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 It is not uncommon to read almost every day how both our neighbors, in fact the whole world, want Nepal to have political stability and economic growth, and that it’s our lead­ers who are hell-bent on doing the exact opposite. And it is also not uncommon to read how our neighbors have decided to pursue a common policy on Nepal after the Xi-Modi Wuhan Summit. (How our analysts came to know about what was dis­cussed there remains a mystery. As is our wont, we have decided not to question the analysts about the source of their information, and to talk of the Wuhan Summit as if we were there when the two leaders were talking.)We have read these things so many times that most of us actu­ally start believing this humbug.

To make sense of what is hap­pening here, we need to personify Nepal, her neighbors and whoso­ever we believe has interests here. Believe me, this makes it easi­er to understand things. There’s absolutely no need to use jargons such as geopolitics, geostrategic and trickle down effect, and what not, to describe what’s happening here. It can be done in a much simpler and plainer way.

Imagine your neighbor’s house, a small house with a small gar­den. The neighbor (read: Nepal) is always drunk. The boundary walls have collapsed. The front gate is broken. The lawn is a total mess and it’s a mess inside as well.

Then you buy a car and decide to park in your neighbor’s driveway, not because you lack parking space. You do it just for the heck of it, just like the Nike ad—‘Just do it’. The neighbor says nothing. Then you decide to park it in his lawn, the neighbor says nothing. Then you start using his kitchen, the neighbor says noth­ing. Then you sleep in his bed, again nothing.

Seeing you do all this, others in the block start doing the same. They too start parking their cars there, and using the drunk neigh­bor’s kitchen and bedroom. In essence, everybody in the block now owns the house. You have problems with the others when you come home from work and that somebody has already parked his/her car there, or has slept in the neighbor’s bedroom that you have come to think of very much as your own.

The next day you come a lit­tle earlier from work and park your car in your neighbor’s house and maybe park your wife’s car as well, before the others do it, and maybe have your dog guard the bedroom. But others aren’t as stupid as you make them out to be, and the next day when you and your wife go to work and you have the dog guarding your own premises, they take control of the driveway, kitchen and the bedroom of the “com­mon” house.

Now, what do you do? Since your neighbor is always drunk and doesn’t seem to mind any intrusion, you lure your neigh­bor’s children with candies: hey, take these, they are good and if you want more you need to make sure that nobody except me uses your house and driveway. The malnourished little children hap­pily oblige.

They shout and protest in vain when others come and park their cars and use the bedroom. The others also employ the same trick as you so the children don’t create a scene the next time: lure the children with candies. But since the children are taking candies from all and promising everyone the same thing, they shout in uni­son when you park your car in their driveway. Then you come up with another ingenious idea. Of the five children, you only start giving candies, much more than before, to three and promise them more candies.

But, again, the others aren’t stupid as well. They do the same to those three children. Then you think of another smart idea: have the children carve out their own “territory” by teach­ing them about ownership and property rights. Divide and rule, so to speak. You will pamper the three chosen ones with candies and have them do what you want. The other two would then have no option but come to you for candies. Then you have the loyalty of everyone and they will shout in unison for your interests. Brilliant, you reckon you are no less than Chanakya or his shrewder version, Kautilya, or Machiavelli.

But again others aren’t stupid as you make them out to be. They too have read their Arthashastra and the Prince and maybe Kissing­er as well, and they do the same. And you are left thinking what to do next.

The neighbor is still drunk and in his own world, oblivious to things around him or pretending to be so because he knows he is too weak to do anything

Anyway, moving on from Dashain… I love Tihar! For an expat living in Nepal (other than those married to locals or having close family ties here), Tihar is something we can celebrate by our­selves. Even without going out of your own home you automatically become involved when the bhailo deusi singers come around. Tradi­tionally a few handfuls of rice, some sel roti and a few pennies perhaps, displayed lovingly on a nanglo with a butter lamp and flowers for deco­ration, were handed out to the sing­ers. Now this is frowned on by the groups of youths with their portable loud (loud!) speakers and modern as well as classical numbers!

