Kalawati: Kali with kala

ABHA ELI PHOBOO
Published on 2009-09-25 13:57:54 in Republica The Week

Kalawati Nepali is not your average twelve-year-old girl. She is spunky, determined, and knows what she wants: to swim her way to gold medals, friendship and fame. Almost a young, dark, female Michael Phelps in the making, Amar Shrestha’s book is named after her character, “The Dark Mermaid.”

The book starts off with a bang, opening at a swimming competition in Birgunj City School Swimming Championships. Kali, as Kalawati is called for short, is set against a white, blue-eyed girl from Lincoln School. This scene works on many levels because we get to know Kali as a focused girl who loves swimming, is good at it, and likes to win. The comparison against the white girl emphasizes how dark Kali is (reemphasizing what we already know from her name, Kali means black). We are also introduced to her father, who is as much of a protagonist as Kali, and to the phrase “frothing white wake” which always triggers our anticipation for her victory as the story progresses.

Shrestha has built a plot that is inspirational, and judging by the character portrayals, language and style used, this book is aimed at teenagers and young adults. Kali’s character is charming and inspirational as she battles asthma to pursue what she likes to do best, which is swimming. She is uprooted from Birgunj and sent to Darjeeling where she must adapt, make friends, and build her determination to remain a swimming champion. One cannot help but admire her willpower when she starts reading and educating herself on how to deal with her asthma attacks, find other sportspeople who have asthmas, and practice exercises that equip her body to fight the affliction. Kali strikes a deep chord when she prays for “good health,” and unlike other girls, is not bothered about her image but more about the wellness of her being.

In terms of language, the book tends to move arrhythmically. It might have worked better for the prose if dialogues were not interspersed profusely, and to have explored potential subtextual implications that could be built into the story. The conflict that is hinted at bears fruition, such as Kali’s first asthma episode. However, such conflict situations are dealt with objectively and at a distance so the reader never really gets to fully realize the turmoil that the characters go through. Most of the story is written at a very literal level, and we are often told instead of being shown certain things, such as Kali’s trip to Darjeeling. Half the story passes away almost like a tourist guidebook for Darjeeling, and after Kali is enrolled in school, we are meticulously told the exact time of the routine she is to follow. It would have been more effective for the story if we were taken through her day, her thoughts, her impressions, and her confusion at having to adapt to a new place without family. As enticing as Kali’s character is, often her father’s thoughts and emotions overshadow things.

“The Dark Mermaid” starts off from a close third point of view of Kali’s father, Nigam Nepali. Her mother, Mina, is usually in the background. As the story progresses, the point of view becomes inconsistent and swings from Kali’s father to Kali and back. This also contributes to arrhythmic flow of language. Toward the later half of the book, we see things from Kali’s point of view, and this is a more gripping part as we finally get to learn more about her character and the kind of person she grows into. The book ends with The Dark Mermaid winning yet another competition and readying to head to another. It ends with a hook that hints that a sequel might be in the making.

We are waiting!

Darjeeling Dreams

Sushma Joshi
Kathmandu Post, 2009/07/31

Long before it became fashionable in Kathmandu to discuss ways to eradicate caste, class and ethnic boundaries and discrimination, there was one Nepali space where this was already taking place. The hill station of Darjeeling, where the British went to cool off, has retained an institutional legacy of colonialism that even the staunchest post-colonialist would have a hard time criticising. This legacy comes in the form of British-style boarding schools which teach children not just the time-honoured stiff upper lip regarding hardships, but also an absolute levelling of all social hierarchies.

These schools have literally transformed thousands upon thousands of Nepali students into intelligent, efficient and law-abiding citizens. Ever wondered why some institutions in Nepal function so well, despite the crazy culture of malingering and corruption? The secret is probably a Darjeeling (or “Darj” for short) alum. I’d guarantee there’s a high likelihood of discovering a Darj alum behind the scene of a school, hotel and business that seem to show sign of genuine meritocracy, entrepreneurship and ethical leadership.

