And finally, this year (2009) comes to an end. At one point, yours truly thought this might never come to an end at all, rather the year 2009 would continue till eternity, maybe even surpassing the 'doomsday' announced sometime in 2012. But then every good thing comes to an end – and rather surprisingly, bad ones last too, albeit longer – and this one had to bid goodbye too.
However, this year has been a notable one, for yours truly, and he is sure, as he always is (whether it's about his buffoonery or somebody else's), it would have been similar, if not the same, for you too. For this has been the year when entire Nepal was more interested in the exact site, setting and semantics of mole on Namrata Shrestha's parts-in privy (as it should have been) than it was on how to walk to office (or back) in case some nincompoop party announced a bandh at its whim.
Yours truly enjoyed this year to the fullest, just as he's been doing it for last 3 decades. For this was the year when Tiger Woods proved that he was human, and not God, which all of mortals thought he was. It was amazing why he chose to tell the world that he was human by philandering – or getting in the news a lá Paris Hilton, and not getting out-foccused by some passers-by while putting those ice-cool putts he's been doing over the years. But the great news is, the Tiger is human after all, with the fallibility that makes some of us look like four-footed.
Amazingly, this was the year when Sachin Tendulkar proved his God-like status yet again. This is another year where he made us question: Is he human after all? People like us (the ones who can't see others happy) would keenly be waiting for the day, when he too takes the Woods road, and tell us why we love those high ups falling down. But then… yours truly also fears that day.
This was the year when our own government took the issue of climate change to heights, literally. Just as we were thinking of minimizing our carbon footprints on earth by trying out eco-friendly ways, like closing down lights when we need them most – by increasing load shedding hours, our government took half the country to Everest Base Camp. Imagine the fuel consumption… And just when we imagined nobody can beat that, Nepal went ahead and outdid itself. With 650 people at Copenhagen, yours truly is sure, Danish government got scared thinking the bandh virus had spread to the Nordic countries too. You can bet, that was the reason China, more or less, got scared and started talking about complying with global emission cuts. (China, with some 50 times our population, amazingly, sent less than 50 people to the summit)
But then, for yours truly, the best part of the year was – when Comrade (pronounced – come raid) the Fierce One, decided to quit the all powerful seat he was holding, and called the government-in-his-absence the 'puppet'. The Fierce One, or Mr. Awesome – as called by many – along with his partner-in-crime Comrade Red Flag (Laldhwaj, in Nepali) outdid themselves – just as we tried to forget which side of the border they were in while those 'famous' treaties were signed – by saying they're ready to talk only to the forces south side of the border. Well, that said all, but we pretend we're yet to know – and that, is the best part yours truly saw in the year that's going by…
And lest I should forget, let's raise a toast saying…
Here's to the bright New Year
And a fond farewell to the Old;
Here's to the things that are yet to come
And the memories that we hold… Amen!!!
PS: Yours truly, will, hopefully, come up with better ones next year...
Yours truly had a camera (cellular device), going into this movie theater, and these policemen were on duty... That was long ago, but the policemen seem to be consistent in their behaviour... So just daring to post it...
It's an interesting world we are in, even the one yours truly thinks he's in. For, he has the audacity not to write for months on end, and then another round of audacity… to write again. For this, is an interesting world. A world where we commit (often sins), cry foul, then recommit and yet find the time to challenge our own wits and then we confess – mostly to ourselves – for not doing what we ought to, or overdoing the same.
And yours truly wants to confess, right here, right now. Now you must understand that yours truly has hardly ever confessed – except for once when he confessed to her under the influence of that holy fluid, which abruptly brought out her confession, with a brilliant move of her left and deft hand which collided with yours truly's cheeks, that she'd rather take a jump out of Dharahara, sans parachute, than ever see him again. Having a background that includes such adventures, yours truly also fears other rounds of such, hence a safer way of cyber confessing.
The confession is for not writing. For a period that almost challenges the gestation period of fellow humans, yours truly was out of scene. And yet he confesses that he was not doing so, for gestation purposes, for that mechanism has not been built into him. Nor had he lack of time, which seem the enemy of people with ideas. Neither was he carrying out a work that he'd be completely lost into, for he tends to get lost just like that, in the territory that is unfamiliar to him, including thoughts.