They want money, and not just a few pennies! It is, however, all good fun and after you have dealt with the local youth group, the local children, and the local wom­an’s group, you can always switch off your lights and pretend you are not at home. Remember to put in your ear plugs! For readers who are newly arrived in Nepal, be pre­pared—have sufficient small notes for the little children who will come around, or shyly be singing and dancing in the street. Sweets won’t be refused either.

Have larger notes for the ‘main’ groups from your area. And don’t forget to enjoy the spectacle. While not akin to Halloween, remember back to when you were small and the fun you had going from door to door and how hopeful you were that you would get some goodies? Bhailo deusi singers are hopeful too!

I’ve been here long enough that I put my own lamps on the veranda and open my door to let Laxmi in. My first Tihar in Kathmandu was at the late Jan Salter’s house, and she, using traditional oil lamps, set a precedent for me. I might not use oil lamps, but I make sure, even if I go out for the evening, the lamps (candles in little clay pots) are lit on my return.

Being that my ‘Nepali family’ are Buddhist, they don’t celebrate Tihar at home so we usually go out to the ‘Garden of Dreams’ on Laxmi Puja where we can enjoy the whole garden being a blaze of light and the children can play on the ping (festival swing) that is installed for the period. Most likely we will head over to ‘Fire and Ice’ for what has become our ‘traditional’ Tihar food. Well, pizzas are round aren’t they, just like sel!

Speaking of food, hard on the heels of Tihar comes Chhat which is celebrated in the Eastern Tarai, particularly around Janakpur. Chhat celebrates the sun god, Surya, who is welcomed by worshipers who gather by the many ponds to greet the sunrise. Like all festi­vals, Chhat has its speciality food. My first trip to Janakpur took place during Chhat some 15 years ago. I was introduced then to delicacies such as anarsa (similar to a donut), curryburry (little balls of spiced masuri dal), and rashiyaw (rice based sweet dish of coconut, dried dates and ginger). Oh my mouth is watering now. So maybe this year after lighting the Tihar lamps I will head on down to Janakpur to wel­come the sun and eat some tasty homemade food! o

 Two days after summoning the first ever meeting of the Inter-province Council, a constitutional mechanism to resolve disputes between the provinces and the center, in early September, Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli decided to abrupt­ly cancel it. He was reportedly furious at the nine-point declara­tion made by the chief ministers following their conclave held in Pokhara—right before the meet­ing—that squarely blamed the fed­eral government for withholding authority and resources required for the smooth functioning of the provincial structures.The prime minister’s anger may be understandable from a party functionary point of view given that six out of seven chief ministers are his subordinates in the party, but not acceptable for the head of a federal gov­ernment. Regardless of party affiliations, chief ministers are heads of autonomous subnational governments elected by people of the province.

Beyond the fire and fury of the news headlines, the nine-point declaration offers a clear road­map for ending the gridlock at the provincial level. The provinces have three interrelated problems: absence of laws, lack of person­nel and meager resources. The provincial government by now ought to have most laws enabling to maintain law and order, deliver services and implement develop­ment projects within the provinc­es, but they don’t. The onus lies with the federal parliament to pass most of these laws, clearly delegating the authority as pro­vided in the Constitution.

The center has been sitting on the provincial civil and local civ­il service bills that would have enabled them to do their own hiring. Provincial governments have no control over the exist­ing officials deputed by the center, as an interim measure; moreover, they are transferred frequently without consulting the provincial authorities. It makes sense for them to demand that the center allow them to do temporary hiring while they wait for the laws to be passed in the federal parliament.

The provincial governments also have no control over the law and order apparatus in the province. Even on this front, Kathmandu is sitting on a law to create provincial police force—while meddling in the affairs of the subnational governments through the Chief District Officers (CDOs) who continue to defy the provincial governments by virtue of being under the federal govern­ment. The chief ministers have merely requested that CDOs also report to the provincial govern­ment alongside the federal gov­ernment until a provincial police force is created.