I spent four years, between the ages of 8 to 12, in Dowhill School, Kurseong. Kurseong is a pretty little town in the district of Darjeeling. I was fortunate enough to get this chance for two reasons. One, because my mother fought for it despite my grandparents’ opposition (“why spend so much money on a girl’s education?”). And two, because a kindly headmistress in Guheswori Primary School in Kathmandu advocated on my behalf and told my parents that their daughter was bright and she would ask her sister, also a headmistress, to give me a scholarship in Kurseong. So I was a scholarship child even at that early age. I slept in a dormitory with children from all over India and Nepal. The girl who slept on my left was a Lepcha, and the girl on my right was a Brahmin. My best friend was from a Dalit caste (although I didn’t know this since it was never discussed, till three decades later.) We never knew what caste or class or ethnicity we were. I was aware of my gender, though—my parents had chosen to put my brother in an expensive private school known as Mt. Hermon School (he wasn’t a scholarship student in a government school, that was for sure), and I was always reminded of the gap between him and me. Just in case I were to get any uppity ideas, my parents promptly removed me from Darjeeling and brought me back to Kathmandu on the day my brother graduated from high school.

So that is why reading The Dark Mermaid was a bittersweet experience for me. On the one hand, I loved the fable of the dark girl from a poor family who is able to escape her background and her roots and go—where else?—but the fabled Mt. Hermon School, where she is able to exhibit her swimming skills and wow the entire school as a star athlete. On the other hand, I couldn’t help being jarred, here and there, by the unreality of the story. For instance, how do Mr. and Mrs. Nepali of Birgunj manage to put a girl in that expensive school despite barely being able to meet their household expenses? The father assures his daughter he will manage—but he never tells us how.

This push and pull of the book is tangible. I really want to believe that all caste, gender, class and skin colour boundaries can be eradicated through the simple miracle of boarding school—after all, haven’t those of us who suffered though boarding school all experienced that salvation of equality in one form or another? On the other hand, how many Nepali people can actualise their dream to put their daughter in these institutions, and how many Birgunj girls actually make it out to Mt. Hermon and become swimming champions?

The swimming champion plot, a rip-roaring, Quiddich competition type ride, hit a personal nerve. The act of swimming, for me, has always stood for my gender inequality. My brother was a swimming champion in Mt. Hermon School (we have photographs to prove it) but I never learnt to swim because there were no swimming lessons in my government school.

In The Dark Mermaid, however, Dowhill School appears on equal terms, all real-world inequalities eradicated, and the girls there compete freely and win freely along with Mt. Hermon in the swimming competition. In an email exchange, the author admitted to me his book is fiction and he’s taken liberty with the truth, and this graceful reworking of inequality reminded me how much of children’s fiction works because it does both—it is both a reflection of social reality, as well as a reworking of it.

To sum up—The Dark Mermaid is a fantastic book, one that is sorely needed in Nepal. I found the writing to be clear, accessible and wonderfully easy to read. My autobiographical musings is more adult quibbling than anything else. The book is sure to provide Nepali students with a book that they can identify with and claim as their own. I hope that Amar Shrestha, as well as other writers like him, will continue to write these books for students in Nepal and that this is just the beginning of a long series of works for children. Let’s hope this book gets picked up by schools around Nepal so that it encourages more writers to pick up the pen and start writing out new worlds for Nepali children. 

Mercury and the Fluid Romance - Part II - Fluid Romance

Kat’s agreed to meet me again. Let me tell you it’s a great relief because for the last seven days I haven’t been able to get her on the phone. “I think you have been trying to avoid me, “I say. We are having coffee at a fancy café where the coffee is roasted dark or light.

She doesn’t say no, nor does she say yes. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s so young, just twenty, I would think she was using her womanly wiles to keep me hooked. “I don’t really blame you. I understand,” I add. She is obviously going through a confusing phase in her life. “No, it’s just that I have been busy,” she says. “Exams, and all that, you know.”

I, of course, am in a forgiving state of mind as I always am when with her. I’m just happy that we are meeting again. It’s a big ego booster let me admit, to be going out at my age with a college going girl on a sort of date. I have heard about twenty year differences in some love affairs, but most of them have involved the rich and the famous where the guy is a billionaire, or at the very least, a millionaire. I’m neither, matter of fact just a freelancer who’s broke most of the time.

“So, how have you been doing?” I ask my young companion. She doesn’t look at me directly as she speaks. I guess it’s a bad sign. “I’ve been doing well. The usual,” she replies shortly. I don’t know why but today the conversation’s really stilted. Not much of it in fact. The previous times we met, conversation fairly flowed, lots of laughter and mutual flattery. Today, it’s becoming downright tedious, the tête-à-tête I mean. Of course, as I mentioned before, I’m just glad she’s here with me. I don’t ask for much. I don’t really expect much either. And since the last time we met I’ve decided to talk less, listen more. I’ve this grievous habit you see, of talking too much about myself. Now I wouldn’t want this to be a bone of contention with my newfound love.