Yours truly was simply ideologically challenged. For he did not even dare try to type on the keyboards of this very machine, which helps one put ideas into words. He had just lost the capacity, if he had any, to carry out such an arduous and intellectual task. Yours truly kept on remaining amazed, as so many things kept happening around him, and he just appeared to watch, mutely, all the actors on the stage as they mimicked doing something worthwhile. For, yours truly was in love with the motion with which everything was going around, for so long, and yet fruitlessly the world revolved around the sun. Amazed, dazed and perplexed.
But now he realizes that communication is his field, no matter how bad he is in it. For, he is also supposed to be a journalist, a person supposed to having a sense of what is going on and a sense of communicating it to others. And he also would like to confess that he'd continue doing so, with pauses and breaks in between, of communicating.
For he's learnt a lesson now…
When we die and reach heaven (he'd miss some of you, though), there will be no need for a doctor, for we'd enjoy perfect health there. Nor would we need the advice of lawyers, for, in heaven, there would be no disputes to settle. There will be no business in heaven, so they won't be needed there too. But the journalist would be an important man (and sometimes, also women). For, in heaven, as on earth, we will all want to know what the other fellow is doing. We'd still love the gossips, the masala in others' life and our own take on that.
Yours truly, now, feels a blessed man… And he shall continue to do so…
As yours truly writes this, he fears if the dust has already been settled on the issue revolving around the Army Chief (of course the official army of Nepal). But fearless that he pretends to be, yours truly is almost sure the last word is yet to be said on the issue – which he assumes would be a big Amen – as the powers that be pledge another round of commitment on national TVs with a look on their face, which say Man-You-Still-Believe-Me-Don’t-You? The whole TRP grabbing episode is likely to be followed by a more private-and-only-comrade –journos-invited-for drinks served by the yet unofficial but more influential combatant outfit (Did you ever witness former RNA men chanting slogans other than Yes Sir or Hajur Saap, whichever has easier spelling?). As the major players (not to be mistaken by Major General kind of post) of the issue go round and round, probably trying to catch the other’s tail and stamp on it, with spiked football boots, hardly realizing it’s their own tail, until of course they holler with pain, we - yours truly along with thousands of mouthless people (nimukha janata) - are left wondering, is this the biggest shithole we are in, after we conveniently flayed the British troops and ended getting Malaria prone region as a reward? While the already-in-grave British Army question the abovementioned statement, we ignore it – saying this is as trivial an issue as writing a constitution, working for development, Bhutan acquiring nuclear arsenal from North Korea or President Obama signing stimulus package in an office where President Clinton got his package stimulated. Move over trivial issues, for we are busy changing priests at a temple, crying foul over former King meeting the Indian leaders (and not the naxalites), bringing the country to a halt through strike, killing people and ‘absconding’ from the cantonment and removing the army chief, who’s hardly capable of spelling coup d’état, let alone actually staging it. We don’t mind talking of civilian supremacy when the second-in-command of the ministerial cabinet happens to have lost an election, and we ‘elect’ chairman of the constitutional council was thumped in the battle of ballots, in two places (following the age-old adage, ‘dono hathon me laddoo’). We have never cared for such trivial issues and never will. Come 22nd century and we’d still be the same. By then the pigs would rule the world (which means we have a real chance of leading the world). After all, rhetoric is more important than the deeds. After all, nothing has really changed, apart from the actors. After all, we, the people, are still the same – the pawns.
Often yours truly is reminded of words written by that brilliant lyricist:
You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people's blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud...
Yours truly is pretty excited these days, for these are probably the best times for being a journalist (even if you’re just faking it). Committee to Protect Journalists (or the Committee of Protected Journalists?), CPJ, may go to hell, or any of the venues for Nepal’s National Games, whichever is nearer, for saying “Journalists are in Danger.”
A proud journalist that yours truly is (for no apparent reason), he has no qualms rubbishing the CPJ (Centre for Pseudo-protectionist Jamboree) report ‘Getting Away with Murder’. These actually are the best times we’ve had. In past 4 and half months we’ve thrown shoes at 3 world leaders, from the most powerful of the nations – US, China and India.
