From frocks to pullovers
UJJWALA MAHARJAN
“Angel frock” – that’s what I used to call those frilly dresses with embroidered bodices, big puffed sleeves and overflowing skirts – the kinds that princesses wore in Disney cartoons.[break]
As a little girl, I used to beg my mom to buy me those pretty frocks everytime we went shopping. But she would usually opt for unisex clothes like pants and t-shirts, and on most of those occasions, I would grumble all the way home, “I don’t want boys’ clothes. You’ll turn me into a boy!!”
On top of that, I had short hair.
“I’ll give you a Thai cut,” my auntie would tempt me whenever I refused a haircut. In my head, I would picture myself with straight silky hair down to my neck, with a cute fringe on my forehead. I always fell for that and eagerly sat down in front of her as she went snip-snip. As soon as she was done, I would run down to look at my new haircut in the mirror and scream “Jhyalla!” (Traitor.) It was always the same – short hair curling up even shorter.
Somebody should’ve warned me back then: A Thai cut DOES NOT transform wild curls into silky straights.
Now I have pretty long hair (that’s not always pretty) mostly tied up in a bun. I don’t fantasize about having straight hair anymore (ever since every other girl in Kathmandu went on chemically-straightened dead-hair spree) and I dread anything with frills.
My love for pullovers is ever increasing. The comfort of jeans over a dress will forever be unmatched. The allure of black, I’ll never find it in pink. And I would as so surely go for my grandpa’s wardrobe items (altered, of course) over my grandma’s sarees.
As I write this, I’m wearing a dull brown pullover (my brother’s), dark blue jeans and converse, and loving how cool it looks on me. My mom, however, still doesn’t seem to approve of my wardrobe.
Now every time I get something new for my mostly black-brown-grey wardrobe, she shouts, “There are so many pretty dresses out there. Why can’t you buy something feminine? You’ll turn yourself into a boy!”
Well, I told you so. Not really. But I told you so!
Ujjwala tweets @UjjwalaMaharjan
Smile to keep it simple
ASMITA MANANDHAR
Smile. People would probably say this, mostly while taking photographs. But for my mother, it was a moral lesson she wanted her kids to learn. When we were kids, she would make a doodle on a chart paper with “Keep Smiling” written on it and stick it on the walls in our rooms. I still remember her disapproving look when we were not smiling, especially when she was introducing us to someone.
Contrary to her wishes and lessons, my face carried a frowning expression most of my teenage years. Not that I was unsatisfied with life or that I was depressed but the defect in my jaw made me look like a sulking kid. When the dentist said that braces were the only solution, so be it, declared my mom. My mother is quite happy with my jaw now. But that is not what we will be getting into.
Earlier this week, I was traveling in a jam-packed microbus, and on top of that, the driver was speeding recklessly and pulling brakes now and then. To make matters worse, I was standing while gripping the side handles of the bus. In one of those bumps, my bag took a good swing before it hit the person sitting in front of me on the head. She looked at me with a creased eyebrow. I looked back, smiled and apologized to the person. Surprisingly, that not only cooled her off but she made sure I took her seat before getting off at the next stop.
There are times when I am too affected easily by other people’s smile. I have realized that when the guards at cinema halls or certain buildings ask to check my bag with a smile, I don’t mind them checking the inside zippers too. If there is more than one person on the front desk, I choose to talk to the one who has a smile on their face. If a person asks me for a favor, no matter how hard it is, I would be more likely to do it if he asks me with a smile.
I am not saying that smile can take you forward in your life without much effort. Or for that matter, you commit a horrendous mistake and ask for forgiveness with a smile. But a smile does make things simpler. And trust me, I have evolved from a frowning person to a smiling one (even though just in appearance), and I can tell that smile does work wonders!
Asmita tweets @AsmitaManandha1
More restaurants?
NISTHA RAYAMAJHI
Whenever I have to make my way through the lanes of Jhamsikhel, I can’t help but become nostalgic about my schooldays. The location of my school, which is in the same area itself, is now notably known to be the new restaurant hub, with the new name of Jhamel. Over the years, amazingly, the lanes which just had small local shops and departmental stores have turned into a newfound haven for restaurant hoppers.