Love? Well I’m dreaming I guess. I really don’t have a clue why she’s seeing me again. “How’s your engineer friend?” I inquire. She brightens up perceptibly and with a glint in her eyes, answers, “Oh, he’s fine. Busy planning to go abroad for further studies.” I guess I’ll have to accept that as long as our relationship, whatever name it goes by, lasts, I’ll have to live with the fact that she seems to be fond of this engineer fellow.

“Engineers are boring chaps, you know?” I declare. “Always involved with bricks and mortar. Lifeless things.” Did I mention that I’m deviously cunning? She gives me a querulous glance with a hint of a smile. “Yes, I agree with you,” her response is simple. I press on, “Engineers are much too practical. Not at all romantic.”

“Do you think so?” she asks innocently. “Yeah, I know quite a few. They talk like old daddies,” I press home my advantage. “He’s my childhood friend. He’s quite the liberal sort,” she informs me. I get the feeling that she’s trying to convince herself more than me that this chap is a good catch. Now I am no matchmaker, and in this particular instance, far from it. Of  course I don’t want to be a match breaker either. At least not as far as my twenty year old is concerned. I like her too much to try and spoil her life. Suddenly I realize that it’s me who seems to be the confused one. I don’t know where the hell I’m going. Have I fallen in love? Or is she just a huge boost for my deprived ego?” “You know, I like to meet you because you are young and beautiful,” I say. “ But I don’t know why you are seeing me.”

She gives me a rare direct look from her lovely hazel eyes, grimaces a little, and says, “I think you are very intelligent and interesting. I like intelligent men.” Her words give me a slight jolt. Nobody knows better that me how difficult it is to live up to high expectations. Ask my ex-wife. Besides, I don’t consider myself to be as interesting as she takes me to be. “Well, I’m good at making good first impressions,” I admit. I’m actually a bit wary that in due time, shortly, the way things are going even in only our fourth meeting, she’ll see that I’m a self centered, selfish, self indulgent and self gratifying guy who doesn’t look like he’s going to change in a hurry, if at all.

“How are you getting on? And how’s your daughter taking it?” my young date wants to know. “We’re fine. My daughter’s old enough to have taken it in her stride,” I reply. We’re of course referring to my life after divorce. “Actually, you see, I was prepared for this to happen since a long time,” I tell her. It’s true. It’s been only a month since my divorce, yet it seems like a lifetime ago.  The very fact that I hardly felt any aftershocks should prove the fact that I am being honest when I say that I was well prepared.

We don’t raise the subject again. It’s a bit disappointing actually. Again, not a good sign. Shows she’s not very interested in my private life. “You look aloof this evening,” I observe. “Something wrong?” “No, why should there be?” she asks. She looks at her watch and says she’s already late and has to rush home. I put her in a taxi and decide to walk home. It’s a long walk but just the fact that I’ve spent some time with her makes me oblivious of the distance and the bite in the cold winter air.

It is in this frame of mind that I take to bed that night. Morning, I awake quite refreshed and can’t help reflecting that my twenty year old love has a most calming effect on my jangled nerves. You see, I’m quite the typical insomniac and most days I wake up feeling I’ve hardly slept the night. So this, getting a good night’s sleep, I credit to my satisfaction at being able to spend some time with my twenty year old. The next three days fly by during which time I come across a couple of smart and pretty young girls. My line of work is like that. I get to enter a lot of establishments and chat up a lot of the pretty young things fluttering around such places. Most times, the knowledge that I’m a writer is enough to open doors that are usually not so easy to open otherwise.  And here I am now, talking to a young brown-eyed cuddly sort at a press conference. “You’re Susan, aren’t you?” I inquire. “You are a reporter for Biz World, right?”

Her warm brown eyes give me a surprised look, “Yes, that’s right,” she replies with a smile. I think she knows who I am but that’s people for you, and especially, more so, women. They pretend not to. Naturally I’m not the sort to keep on waiting for such a pretty girl to take the initiative and start a conversation with me. “I’m Amber. I write for your magazine too,” I go straight for the bull’s eye. She can’t pretend now. “Oh yes, your last article was very good,” she says. “I don’t know why I have to take the initiative all the time,” I complain. It’s a part of my ‘good first impression’ charm I think, that I come out honest. “But I always wanted to know you. You write well.” Notice, I start off by appreciating her work, but shortly you’ll see how I move on to more personal compliments. No doubt this will have to be after the initial person to person parries (civilized social behavior they call it), is done with.