George Bush, Wen Jiabao and P Chidambaram (more so for wearing glasses and looking like a scholar) can tell you exactly the trajectory of the projectiles hurled at them and the size and brand of shoes that are in fashion among the reporters these days. No mean feat that (Nike and Adidas would spend millions to get that knowledge). So what if the person throwing his weight… err footwear at the Chinese premier was not a journalist. Federation of Nepali Journalists, FNJ – sometimes admiringly referred to as Faculty of Nincompoop Jokers – has the audacity needed to actually confer the title of ‘honorary journalist’ upon the poor soul, who disappeared sooner than his shoes did. (After all we have tradition of non-journalistic journalists making to every frame of TV and flashing cameras)
Huh! So much for 6 of the South Asian nations falling in top 15 list of shame from the CPJ. What CPJ seemingly did not see that the freedom with which the journos can throw shoes, and in case of Nepal throw stone-like projectiles at unsuspecting policemen, calling it freedom of speech (in any other country referred to as freedom to sleaze). According to CPJ, Iraq is the worst for journalists’ freedom, where Muntadar al-Zaidi found size 10 shoe before hurling them at his favorite target, a certain Mr. Bush Jr. Probably Iraq is number one in the list because the US led invasion has robbed the country of shoes, and the journalists face a real danger of not finding the right size for the target practice. Not to mention the poor reporters’ lack of practice, as all three have so far missed targets, robbing the Television cameras of the ‘perfect shot’.
Since we, in Nepal, live in eternal worry of not being able to match the world, and in constant effort to gladly follow the global trend, be it black market theories or suicidal politics, we are in urgent need to follow suit. And hereby, yours truly would like to propose 10 names, which would serve as target practice.
1. The Grand Old Man aka GPK – For being the youngest octogenarian in the country, yet old enough so that he is not able to duck when the projectiles come flying. And more for favoring his home town reporters to the capital based ones, when it comes to juicy bites and quotes. However, given that he’s only turned out at the Constituent Assembly once or twice, he may not turn up at the occasion.
2. The Fierce One aka PKD – For being the chief of everything. Especially for continuing to see the Royal hand when any media house term his goons as goon-das. You may not want to throw in the missile while he’s making a speech. Chances are his head shakes will make you miss the mark, and you might hit his come-raid-in-arms, aka the Finance Monster, oops… Minister.
3. The Red Flag aka BRB – For being the most vocal, giving soundbites to the television wallas. The only trouble is his quotes at the football match sound exactly similar to the one made at FNCCI, with no punctuation altered. Also, for looking really angry when he’s actually trying to crack a joke (ask Minister wife He-She-la Yummy). Close your eyes if he’s your target, you might drop dead with fear, if you are in front of him while he is speaking.
4. The MY (most famous Yadav this side of the border) – For being what he is, downright funny a la Laloo Yadav (the animal friendly Railway Minister from southern friendly nation), no matter what he says or speaks. The only problem is, he takes himself seriously. If you actually manage to throw something at him, at least make sure you agree to listen to him swearing at you in Maithili (for swearing-in and swearing out sound so similar).
5. The still young leader of Nepali Congress aka SBD – He might be the favorite target for Television and Radio journalists and the obvious reason: his soundbites. Television reporters have had their jobs at stake when producers demand Nepali subtitle of his speech, when he actually speaks in Nepali. Tough job!
6. The latest Grand Old Man in almost youth aka MKN – For being the editor himself (mildly also referred as changing statements). Reporters have had days, when they sat down to write a story with his speech as a peg, and by the time they wrote a few lines, dear MKN had already changed statements.
7. The so many times former PM aka SBT – For being louder than his visible size and for making the interviewing reporter feel as if he was about to announce a war on the other side of Great Wall of China, when he was just asking the nearby spot boy for a glass of water. And of course, for also believing that reporters actually want to interview him, even now.
8. The Supplying Minister aka RM – For saying so many times that he’d quit the government, sometimes due to a reason and sometimes without, and sometimes just because he’s free time when no one is trying to capture the grand old lady of his former party. Also for standing too close to some reporters (some have started complaining of facial itch due to his beard)
9. The Scientific Minister aka GS – For having the same initials as the former King. Moreover, for having almost all the journalist in his facebook friends. More, for running a blog, and believing an update once a semester would be sufficient. More, for being present in almost all the seminars and workshops that the capital could ever host. All along, forgetting the small matter of making the IT park functional, which he had promised in jest. If you’re trying to throw the missile, you should know that he’s an engineer and he may be able to calculate the velocity of the shoe, its curve in the space, just before it hits him, wasting your and of course, his own energy and time.
10. The present Home Minister aka BDG – For snatching away the favorite hang-out spots of fellow journalists of yours truly, the dance bars of the valley. Here the bar maidens would also like to join the journos with brand Nike and Bentley, Adidas and Bata. By the time these lines were being written, the journos were seen rushing to the nearest shoe stores. Mr. Home Minister, stay home safe, please…
Just like you, yours truly (because he is yours truly), has also heard about foreign interference on our nation. Just the other day the PM, or was it one of the many ex-PMs that we have, was speaking about some country interfering in Nepal.
