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What is it that makes you miserable? What binds you? What makes you suffer? How do you free yourself of your miseries? How do you bring yourself lasting happiness and freedom? The whole lot of philosophies, spiritual systems, and religions have evolved due to humans asking such questions.

The Buddha too dwelt on them. One straightforward explanation that he gave was: human misery came from three unwholesome roots—greed, hatred, and delusion. They are also called the three poisons in Buddhist traditions. Get rid of them, generate their antidotes, and be liberated. Easier said than done. So the Buddha had to work at great lengths to elaborate on them and encourage people to meditate so that they could learn the subtle art of overcoming these poisons.

In less technical terms, let’s call these poisons ‘likes’, ‘dislikes’, and ‘ignorance’. For what we like, we have greed. Some disturbing mental states sprout from this root: desire, longing, passion, lust, self-indulgence, running after money, power, fame, love, and what not. All these steal the peace of mind. They cripple our ability to see things clearly.

Likewise, for what we dislike, we have hatred. Again, there are disturbing mental states that emanate from this root: grudge, resentment, anger, wrath, vengeance, disgust, antagonism, and so on. These, too, steal the peace of mind and cripple our ability to see things clearly.

The third—ignorance—is our naive and distorted way of seeing things. It’s actually this root that gives rise to the other two. But the other two also reinforce it—they nourish in a backward flow. Our naivety and distorted views cause us to like and dislike things, people, food, situations, vacations, jobs, diseases, politicians, rock stars, and so on. We act accordingly, making our likes and dislikes stronger. This in turn blinds us and pushes us further from seeing things clearly, prodding us to react in a deluded way. It goes in a vicious circle—distorted mind magnifies our liking and disliking, which in turn further distorts our minds.

Actually, the first two, liking and disliking, are the two sides of the same coin. And the third, ignorance, does the flipping. When a coin is flipped, one of the two sides is bound to come up. When ignorance comes into play, liking or disliking is bound to happen. And conversely, as there are two sides, flipping becomes possible.

The more your mind is given to liking something, the more it is apt to disliking some other thing. We often love and hate the same person or thing. When your dog comes to sleep at your feet, you become happy and love it. One day, when it doesn’t do so, you become unhappy and hate it. You like your boss when she appreciates your work. The next day, you hate her because she appreciates somebody else’s work. The stronger you love something, the stronger your hate will be when things change slightly. This change, sometimes, can just be of your own mood!

So what’s the way out? How do we overcome these mental poisons? Well, it took 45 years for the Buddha, the fully enlightened one, to help people understand. Plenty for us to explore.

It was September 2018. I had gotten my first international assignment to work with a program on Gender-Based Violence. In a few weeks, I was leaving for Juba, South Sudan, the world’s youngest nation working towards its political stability and peace. 

My supervisor had advised me to carry books and movies for my stay in Juba, as I was going to be accommodated inside a compound with night time curfew and high security in place. Heeding her advice, I downloaded a few movies on my computer and bought a book called “A Suitable Boy” by Vikram Seth. With 1,535 pages, I knew it would occupy me for a while. However, in Juba, I got hold of other books to read when I was not working or travelling within the country for the program.

It was inside my residential compound that I finished books like, “Born a Crime” by Trevor Noah and “Americanah” by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I felt these were more relevant for me at that time as I was in an African country. These books helped me broaden my perspectives towards Africa and its diversity. A Suitable Boy remained unopened throughout my time in South Sudan. 

While coming back to Nepal, I found I had exceeded the weight limit for my luggage. I was given the options of either paying extra or unloading some of my stuff. For a few minutes I contemplated unpacking some things, including the only book I had brought with me. However, I decided to pay extra and bring back everything, including my unopened book.

Even when I reached Kathmandu and was unemployed for months, the book still didn’t get my attention. The size and weight made it difficult for me to carry around when I was going to restaurants, banks, or anywhere else where I might have to wait. This was a book that could only be read at home. But with today’s modern distractions, even reading it at home proved difficult.  

When I found out Mira Nair’s next directorial venture was based on this novel, this only strengthened my resolve that I would not read this book, for I knew it was almost impossible for me to finish it before Nair finished her movie. I was certain, once I watched her work I would never have energy or enthusiasm to go back to the book. Hence my aspiration to finish it was almost coming to an end—that is until the Covid-19 lockdown of 2020 disrupted all of our lives.

