Up until the mid-1970s, the hump between the Balkhu River and the road from Kalimati to the Tribhuvan University was a sparsely populated wasteland where reeds grew wild and cattle roamed free. A few families displaced by landslides in Pharping had been resettled near an ancient shrine upon the hillock. The overflow of population from nearby commercial hubs had begun to transform the rural character. That is when the newly formed Kathmandu Town Development Committee decided to acquire the property of the area and develop it as a ‘planned settlement.’ Plots would then be sold to government employees.[break]
The KTDC had expected a stampede for its plots. That did not happen. Land proved to be difficult to sell. Buyers preferred to acquire property along the newly built Ring Road. The Kuleshwar Township appeared good on paper, but prices were relatively high. Since the cost of acquiring land for roads, open public spaces and areas earmarked for infrastructure services such as electricity, water supply, schools and playground had been added to the selling price, the plots were expensive. Smaller pieces were sold easily, but bigger ones had to be advertised repeatedly to attract buyers. The likelihood of investment being blocked for several years—the land could not be sold by the purchaser for an indefinite period—deterred speculators. Exceptions apart, only those bought land in the township who really liked the location or needed it immediately for residential purposes.[break]
Even till the mid-nineties, Kuleshwar appeared like any other urban sprawl of Kathmandu. Bad roads and ill-designed ‘shutter-front’ houses, with iron rods jutting out of most roofs in anticipation of some windfall earning that would allow the owner to add one more floor in the future, were the norm. The commercialization began at the turn of the century when traders enticed by the location—an area within 20 minutes walking distance of New Road and with an easy access to Ring Road—began to build their residences-and-warehouses in what had come to be called the Naya Basti.
Despite the arrival of old money and nouveau riche, the locality retains the character of an organic township. From billionaire businessmen to day laborers, and from haughty bureaucrats to talkative plumbers, all kinds of people live in the ‘planned settlement’ in marked contrast to newly developed ‘colonies’ where uniformity in the living standard of residents is often the norm. It’s no longer a purely residential area: Shops, schools, workshops and warehouses probably now outnumber buildings used purely for living. Since planners hadn’t anticipated commercial traffic of loaded trucks, most roads are in a permanent state of disrepair.
There is one more thing development planners had overlooked: Wherever they live, Nepalis prioritize temples over public toilets or community centers. Settlers have corrected the lapse of designers with a vengeance. Temples of all sizes, shapes and kinds have occupied almost all the plots of land left open for children’s parks, playgrounds, public gardens or community activities. Among all newly developed residential areas, Kuleshwar perhaps has more temples per household than any other place in the Kathmandu Valley. A couple of churches too have come up in recent years, but they are hardly noticeable except on religious occasions or on Sundays.
At first glance, Naya Basti appears calm and peaceful. Undercurrents of distrust, envy, and enmity, however, can flare up at the slightest pretext even in an area designed to be cosmopolitan. Kuleshwar dons its modernity like a western vest or jacket worn over the traditional attire of labeda-suruwal. Perhaps labeda-suruwal, too, is an ensemble of invented tradition, but that doesn’t deny its conventionality.
Parochial bourgeoisie
A few weeks ago, it was a normal day in Kuleshwar. After pouring its moisture upon the surrounding hills, empty clouds were playing with the sun, enveloping the settlement alternatively in brightness and shade. Children remained indoors in schools housed in buildings made for private purposes. Shops were open but with very few customers. Warehouses were shuttered: Trucks are allowed inside the Ring Road only at designated hours of the morning and evening.
A visitor from Biratnagar decided to call upon a friend of nearly four decades before leaving for the airport on his way back home. Perhaps he should have chosen a different hour, a more aggressive chauffeur, or a modest model of car for the trip.
Events that unfolded in the wake of a short visit of one of the largest taxpayers in the country to a friend of a long standing perhaps tell more about the mindset of fallen bourgeoisie than tomes on the social psychology of cultural elite in a prismatic society.
The black sedan of a European make was parked inside a blind alley so as not to disturb the traffic on the main street. According to the driver, a slightly tipsy youngster came, banged the hood of the car and enquired about the owner of the vehicle. In good faith, the chauffeur replied to every query and told that he was waiting for his passenger to return from a short visit to a house in the alleyway. Apparently that was enough to light the fire of patriotism in the young intruder.