However, I don’t get the opportunity to second base today since there’s a lot of talking to listen to from the dais full of hot shots. Right after the last hot shot has had his say, she hisses a ‘bye’ at me and hurries off.  The following days are ‘confusing thought’ days for me. I can’t decide whether to call Susan or wait till I know where my relationship with Kat has landed. In the meanwhile I’ve come to know another young girl who’s very interesting and runs her father’s hotel. Trouble is, she is as young as the others. Man, I seem to be cursed (blessed perhaps would be a better word), with this twenty year age difference problem. Or maybe it’s just that I’m attracted to twenty year olds. Sometimes I do think that maybe I’m climbing the wrong tree(s). I’ve half a mind to take out a classified announcing my need for a suitable companion. Yeah, that’s right, any respectable shrink would probably diagnose me as suffering from acute loneliness.

After living with such thoughts for a week, Friday morning I decide to call up my 20 year old Kat. A whole Saturday is looming on the horizon and that’s when loneliness hits me the hardest. Sometimes I wonder, is it only me or is it the same with most of humanity? Anyway, there’s no choice but to call up my hazel eyed beauty. If I wait for her to call, I’ll probably have to wait forever. She hardly, if ever, calls me. With a certain amount of trepidation I dial her number. At the other end a woman says ‘Hello?” “Can I speak to Katrin please?” I hope the tremor in my voice goes unnoticed. I can’t forget that a short time ago I couldn’t get her on the line for one whole week. “Kat, it’s for you,” the woman yells.

“Coming,” I hear the familiar voice and the next minute she’s on the line, “Hi, Kat here.” I slump in relief and try to sound natural, “Hi, Kat, it’s me.” “Amber,” I add in case she has forgotten my voice. Talk about loss of confidence! “Oh, hi, how are you,” she responds. I try to detect her mood from her tone. “I’m good,” I reply. Then, “How have you been doing? How were exams?”

“Exams?” she sounds surprised, then, “Oh that? It was okay.” I’m on my guard now, my antenna on high alert. Why do I get the impression that she really didn’t have exams to keep her busy throughout the week as she had said she did? Was she using it as just an excuse to avoid me? Definitely a very bad sign. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I fish. “Well, I have a lot of work to do. Homework, housework, studies, you know,” she says. “Can’t you take out an hour or so and meet me?” I try to sound casual but I can guess I must be sounding like I’m pleading. This is not good, especially since I read an article on the net recently about how older men shouldn’t give the impression that they are chasing their younger girlfriends.

“Well, I’m really very busy in fact. I won’t be able to,” Kat is concise. I don’t know how to respond. There’s a long silence. See, I told you. Communication is going down to zero levels. Worsening of the signs obviously. For something to say, I plead again, “Can’t you spare at least half an hour?” “No, I can’t.” Oh, she can be cruel all right. She sounds so flat in contrast to my enthusiasm. Now I am at a total loss of words. A longer silence. Then, from the other end, “So?” God, I’m on edge now. I don’t know whether I should hang up or hold on. “Well then, that’s too bad,” I manage. A pause again, then I continue, “Something bothering you?”

“No, nothing,” she replies. Silence again. I try to ease it somewhat by commenting, “Why such a deadly silence? You’re mad at me for something, looks like.” “No, why should I be?” she replies. Then, “Listen, can I put down the phone now? Somebody’s at the door.” What else can I do but say, “Okay, bye,” and slump down deeper into my chair. For a moment a feeling of utter dejection overcomes me. Then I analyze my feelings. A moment later realization strikes me. Dejection vanishes like it never was there. I believe I’ve prepared myself for this since the day I met her a month ago. So, no aftershocks as usual for this dashing thick skinned debonaire. In fact now I feel a sense of liberation. Was it that Kat had a binding influence on my personal freedom? I take out my little black book and look down the names. I pick up the phone again and dial a number, “Hello, is this Biz World? Can I speak to Susan please?”

Mercury and the Fluid Romance - Part I - Mercury

'My heart is young / And always hard pumping / How old am I? What’s my age? / Remain it a secret, don’t even guess / I know not, in truth, even myself'

These were the words he had penned to me the other night. It was as apt a rejoinder as I would ever get in answer to my question, "How old are you exactly?" It was a question I had asked him repeatedly half an hour into our second meeting. My obsession with his age I guess can only be said to be natural. Here I am- a twenty-year old, pretty as far as the saying goes. Bright, as can be deciphered by the fact that I work as a journalist in addition to doing my graduation, and, in-demand, as is evident from the number of calls I get in a day from suitors of all hues.