The best thing is about this is that we often forget who says it. Forget the vested interest of the person saying it, we often take it for granted that we are being interfered. The worst part is, we’re becoming used to interference and also being told that we’re being interfered.
So the perpetual question arises. Who is the most powerful in Nepal? (Did you ever think that Come-raid Fierce One or Come-raid Red Undies or the Grand Old young Turk would feature in the list?) Is it India? Or US? Or is it EU, or UK, who had the best mimicking Ambassador in the history of this former Himalayan Kingdom? (Did you forget His Excellency something, who used to mimic the former King, in many interaction cocktails with the bigwig journos of dear Nepal?)
Well, yours truly’s estimates (often termed under or over estimates) and research (often termed time pass), says it is Sri Lanka. Or more precisely, the Sri Lankan President…
In case anybody thinks this is surprising, they just had to look at the lane dividers on the capital valley’s nasty lanes being removed, just because Mr. Prez wanted them to stay on the sides. Nothing till then, not even the strike organizers, passing cabs who hit those concrete materials pretty regularly – changing their shapes – could change the décor of city lanes. But Mr. Prez from a friendly nation could change that. Powerful, eh! (That reminds yours truly of a famous line from Mao – Power flows from the barrel of the gun!)
They say, truth is stranger than fiction. And sometimes true it seems. Just imagine, the same powerful person had to quit the Nepal tour midway through due to some shameless actions on the Lankan cricketers in some other friendly land. Now the question is: Who is more powerful? The Mr. Prez, who could move the concrete blocks from the middle of the road (where they probably deserved to be) or the terrorists who moved him back to his nation, in a rush of emergency?
And as that famous songster sang once… The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind…
They said: Geeks shall inherit the earth. Yours truly agreed to it, of course since it was said by the geeks themselves. But being a quintessential Nepali, he has now decided to add a condition, post agreement and sans shame (of course).
If geeks shall inherit earth; Goons shall inherit Nepal.
Before explaining, or rather defending his stance, yours truly would like to go in a flashback mode. Eventually, he made a trip to the cricket match again (quite a trip through the capital alleys… oops, roads, especially during the ‘rush hour’, where the only part missing is rush). On a bright sunny day, Nepal played Malaysia, for what eventually would be its first title in the Under-17 category.
Now, yours truly is a blessed person. Eternally so… For he gets to sit in the press box. Now, the press box is a suggestive term, meaning what it should be (that is all the media people packed in a shoebox), and not what it actually is. Apart from various kinds of people, from almost all genres of life (except work), the press people (commonly known as journalists) also sit in this open box. The press people, for most part, account for half the noise in the stadium, which seats some 10,000 people (give or take a couple of thousand).
As Nepali bowlers were trying to restrict the Malaysian batsmen, the pressmen’s talks could not be restricted. Here, yours truly would also like to apologize for using politically incorrect (but sometimes morally correct) term. The sports journalists, apart from men of all shapes, sizes and moods (mostly queer), also includes the female life forms these days. While some refer to them as beautiful play things, yours truly, in the best politically correct manner possible to him, would say that quite a number of exquisite young beings (invisibly blonde) are also a part of the genre called sports journalism.
Now, we’re in an age where freedom of expression reigns supreme. So the sports journalists here are not restricted to the game, in fact they hardly seem interested in it – or maybe they’re faking it to the passers-by, so as not to let them know how intelligent they actually are. In fact, in his two recent days in press box, yours truly hardly had a moment where these intellectual beings would talk about cricket, apart from his personal favorite – who he likes to term as pseudojournalist, just because pseudo is his favorite word and also because this person acted more like half coach, half player, half journalist, half out-of-asylum nut and half human being, apparently with many halves not present at the same time. Now this person was genius. He exactly knew where the fielders should be kept, which ball was to be bowled, which shot to be played, what kind of dive a fielder had to take – only that everything would come in after the ball had completed its movement. I hope the players never hear him talk in press box, for they might pull him out of press box and install him as a coach (with horses pulling the coach, of course).
Now, yours truly is stumped as to why the number of sports journalists is increasing. Perhaps the cricket lunch is a bigger reason than the interest in cricket. Alas, it’s also probably the same with the audience, otherwise how do we explain what we saw at the end of the match. Almost everyone, with exception of a few sane heads, entered the ground. Poor young players could hardly blink before they were covered. The unruly crowd made yours truly think:
If geeks shall inherit earth; Goons shall inherit Nepal.
