “माझी हो ऊ । नदीमा नगए के हिमाल चढोस् तरु” तर अरु माझीले जस्तो माछा मारेर नल्याएको वर्षदिन भइसकेको थियो । आज अबेर