Yet, one more Saturday, and here I sit at the corner table at Melina's Café, waiting expectantly for my ageless wonder to make his appearance. And here he comes now, swaggering across the marble floor, dressed as usual, which is not saying much. I swear this guy doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Not in the matter of what he wears, nor in the manner of his appearance. But you got to hand it to him, he's quite good looking and doesn't look old at all. At the most, about to be middle aged. Of course, he is a bit more than that, this I know since last Saturday.

It had been only our second meeting. "You don't seem to have any responsibilities," I had asked probingly. I was attracted to him, sure as there are stars in the sky, and obviously wanted to know more. "Well, I do have a family to look after," he had replied. "A wife and a daughter," he had added, anticipating my next question.

"In which class does she study?" I had hoped the question sounded casual enough. He has a mind like a razor and can get to the root of things like no one else. He had given a tight smile and replied, "Class Twelve." I couldn't have hidden the look of surprise on my face, I'm sure. And by the way he had looked at me wryly, I knew he had noticed. "I am only twenty," the words had just blurted out of my mouth.

For the next five days he didn't call me, nor I, him. I don't know what he must have been thinking. This much I knew, he seemed to genuinely like me. The way he had looked into my eyes as he spoke, even a fool would know that he was infatuated with me. "I love your hazel eyes," his words were mesmerizing. "You're really beautiful. I envy the guy who will marry you." Needless to say, I had negated his words by saying, "I don’t think about marriage at all. I am only twenty."

Then he had called yesterday, "Katrin? Hi. Long time, yeh?"

"You could have called," I had replied.

"I did. You weren't in." Well, he had called after all. It was only right that I take a step forward now. I remembered his words from the last time we met, "Kat, sometimes we have to give destiny a chance. Let fate decide the future."

"Will I be seeing you again? Soon?" I wanted to know where all this would lead to.

His reply had been quick, "Tomorrow? Melina's?"

So here we are sitting on two sides of a table, having a couple of milk shakes, and trying to fathom the mystery of why two people of such varying ages should be getting along so well. Maybe falling in love. "What does your father do, what type of man is he?" he wants to know.

"He's into business. He's the councilor type," I reply. Then, God alone knows why I say such things, "He's fifty six." I look at him as I speak, searching for a reaction.

That look again. Wry. And that tight smile, a curving of the lips. Then incongruously, "I'm sure my daughter would love to meet you." 

"I would like to meet her too," I reply. However, enough of probing back and forth. "How's your work going on?"

"What work? Didn't I tell you I don't have a regular job?" he says. "But my writing's going well. Lots of assignments." 

He's a writer. At least since the last four months, that's what he told me. Before that, he says he had a business that collapsed because, " business is not for me. Too many hassles. Too mundane."

"If what you say is true then I must say you have progressed remarkably well in such a short time. Editors seem to be supporting you well."

"I guess," he agrees. Then, "But one can never know when they will begin to not like me so much. And then?"

I don't know how to respond to such a statement. Says he doesn't have a regular job. Has a family to feed. "Yet you don't at all look worried," is the best thing I come up with. "In fact, I think you are one of the happiest persons I have ever met."

"Am I?" A tiny shadow flirts with his face.

"Of course you must be having some worries too," I say. "But you don't show it right?"

"Well I don't let worries affect my life," he sounds reasonable, even if I know his logic is not. He adds, "cancer, little children dying, these are worries. Rest, everything is nothing. Can be solved. Shouldn't affect your happiness."

Did I mention that he is the most intelligent man I have ever come across? "Aids?" I ask.

"Yes that too is a worry," he agrees.

I just love the way he talks. I adore his way of communicating. I am in love with this man who is much older than myself. Married. With a kid almost as old as me. Yet how do I commit myself? How do I let go?

"Let fate decide the future, Kat," his words come out just like that, without me having to voice my thoughts. "Enjoy the present. What if we were to die tomorrow?"

"Yes, what if?" I agree. I wish he would say something more definitive, like maybe, that he has fallen in love with me. Like maybe, we should be a couple. Sharing things, feelings, ourselves. But what about his family?