I understand that the virus has affected us in different ways depending on our economic status, religions we believe in, genders we identify with, surnames we inherited, and the color of skin we were born with. At this stage of my life, I was one of the lucky ones who could afford to sit at home and didn’t have to worry about my next meal for a few months. It was at this time, in these unusual circumstances, that I felt the book was actually calling out to me. 

Regardless of whatever might happen with Nair’s schedule, “A Suitable Boy” wanted me to open those pages and dive into another world, where my reality wouldn’t only be made of the number of infected cases and the resulting deaths surrounding us. 

The made the stay inside my small apartment worthwhile. It made me travel, meet new people, and experience different emotions during the lockdown. I was with Lata and Kabir when they were in the boat for Barsat Mahal; I walked in the park street cemetery in Kolkata with Amit and Lata. I was on the train with Lata and Ms Rupa Meher as they were travelling from Kolkata to Delhi to Lucknow. I was inside the court when Firoz was debating the Zambinadari bill. I was enthralled by Saeeda Bai's songs when she was singing in Prem Niwas. I was with Maan and Rasheed in Rudhia village when they were having discussions about religion and god and I was enjoying tango with Meenakshi at a night club in Kolkata, the Golden Slipper, in the early 1950s.

Books have this amazing ability to transport us to places we might never go or to make us feel things we didn’t know we had in us. Some books can make us smile when we feel sad and some can make us cry when we feel happy. Some books force us to rethink our own prejudices and belief systems and some make us look at the world through a new lens. 

My experience with A Suitable Boy made me realize it is not always the reader who chooses a book; sometimes it is the other way around—the book chooses you! It picks the time, place and right moment. It’s like the book knows when it is suitable to be read. 

A draft bill that will allow Nepal Army to invest in commercial projects has raised concerns about the bill’s potential impact on Nepal’s democracy, politics, and economy.

The Army Welfare Fund is estimated to have cash reserves of approximately Rs 46 billion, with another Rs 6 billion in investments. The army wants to invest directly in projects (such as hydro power, textile) that will provide higher returns than fixed deposits in commercial banks.

The army has a legitimate right to a higher rate of return on its funds. But how should it balance that against its potentially corrosive impact on Nepal’s democracy?

There are many reasons the army should not invest directly in specific projects. It undermines the army’s political neutrality, creates conflict of interest, and leads to distortionary effects on the economy. Instead of investments in specific projects, derivatives linked to domestic indices—for example, Nepal Stock Exchange, base lending rate, exchange rates—would be far better at providing a higher return without the corrosive effect of project-specific investments.

But there is an even bigger reason why the army should reconsider its proposal to invest directly in commercial activities: it may be called upon to save Nepal’s democracy.

Declining public trust

Around this time two years, I argued (Republica, 24 July 2018) that the army should not get embroiled in the business of building national infrastructure projects as it is a honey trap intended to tarnish its image. A lot has happened in the past two years. 

Charges of corruption, and entanglements in infrastructure and other procurement exercises have eroded public trust and confidence in the institution of army.

In June this year, the army had to issue a public statement denying charges of corruption in the medical purchases related to Covid-19. Earlier in May, two senior officials of the Army Welfare Directorate were detained for financial irregularities. In February, a taskforce commissioned by the State Affairs Committee of the House of Representatives alleged significant financial irregularities during the term of the previous army chief.

Then there is the Kathmandu-Tarai Expressway, the infrastructure project the army has been tasked to build at an approximate cost of Rs 200 billion.

Last week, the army chief reportedly met with the Prime Minister to express his concern about the lack of political support on the project. The army is already investigating corruption on the project. Its selection of design and supervision consultants has been challenged for lacking transparency and disregarding procurement guidelines.

There are growing calls for the Commission for the Investigation of Abuse of Authority (CIAA) to look into the army’s public finances. But CIAA holds no jurisdiction over the army.

Public sentiment is increasingly that national projects, whether related to infrastructure or emergency medical procurement, is being assigned to the army as it is outside meaningful accountability.