Without provocation, the prowler began to berate Marwaris. He lectured the driver about the dishonor of serving a community that came to their country with a water pot and became fabulously rich within a few years. Enraged by the stoical indifference of the disciplined worker, the stalker then began to berate the community of the driver saying that all Bhotes were witless and deserved to be enslaved.
Perhaps that was the comment that infuriated the honest Janjaati wage earner. He called his employer and said that he was having a problem. He also informed that if they stayed any longer, he would have to pick up a fight with a ruffian in the street.
The billionaire guest and his host of modest means came out on the road to see what had happened. The stalker became even more pugnacious and wanted to know why rich Marwari men were frequenting houses of ‘poor Nepalis’ at odd hours when only women are at home. He then threw insinuations at the character of women living in the neighborhood.
The commotion then attracted a crowd of people. The young man toned down his tirade; but he still wanted that the Bhote, the driver of the vehicle, apologize for talking back to his social superior! With his teeth clenched and yet displaying supreme self-control, the chauffeur protested that he was not a Bhote but a Nepali. Unwilling to get entangled in a pointless controversy, the visitor calmed his chauffer, begged leave of his host, and drove away.
Discussions that followed between the petulant patriot and his grouchy senior, both residents of the same area, turned out to be even more informative. Thanks to Upendra Yadav, every Madheshi who can stand his ground these days is taken to be a Sabhasad. The vain youngster was certain in his belief that the republican order and secularism were at the root of all ills bedeviling his beloved motherland.
“Beware,” he warned before sauntering away. “We shall control the next Constituent Assembly and won’t allow Madheshis like you sell the country to Marwaris.”
A background check over the next few days revealed that the youngster belonged to a family of retainers that had served Ranas and Shahs with distinction. He was the grandson of an army colonel and had seen better days. Unwilling to do menial work but unfit to do anything else, he had become a burden to the family. Within a few days of his disgraceful conduct, he would fly to a West European country. He would probably clean entrails of beef there to make a living and post patriotic outbursts on the web, accompanied with photographs of Ganesha calendars and miniature Double Triangle stuck to the walls of his living quarters.
Parasitic elite
A complex amalgam of beliefs and behavior, pride and prejudice, humiliation and hubris, convictions and opinions, pose and posture, and several other indescribable attributes, attitude is difficult to describe but impossible to miss.
In his celebrated tract, “Fatalism and Development: Nepal’s Struggle for Modernization,” Dor Bahadur Bista correctly intuits that Afno Manchhe (nepotism and networks) and Chakari (habitual servitude) along with Brahmanic fatalism were responsible for the continuing backwardness of Nepal. His prescriptions are equally compelling: Salvation lies in the empowerment of non-caste communities of the country. Implicit in the prognosis and prescription of the learned author is a strange reality of the Hindu social order in Nepal where there are Brahmans, Kshetriyas and Shudras but no Vaishyas.
There is a common misconception that Vaishyas are all traders. Perhaps the Varna of Vaishyas refers to all householders in its entirety. The toil of Vaishyas and Shudras supported priestly pursuits of the Brahmans and the soldierly exploits of the Kshetriyas. When forced to do some real work to make a living, the sense of entitlement and the pride of being preceptors and protectors of the realm is wounded. The unrecognized superiority of birth enrages the Dwij (twice-born) no end.
Unlike in most of South Asia, with the exception of Uttarakhand, Brahman-Chhetris constitute too big a proportion of the national population in Nepal to be absorbed into non-menial occupations. Like other Nepalis, they too have to dirty their hands. They do so due to the force of circumstances but hate themselves for it. That perhaps partly explains the well of resentment against republicanism, secularism, inclusion and federalism among members of the Gorkhali ruling castes, irrespective of their class.
The lumpenbourgeoisie who was itching for a fight with an upright wage earner probably deserves sympathy rather than censure. He represents the last flicker of a dying order based on the privileges of birth.
Lal contributes to The Week with his biweekly column Reflection. He is one of the widely read poliitical analysts in Nepal
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