"My wife is getting prettier as she grows older, you know?" he says. Again, that remarkable insight. "But beauty is everywhere. One has to look for it. I find everything to be beautiful. You are very beautiful. And intelligent too."

From any one else such words would sound like flattery, but not from him. It's not even been a month since I knew him, yet he has opened himself so much that I believe I know all about him. The normal things that is, like what he likes, like what he doesn't, his family, his habits and so on. "Are you thinking of going abroad?" I want to know.

"No, and yes. I really don't have any fixed plans for anything. If it happens, it will happen," he replies.

"But why should I want to go? Here I am with a beautiful girl like you, enjoying myself. I'm doing work I like. No."

Then giving me a deep look, "What about you? What are your plans?"

"Like you, nothing," I reply.

"You're deep," he says. "Mysterious. Don't change."

I told you, he can say the nicest things. This is one man who seems to know what a girl wants. It's evening already. "Got to go home, Dad will be worried."

"It's only seven. Is that late?"

"I have to be home by six thirty actually. Rule."

"Okay then," he pays the bill and we walk out into the cold air. "I'll walk you to the taxi stand."

We walk side by side, as any regular couple would. We haven't even got to the hand holding stage. I long for his touch yet am afraid of it. I can see in his eyes that he lusts for me as much as he longs for my company. Will we meet again? I can understand now that if he doesn't call me, it's not because he doesn't want to. He's giving me all the options. He's letting me go free.

As for myself, how do I let go? And what if I don't? I am still lost in such thoughts as I check my mail that evening. There's one from him.

'Know not I where to I travel / Nor how far my needs do take me / Care not I, let it remain a mystery / Winged am I, my heels are feathered / I’m mercury: fluid, cold and slippery / And I daresay, hard to hold.’

Griha Lakshmi

VOW, 2009

'Dad, it's a girl.'

My father's immediate response was, ' Congratulations! Lakshmi has graced your home.'

His remark brought back fond memories of the time my wife first entered our house after marriage. 'Griha-Lakshmi has come to your home, ' quite a few matrons said to me at the time.

They were of course referring to Lakshmi, consort of Lord Vishnu, Goddess of wealth and fortune, depicted always as a golden woman sitting or standing on a lotus flower while two elephants bathe her with water from jars. Besides being the divinity for material prosperity, Lakshmi is also the Goddess of moisture, of earth, of health, of long life, of offspring, and of family.

She is variously known as 'Padmasambhava' (lotus born), 'Padmastitha' (standing on lotus), 'Padmavarna' (lotus coloured), 'Padmarshi' (lotus eyed!), ''Padmavru' (lotus thighed!!), Padmini' (abounding in lotus), and 'Padma Malini' (adorned with lotus garlands).

So you can imagine I was pleased as punch with the matrons for letting me know that my wife was a 'Lakshmi'. Well of course, today, if the fact that I am blessed with a daughter and that I am in reasonably good health is any indication, then my wife is indeed a Lakshmi, a 'Padmavru'!  'Lotus thighed', in case you forgot. However, in other departments, especially the wealth and fortune sectors, I'm still waiting for her to perform some big miracles! The advent of my second Lakshmi, my daughter, still doesn’t seem to have helped much.

Therefore, this Tihar I will be praying real hard, as millions of others will surely be doing, to the Goddess in whose honor we celebrate the 'festival of lights'. Me, and at least a million others will be pleading with the Goddess to step into our homes. To welcome such an esteemed guest we shall of course have cleaned our abodes thoroughly and we shall decorate it brightly with lights twinkling everywhere. People like me will be praying for a change in our fortunes and those who already have been blessed with good fortune will no doubt be praying that it is redoubled. Or, even tripled. Why not? Lakshmi, if she so desires, can do anything.

This of course is something lazy guys like me will be doing, but wiser people will be worshipping Lakshmi in more result oriented ways. And here one must declare that nowadays it is the Lakshmis in our homes who are surely the wiser in such matters. Among the Lakshmis, 'Griha' or otherwise, those that work in banks (and let me tell you, that's plenty as plenty can be), have a definite advantage. Surely, working day in and day out in an environment reeking with money is bound to have a 'rub-on' effect.

And, if so, one would expect such Lakshmis to be really 'money savvy'. But, no, seems there are exceptions and since they are after all exceptions, let's first talk to Shishu Joshi who has been working in the marketing department of Lumbini Bank for the last four years. One would have thought women like Shishu would be cagey about the bucks, seeing that even her husband works in a bank like herself and all that, but 'I never save,' she says emphatically. Of course it could be that she doesn't need to, being filthy rich and so on. It happens to the lucky few. 'Maybe,' is her terse reply.