For if the gentleman’s game is robbed of its serenity by the crowd behavior – which steals the winning bat of Nepali batsman and throws missiles, almost injuring the players he supposedly supports – well Goons shall definitely inherit Nepal. If they don’t inherit, they’ll make sure they grab it.
The enlightenment came to yours truly much after, as a nation, we developed a sense what goon-ism is, and all the benefits associated with it. Traffic, industries, workplaces, government offices, and of course on lonely alleys; you name it, these super species have already inherited it. The latest update on this is, that the threatening someone and punching them, and being nice enough to show anyone gun, and ask for extended co-operation, especially in kind (can’t call it extortion anymore) – jewellery, cash, any valuables will do – has become the most preferred way of social interaction on the day.
As far as the cricket match is concerned, Nepal won with ease. And yours truly feels, the man of the match, and the tournament, should have gone to Cricket Association officials, who have had years of experience seeing this, but did not want to miss the cheap thrill as thousands of people swarmed the players as locusts. Well, is there anyone still alive who wants to know how much the pitch suffered, and along with it, the spirit of cricket?
It is sometimes surprising to see how quickly the intelligence travels. It is exciting, even intoxicating at times, when intelligence travels to and through the youngsters (compared to the older politicians we have, who are either incompetent or corrupt and sometimes both on the same day).
Yours truly was on the cricket ground to witness Nepal’s teenagers –this time, they say their age is actually Under-17 and not ‘thereabouts’, missing the mark by a small matter of 3-4 years – take on the mighty UAE (mighty might sometimes refer to the petro power too, not only the skills with red cherry and willowy staff) in the semi-final of what they term as the Elite Cup (the word ‘elite’ being the key, perhaps referring to so few teams participating and some pulling out).
And yours truly was glad, and sometimes elated, and sometimes both – not knowing which should have been preferred over other – so see the boys making huddle amidst the green to celebrate success. Give them a wicket – which sometimes rich kids from UAE resorted to – and they’d huddle to celebrate, enjoying and congratulating each others’ success. And the intelligence being spread is exactly that. An example of knowledge spreading through the idiot box... That too, at a time, when we complain that kids these days only learn how to swear through cricket on TV, while the international men in whites (these days, more in colours than the white flannel), indulge in the most dominant form of social interaction during the match – sledging the opponent and thereby improving upon already rich vocabulary of us Nepali nationals.
Not very long ago, yours truly was in his teens (well, give or take a few decades), and used to be involved with cricket (standing in the middle, raising his finger once in a while to point towards the rest room, while the people around yours truly used to jump in joy, and the helmet armed man with plasters around his legs and willow in hand walked away in disgust – sometimes saying the words yours truly could not comprehend, except that those generally started with the letter ‘F’). Those were the days, when celebrations were rare among teammates, except a glare or two shared with those on the opposing sides, apart from a few words expressed in appreciation of their efforts (wonder why they were said in a tone which had striking resemblance to the dialogues of Dharmendra, the actor, swearing at diminutive villains in those hindi cinemas).
Cut back to present: The scene at a cricket ground, which had been a regular pastime for yours truly once, was invigorating at its best. The intelligence, as said already, spreads fast, maybe at the speed of light, or maybe at the speed the television screen flickers. The best confirmation of the intelligence spread was the point, when Avinash Karn was bowling for his hat-trick, having taken two in previous two deliveries. With the crowd raising hell with noise reaching the crescendo, just before the delivery, Nepali close in fielders surrounded the hapless UAE batsman, just to earn the hat-trick for their bowler. The scene reminded yours truly of those great Test matches, where the tailenders were thrown bouncers, while the tall fieldsmen around him ready to gulp down a lollypop of a catch. Intelligence spreads fast – the point taken. The wicketkeeper in Akash Pariyar, and captain Prithu Baskota were evidently giving the television audience, if there were any, a show of how to marshal their resources and create pressure on the batsmen. A good example of how quickly lessons can be learnt, even by watching. There were flaws, failures in ground fielding, dropped catches, clueless bowling at times, but the unit looked well-oiled, throwing away the negativity. Where else, can they be learnt? By watching TV? Maybe, but only if you’re a keen watcher.
Post match, yours truly had a small chat with the eternal coach of the Nepali side, Roy Dias. As yours truly asked, “Disappointed with the team’s fielding?”
He retorted, “Yep, also the batting.” It’s impossible to please everyone…
Should it be mentioned that UAE opener, R. Abraham nearly won the match single handedly with 59 runs, and mostly during his stay threatening to take away the match from the home team. That, after Nepal had teetered to 144 – which was defendable eventually – in the semi-final.