Savior of last resort

The army will need public trust, not money, to rescue Nepal’s democracy.

Cracks in Nepal’s young democracy have become visible. Frustration is mounting as political leadership continues to fail, flagrantly and without concern. Corruption is deepening. Impunity is pervasive. The judiciary is tarnished. The President offers no hope. Geopolitical influences are more visible and increasingly polarizing.

Nepal’s young constitution is struggling to take root. Civil institutions that safeguard democratic principles have failed to emerge.

Against the odds, Nepal’s democracy functions because it is financed. The state has enough money to push through the system. Its ability to borrow remains strong. International donors and development partners continue to pump money. The State still has enough to feed its patronage network.

But money cannot indefinitely prop a constitution that lacks deeper institutional roots. Eventually it will run out and the network of patronage will need to feed off something else. That moment of reckoning may be closer than we imagine.

It is at that point, as the last remaining institution left to protect what remains, that Nepal Army will be tested. And at that point, will the army have retained enough public confidence and trust to revive a dying democracy?

As Nepal Army looks to earn more from the cash it has, it must examine how it will regain and retain public trust and confidence. No one will call on the army to protect Nepal’s border. But it may be called on to protect Nepal’s democracy.

About three weeks ago the editor of this publication commented that I seemed to be running out of ideas to write about. Like many writers, I suffer occasionally from ‘writer’s block’ but this ‘running out of ideas’ is more than that. It is a reflection of the state of the world where on the one hand, politicians and health experts are struggling not to ‘run out of ideas’ as how best to tackle COVID-19 and on the other, the rest of us are struggling to find ideas to fill our time at home. Or, for those who have returned to work, find ways to ensure that the daily commute does not include bringing the virus back home. 

For those of us who are following the rules, or the rules of common-sense, there is no going for nights out or afternoon parties.  No art gallery openings; no launching of new products; no plays/concerts/films to review. So yes, I am running out of ideas. The world too has run out of non-essential practises and events such as the International Edinburgh Festival, Oktoberfest in Munich, and even reality TV. I am merely a reflection of that.  Having already written* about what you and your kids can do during lockdown, where you can buy food on-line, what recipes you can create with those same home-delivered products, and letting you know what hoteliers believe the short and long term scenario will be (and don’t get me started on that 2020 dead horse named tourism!), it is indeed hard to come up with new topics. New topics when my whole world for the past five months has been basically two rooms and a screen!  As I am sure yours has been too.

I was in much dismay to see that when Nepal opened up a couple of weeks ago, all caution was thrown to the wind.  I watched dumbfounded, as people I know headed to bars in and around Thamel and participated in traditional festivals, which involved hundreds of people.  I can understand the peer pressure to go out, but cannot understand the lack of sense of civic responsibility that enables people to participate in events without any attempt to physically distance or even wear a mask.  Ah the mask!  This is a country, particularly in Kathmandu, where we wear a mask a great deal of the time to protect ourselves from pollution. Is it because we can see and feel pollution or is it that no one is telling us to wear a mask against that filthy smog that we feel we can don that piece of fabric to protect ourselves?  Yet now we seem unable to wear the same mask to protect both ourselves and others.  The whole mask debate around the world bewilders me completely. Such a simple thing, with such a huge impact on our personal health and the health of our family and community. 

Leaving the anti-maskers aside, because you might as well tell me there are purple people living on the moon – it makes that much sense to me – and leaving aside the whole political and medical side to COVID-19 -  because I am not qualified to voice an  opinion publicly – there is very little left to talk/write about!

So I sit here, behind my screen, watching otherwise quite sensible people act like lemmings jumping off the metaphorical cliff. Even countries like my own, Scotland, where there is a strong (female) leader in charge and a new set of rules to follow almost weekly in the loosening and opening up of the country, the lemmings just keep on racing towards the cliff top. I want to scream and shout and punch quite a number of these careless lemmings but then I also have a civic responsibility not to cause physical harm.

Yes indeed the editor is right, it is getting pretty hard to remain positive and write like before, as nothing is like it was before.  And after five months of staring at four walls, it has finally dawned on me that nothing will ever be the same again.

*See my lockdown stories https://theannapurnaexpress.com/author/6