On the other hand, Chayya Malla at the customer service department of Nepal Investment Bank, is more of the 'money savvy' Lakshmi we expect to find among working women today. Proud mother of twin boys she says, ' I don't like to be extravagant in my spending and would advise others to spend wisely too. Specially young people.'

Although her bank doesn't have any special schemes for women as such, she informs that students, male and female, can avail of their E-Zee Student Account Scheme. 'They can open accounts with us with a minimum balance of only Rs.2000,' informs Chayya, ' They get 2.5% interest and a Visa Electron Debit Card.' There's added incentive. NIBL along with Bhat Bhateni Super Market has a 'swipe and win' scheme going on where the debit card comes into play.

NIBL was 'Banker of the Year' last year, and surely Chayya is proud of that. So must her colleagues in customer services be, seven of whom are women and one is, yes, you guessed right, that breed getting to be rarer and rarer in banks, a 'man'. So, how come women seem to have practically taken over banks?

'Yes, there's more of women in departments like retail banking, customer services, remittances and marketing, ' agrees Chayya, ' But that is probably because women have been found to be more hard working and efficient.' Also more loyal? And more trustworthy ? 'Yes, yes, of course,' Chayya is sure. 'Men seem to be more opportunistic as far as professional matters are concerned.' Additionally, it goes without saying that women are by far the better looking of the species and seeing that banks have to present their best face to lure the public inside their parlors and all that, well you get my point?

Anyway what can one expect? Banks are after all supposed to be the abode of Lakshmi. One such Lakshmi is Sharmila Pradhan who has been with the Bank of Kathmandu for the last nine years. Sharmila emphasizes that money is something to be valued and invested wisely. So she suggests that small investors open saving accounts at their bank. ' We have the 'Sajilo Bachat Khata' in which a minimum balance of only Rs.1000 is enough to open an account,' she says. ' So during Tihar, people can start accounts with us even with small amounts.' She feels this should help many women to cultivate the saving habit that is so necessary in these uncertain times. Atta boy, only if they would! Sorry, forgot I was writing about 'money savvy Lakshmis', not necessarily money saving ones.

At the Nepal Industrial and Commercial Bank, young Munni Rajbhandari works in the central accounting department. She's unmarried and has been with the bank for only a year. 'Working in banks is one of the first preferences for women, ' she says. Why?  'Well, facilities are good. We get to work in a secure environment.' And, 'Yes, we are insured and have staff accounts in the bank.'

Is it true that women working in banks usually end up marrying bankers? ' No, I don't think so, ' says Munni.

Her bank is pushing a special scheme called Life Savings Account in which minimum balance required is Rs.50000.00. It's a nice enough scheme offering varied services like free life insurance, gold coins to lucky winners every quarter and special discounts. Tihar is always an auspicious time to start such schemes and surely the bank is looking forward to savvy women taking advantage of the same.

Namita Dixit is the Relationship Manager at Nabil Bank in Kantipath. She's married with two kids. Her husband's an engineer. But that's not as important as the fact that her mother in law is an assistant head master (should it be mistress?). ' By the time I return home from work it's already seven most of the time,' she says. 'That's why having a family that is understanding is so very important to me.'  Doubtless, having a mother in law who also works helps.

Namita thinks that investing in treasury bonds is wise since it's safe and keeps earning interest with time. 'Money shouldn't be kept idle.' Her bank like most other banks does not have any special schemes especially meant for women. 'Why should there be?' she asks. ' There is no gender bias in our bank. Even at work there is no difference in the way women and men work.'

When can we expect to see women CEO's in banks? 'Well there already are a couple of deputy managers, who are women,' she informs. ' So, maybe in the near future?'

Our Lakshmis seem to be at home working in banks. And none more so than vivacious Sushma K.C., the Assistant Relationship Manager in the Customer Organization Division of Standard Chartered in Kantipath. Pretty as a picture and as enthusiastic as a sparrow, she holds big responsibilities that include looking after accounts of customers associated with diplomatic bodies and INGOs. She seems determined to go all the way up in her career and says, ' we work almost twelve hours a day.' She has two daughters and her husband is an engineer.