Disclaimer: The picture has been stolen from a news portal that is being managed by a friend of yours truly... Having friends at right places truly works...
Believe it or not, yours truly, is, finally, coming out of hibernation. While some of you may feel that yours truly is considering being exported (after all, we are a nation of hibernation), the fact remains that the only alternative left for yours truly is being ‘im-ported’.
Not much water has flowed in Bagmati (not that much water is left there, anyways), since the all powerful ministerial cabinet of the former kingdom decided to do what no government has done ever before. That is, to ban a movie, namely ‘Chandni Chowk to China’ (See, we don’t have a censor board which functions). And that left yours truly, as your thought agent in times of thoughtlessness, wondering. It’s like going through déjà vu again, (imagine that). And according to what was available on the newsprint (and some soundbites on the broadcast), yours truly is seemingly forming an opinion.
Well, amazingly, and alarmingly too, it’s about Buddha. Anyone living in this generation can be pretty sure that the ‘Light of Asia’ is fortunate not to live in the present age. Yours truly can bet few possessions that he has, on ‘the enlightened one’ would have committed suicide, seeing the fracas his name brings about in the 21st century, which, of course, is not different that 20th century (only that we expected it to be something else). Could there be a better way to celebrate his birth on this side of the border? Of course, not. If we could make his idols, despite him being against idol worship, of course we can go a step beyond, burning tyres and threatening someone, who probably are trying to ‘snatch’ away the ‘enlightened one’ from us. Violence, thou art here to stay (Whatever he preached 25 centuries ago)…
If yours truly has his senses right, and the déjà vu he had is not misplaced, there was similar – albeit bigger on the streets – incident seen a few years ago, when one of the newspapers (pretty popular at that) had a news report where some ‘expert’ had claimed that the ‘Light of Asia’ was born across the border (despite our claims otherwise).
The news report was welcomed by other media and some goons with raised arms and a lot of gasoline used to set a few copies of the newspapers on the streets. And as the newspapers burned, so did the spirit of peace, so did the freedom of expression, so did the tolerance he died preaching, and so did the concept of ‘brotherhood’ among all living beings.
The only thought that baffles yours truly is: Is Buddha a property? Or do we not want to keep him under the wraps? For, yours truly always believed, Buddha is a thought; a prophecy; a charisma that this world needed during his times and more so, during the present age, where gloom has encircled the world. We probably needed to share his prophecy more to the world than ever before, especially when we are waking up after a ‘hibernation’ of thousands of deaths and disappearances.
The other questions that have started baffling yours truly are: Can we not claim that Jesus Christ as ours, just because what he preached has some value? For that can we not stake claim to Gandhi’s wisdom and non-violent ways, just because he lived across the border. Are we limiting the thought to the national boundaries, which were created by those who wanted power vested on themselves?
Going through the history books – and reading between the lines – tell us, national boundaries have always been a matter of pride for those, who used violence for their benefit, and always been changing. Amazing, we have much faith on the ways of violence, than peace, especially in the times of shrinking borders (as we use the cliché – the world is a global village). Borders were meant to be mental blocks, by the power wielders, to antagonize people at large, against the same species that lived across.
However, going by the prophecy that governs most of us, there are a few ways how we can deal with movies like these, which apparently ‘claim’ that the ‘enlightened one’ was born, not in this side of the border (of course, we conveniently can forget that it was not a government ‘claiming’ anything close to such). Some of the ways could be:
Issue a birth certificate to the Buddha ‘posthumously’. The come-raid government can order ‘Prasuti Griha’ to issue him a birth certificate.
Tell our ambassadors to hold press conferences in the counties they are (and want to remain there forever), criticizing the ‘friends’ across the borders, do not have a right to claim of Buddha’s birth.
Declare the producers and more importantly, Akshay Kumar, the main protagonist of the movie, as terrorists, for trying to wrongly claim our ‘property’.
Produce movies, where we claim ‘Mahavir’, ‘Sai Baba’, ‘Gandhi’ et al, were born this side of the border (we can tell ‘Prasuti Griha’ to do the needful of issuing birth certificates).
There could possibly be more ways to say, Buddha is ours. Anything involving violence to claim that the ‘non-violent’ one was ours, should be welcome. Wot say?
Or else, we could just follow his principles of peace and non-violence to prove we are his worthy children. But yours truly is pretty sure, we don’t have many takers for that.