Resource distribution is anoth­er issue that is creating friction between the two tiers of govern­ment. The Natural Resource and Fiscal Commission, as stipulat­ed in the Constitution, is long overdue. Without it, distribution of natural and other financial resources have been left to the mercy of federal government. This has also prevented clarity on local and provincial taxations—prolonging an uncertain fiscal environment for citizens and busi­nesses. Among other things, the declaration made by the chief ministers also demands an apex body under the prime minister’s leadership to implement federal­ism, besides calling for establish­ment of a permanent secretariat for Inter-Province Council. Noth­ing in their demands appears to be out of line.

Perhaps the problem lies else­where. The prime minister and much of his party were reluc­tant federalists prior to the uni­fication, more so in the case of province two. But one had hoped that the reality of governing a nascent federal system, along­side the obligation of deliver­ing prosperity, would force them to appreciate the impor­tance of delegating authority to subnational structures. As one of Oli’s party subordinates and Chief Minister of Gandaki prov­ince Prithivi Subba Gurung cor­rectly pointed out recently, the fear of province two is being used as a justification to deprive all the provinces of autonomy enshrined in the constitution.

Federalism will fail if the center continues to employ half-measures that only seem to increase financial burden on the taxpayers without attendant ben­efits of the system O

 So how are your preparations for Dashain? Have you experienced any chaotically organised festive events? I say chaotic as despite there being a plethora of event organisers springing up in recent years, there seems to be very little real manage­ment and planning. Take for exam­ple a film premier I was at recently. Advertised starting at 4pm, we went along an hour later only to be told the necessary invitations for entry would not arrive for another 20 minutes. Returning later after some refreshments (there was none in evidence at the event) we were told the ‘invitation by name list only’ was now ‘sold out’. Outside the venue the scene was of cars and bikes parked every­where and those arriving still trying to drive through a huge crowd of ticketless invitees.

Where were parking signs or guards or even pre-event info stating parking would be limited, non-guaranteed? Having fought our way into the venue I was now sweat­ing and dishevelled. This was not the red carpet event I have seen on TV! Finally seated in pre-assigned seats that no one was adhering to, there were the obligatory speeches. By now things were running very behind schedule, but that’s the norm right?

Hurrah! Speeches done, lights down, drum roll… adverts. Twenty minutes of adverts. The audience was getting restless; the press photographer in the next seat was bonding with me over his dismay of the ads. Finally, ads over… and… trailers of two ‘coming soon’ Nepali films. Really?

When the film we all came to see, at its premier no less, finally came on, the audience forgot about the long wait and started cheering the well-known faces on the screen. For me the film was the usual style which went out of Hollywood decades ago and is rarely seen even in Bollywood these days; a lot of blood and fighting and a bit of danc­ing. The only redeeming feature was the lead actress was excellent in her role and the scenery was stunning, albeit with a bit of techni­colour added.

I am not going to give the plot away except to say it was exceeding far-fetched, but that’s the nature of the business. Neither am I going to name it except to say it was set in a fictional village in Upper Mustang (shot in a real village in lower Mus­tang, I am reliably told).

Here I am not writing a review of the movie, rather a comment on the organization of events in Kathmandu. Before those in the business start their own criticism, I was an events’ organiser for around nine years, in five countries. So there is a little knowledge behind my thoughts!

Having said that, although I didn’t really expect to find the film up there in my top 10 of all time, the target audience appeared to love the movie and they will spread the word. So despite the mismanagement, the premier served its purpose.

Back on the night in question, naturally the chaos didn’t end when the film finished. On leav­ing the cinema we waited till the crowd had lessened before making our way down the outside stairs. Right at the bottom of the exit stairs stood the actors being pho­tographed and interviewed, while blocking the way out. Ah well… at least my companion got a selfie with the male lead and we didn’t get run over by the hoard of motorbikes all trying to leave at the same time. All good then.

I must say, that next time I’m invited to a ‘red carpet’ film premier, I will politely decline, and pay the Rs250 at the regular cinema to enjoy the film in more peace­ful and less stressful surroundings. Lesson learned!

So yes, how are your experi­ences so far at your Dashain red carpet events?