So does this have an adverse effect on her family life? 'Not at all,' she says. ' We should learn to make use of time. Anyway, we have two days off every week to spend with our families.' She seems to be disciplined and pretty energetic for one who has such long working hours. ' We have to take compulsory leave for two weeks every year. And of course there is the annual leave.' Her bank seems to take special steps to keep its employees motivated and well balanced.

' Yes, we have regular training on sales, service, customer relations and so on.' Is it that our Lakshmis are so happy in their work that they don't mind working long hours?

Sushma agrees, ' Yes working in a bank like this one is really nice for women. Pay is quite good and there are plenty of facilities. We also get to avail of various loans at low interest rates.' Starting pay for interns start at Rs.8000 and for executive positions at Rs.15000 and the loans can be of various kinds such as for housing, vehicle and education.

How does a girl go about getting such a dream job? ' Well all banks take in interns throughout the year. Right now there are four interns in my division.' How are interns selected? ' Their selection is mostly based on their educational background.' Besides this, executive level positions are also advertised for from time to time where degree matters as does experience.

Howsoever the case may be, those lucky ladies who do enter the portals of Lakshmi's abode, will surely find themselves at home. It is indeed true that banks are happy abodes for our Lakshmis where work is a pleasure and satisfaction, a sure thing.

The Dragon’s Tail

The Boss, 2009

The legendary dragon is an awesome creature in the annals of folklore worldwide. The head is a study in ferociousness and an integral part of any artist’s imagination. The whole body is an armor. However, it is the tail that is the largest part of its anatomy and it’s size defines the soul of the creature. Can one imagine a dragon without its tail? The thicker and scalier the tail, the more powerful its bearing. The dragon’s tail is one of the most important weapons in its armory.

The modern executive is also a larger than life figure in today’s business world. The business suit (whether formal or smart casuals), along with the briefcase, (whether traditionally chic or stylishly casual), are integral parts of the executive’s personal armory. However, it is the tie that can be compared to the dragon’s tail as far as a power statement is concerned. Can one imagine a true blue executive without a tie? The more in-fashion and power-striped the tie, the more charismatic the executive’s bearing. The executive’s tie is undoubtedly the most important component of his armament.

What is it about the tie that so enamours? After all, it has no definite function such as a belt or a hat. In fact in hotter climes one can say that a tie is an impediment. Still, no executive worth his salt would want to leave for work without his tie. No matter how dignified his dark blue suit, no matter how patent the leather of his shoe and no matter how upbeat his demeanor, an executive is naked without his tie. Perhaps those who are still in the throes of the ‘smartly casual’ wave might deem the above an exaggeration but even such nay-sayers would feel more complete with a tie even if it is one they think looks suitably casual.

The question is of course, can a tie ever be casual? One might wear loafers and one might wear corduroys and the tie might be hand-woven silk, but the very fact that a tie is worn, gives the executive a businesslike mien. And everyone knows that ‘businesslike’ is as far removed from ‘casual’ as a dragon is to a dragonfly.

One must also keep in mind that it is not what the executive thinks of his appearance that is important, it is what the customer perceives of the executive’s disposition that is of real significance. Need it be said that the tie, whether ‘businesslike businesslike’ or ‘casually businesslike’ puts to rest any doubts in the customer’s mind that the executive means business? Obviously, the tie of the executive endows him with power.

Just as the dragon’s tail must be thick, scaly, and tapered, no matter what kind of dragon, to carry any weight, the executive’s tie too must be of definite shape and dimensions to conform to set standards no matter what color, pattern or size. In the annals of executive dressing folklore, the tie has always featured as a set piece to identify the wearer as one of the elite of the business brigade.

Although the tie has undergone the ringamarole of sizes ranging from extra thin to thin to wide to wider according to fashion gurus’ whimsies, and the pattern has, and still is, doing the rounds from floral to striped to exclusive design schemes, again according to fashion statement of the times, the familiarity of the shape and the dimensions has remained more or less intact. Just like the dragon’s tail. Some things don’t change.

The tie of the executive is one such thing. It was, and continues to be, to the genuine executive, the vital touch to his personality. The tie is to the dynamic executive, what the tail is to the mighty dragon. Without its tail, even the fieriest dragon is apt to lose its fierceness. Similarly, without his tie, an executive is liable to lose that which bestows him with authority.

Therefore executives, if you value your effectiveness, and wish to execute with finesse, never ever leave your tie at home. You will be like the dragon without its tail, nostrils flaring fire and smoke, but only an amusing exhibition nonetheless.