Not only Jhamsikel but even the capital has witnessed the growth of a number of eateries. Not so long ago, just to break the monotony, my friend and I were planning to go somewhere to just wind down. We were not in the mood to eat, so we were just thinking of going somewhere else other than restaurants. She was not in the mood for movies, so we dropped that idea as well. But there seemed to be nothing else that we could think of to kill time.
No matter where you go, you will see a number of restaurants to hang out, be it posh ones or just the local ones. But there are already so many restaurants around that every time we need to eat out, there’s always confusion as to which one to choose. My friend and I then got into a discussion about how there are hardly any places in the capital meant purely for entertainment purposes.
But on the brighter side, the limited choices have helped us in being more creative when it comes to having fun. Yes, we don’t have fine parks, beaches or proper amusement parks like in other countries, but we have heritage sites, places where we can go for long rides to watch the scenic beauty, or can just have house parties, if nothing.
After being indecisive for a long time, my friend and I just made up our minds to take a stroll in the Basantpur area. But we were glad that this time, for a change, we didn’t settle in for going to one of the eateries. Just whining about the lack of places to hang out is not going to change anything. Nevertheless, I would be glad if in a few years, rather than the usual restaurants, we can have more options.
Nistha tweets @Nisthaz
New York Writers Workshop and Himalayan Literature Festival to...
What’s in a name?
CILLA KHATRY
No, no, not Sheila. Not even Sila. And definitely not Seela. It’s C-I-L-L-A. Like in Priscilla. You must’ve heard of her! It’s an understatement to say that people hardly ever pronounce my name right.
The only people who pronounce it correctly are my parents, close friends and foreigners. I consider my family and friends extensions of myself, so they don’t count, and I don’t meet that many foreigners on a daily basis, so they don’t count, either.
Sometimes, after several attempts to get people to say my name right (needless to say, all in vain), I, too, give up and agree with whatever the other person thinks my name is. The downside of that is that sometimes I’ve even had to respond to Sushila.
What’s in a name, you might ask?
Everything.
It’s your identity.
I do understand that mine is not a very common name and people will have problems grasping it the first time around. What I fail to understand, however, is how people just can’t say it right even after multiple telephone conversations or meetings.
It all started in school. A primary schoolteacher used to spell out my name every single time. She spent 10 years doing that. I should’ve known how my life would eventually map out and been prepared, but the mispronunciation still shocked, frustrated and sometimes infuriated me for about a decade after that.
The most annoying incident was when I received an email that addressed me as Sheila when the very email address clearly spells out my name. Another annoying (my friends will say amusing) experience I’ve had is when a traffic cop looked at my driver’s license and referred to me as Chilla. The look I gave him in response would’ve scared the lights out of a corpse.
When I meet someone for the first time, it takes me at least five minutes to introduce myself. I’m not exaggerating. The “Hello, I am Cilla” bit meets with countless apologies and requests to repeat myself, followed by a discussion on how my name is ‘unusual’ and couldn’t be Nepali. At this point, I go on to explain how my dad was a huge fan of Cilla Black and named me after her. The discussion sometimes stretches on for a good ten minutes, and by the end of it, being the chatterbox that I am, I would’ve given the person a brief history of my life.
A friend once had a “brilliant” idea that I should instruct people by telling them “Say the C, then let the ‘I’ and the ‘L’s roll over your tongue and end with an ‘ah’!” But no thank you, I’m desperate, yes. THAT desperate, no!
I’ve tried and failed in hundred different ways in my efforts to get people to say my name right. Now I’ve resorted to handing out my business card as I say my name so that they can see how it’s spelled, but even that trick backfires. One look at the card and they have that weird expression on their face that makes me want to apologize to them instead.
I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that people here will always have problems with my name. There’s nothing I can do to change that. I’ll just have to be sensible enough and not put my daughter (if I ever have one, that is) through the same melodrama by naming her Cataleya.
Cilla tweets @cillakhatry
