(UJJWALA MAHARJAN)
I’m now a proud owner of a vintage retro-looking skirt. If I had any skills like one of my friends who has been sewing her own summer dresses and uploading the pictures and writing about it on her blog, I would’ve been much more proud of myself. Nonetheless, I did put in the effort of searching for it and getting it altered (with sewing help from others), and now that I’ve been wearing it for some days, it’s become my muse.[break]
For my friends at office, too, the skirt is good news. They’re happy to see a splash of color on me. Well, there’s something about springy summer – bright sunny days, cool evening breeze, and fresh new blooms colored mitho pink to orange, yellow, peach and purple that makes you want to soak it all up. But on my clothes, I still find it really hard to soak in too much of any of those colors.
The skirt, on the other hand, (I don’t know if it originally belonged to my mom or aunties), was a “great find,” I must say. Amid dresses that were all interesting in their own light – with puffed sleeves, big shoulder pads, frills and laces, I was delighted to find this paisley patterned skirt that fit me perfectly in the waistline. All I had to do was to get it shortened a little to make it more summery and more comfortable to walk in.
It has all the colors splashed in just the right amount – maroon, pink, lilac, purple, orange and cream, white, black, grey. What I’m secretly happy about is all these colors are on the dull side of the shades which keeps the overall tone very earthy – the way I like it.
And it’s very artistic as well. The purple buds and leaves spring out of the paisley curves filled with different colors within the inner linings and form a mesh of intricate patterns. If I let my imagination run wild, the patterns sometime look a knitted scarf woven from colorful ferns and flowers, and sometimes like clusters of manta fishes swimming around each other in a sea of purple buds.
Without boring you further with the details and “bhawanama bageko” thoughts about overlooked patterns, I’ll let you in on another discovery of the week. I practically got a (almost) new dress, all under Rs 100! I’m surely digging deeper into my mom’s and aunties’ wardrobes. Revive the retro!
An afterthought: Did I write an entire piece just on a skirt? Damn!
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Behind the scenes @ The Week
(CILLA KHATRY)
You should hear all the talks that go on in The Week Bureau and your doubts on whether there’s been an alien invasion recently will be confirmed. From the incessant giggling to the frequent bursts of someone screaming for no reason at all, our bureau is in a constant state of excitement.
Our bureau editor takes short breaks frequently, and I know for sure it’s because all the girly chitchat becomes too much for him to take. Being the only man in the team has been hard on him, so much so that he once shouted at us for being too loud. Made us feel like we were back in school, but that’s beside the point.
My main reason for writing this today is because, frankly speaking, I have nothing to write about. Five weeks of ranting has drained me out, and this week I have nothing to vent. So I just figured it might be a good idea to tell you all what goes on behind the makings of a weekly paper
You might assume the team comprises hardworking and focused individuals. I’m here to bust that myth. Not that we aren’t, but we’re more crazy and twisted than hardworking. But our eccentricities and madness are what make us efficient. At least that’s what we like to tell ourselves.
There’s a joke in the newsroom that there’s always food in The Week Bureau, and that’s true because one of us is always hungry or thirsty or suffering from a serious craving. And for us to write, and write good, we need to be fed well. Food sparks brilliance. That’s the excuse we give those who comment on our food habits.
A glimpse into our Bureau throughout the week except on Thursdays – Thursdays are when we pretend to be busy because we go to print that very night and if we don’t work, then when will we? – will remind you of college days when you bunked classes to go hang out at a local eatery. The buzz, the smell of food, and the chatter are reminiscent of those
delightful days.
Personally, I have always been a hyper character but I’ve become more loud and obnoxious in the past few months. In my defense, I would like to say there’s something about this space that messes with the wires in your brain, making you more prone to mood swings, meltdowns and plain old craziness.
It explains why I’ve nearly ‘vandalized’ the cubicle while talking on the phone; sat cross-legged on the floor with my head in my hands and bounced stress balls off my friends’ heads.
Last week, just as we were starting to think we should buckle down and get serious about work our bureau editor tweeted pictures of all our cubicles. His explanation was that it was late at night, and he was bored. There’s no hope here unless it’s Thursday!
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Love thy language
(ASMITA MANANDHAR)
The shopkeeper had neatly packed the jeans and put it inside a shopping bag. I had my purse in my hand, ready to pay for it. But both of us were talking numbers, mine a few hundred less than his but neither one ready to nod their head for the other’s number. The bargaining continued for a while until my friend intervened. She said the same number I was insisting on but it did not take her long to convince the shopkeeper. All she did was, she asked for it in Newari.
After we got out of the place, she winked at me and told me that this trick of hers never goes wrong. “If you know the language, learn to take advantage of it,” she said. And I must say she is a clever one at that. The other day, when we went to Boudha, she greeted the restaurant owner in Tibetan (I bet that’s all she knows in Tibetan). And in return, we got a considerable discount on our bills.
While multiple languages have been helping my friend to keep her pocket heavy, it has been a great help for me when I go to field, especially for culture stories, in and around the Kathmandu Valley. The native elderly refrain from giving you any information until you show significant respect to the subject, or you can speak their language. And though I fumble with words and struggle with the right pronunciation, they seem to easily forgive those tiny blunders.
Though I was raised in a proper Newar family, I did not learn to speak the language till I was in my early teens. My parents thought I would have difficulty communicating in Nepali if I was trained to speak in Newari from a very early age. Later, when they realized they had been wrong all along, I was not ready to learn the language, as it held very little significance for me then.
Then a turning point came when I was 13. I had visited an old settlement in Kirtipur. Everyone there was talking in Newari and it would be very awkward to reply in any other language. So I just resorted in nodding my head. Then I heard someone whisper behind my back, “Is she deaf and dumb?”
Nowadays, I somehow manage to speak the basics of the language, helpful while shopping or doing stories. It is also important for me to learn to speak my native tongue before I set out to learn foreign languages. I know some of you are nodding as you read this because you too have ignored your native language most of your life.
I remember once a Rai friend told me, “At least you hear the language, know how it’s spoken. But I don’t know what my language used to be, how my name would sound in my mother tongue.” For the least, I think I should be glad that I have been spared the pain of losing my own language.
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Talk about being unprofessional
(NISTHA RAYAMAJHI)
It was one of those hectic days when I had to take care of too many things at the same time. But taking some time from my busy schedule, I somehow managed to fix an appointment to interview a person. Not wanting to waste any time, I then made my way to Basantpur along with my photojournalist colleague.
I didn’t realize that it had started to get so hot until I stepped out on the road in the scorching heat. Taking a stroll amid the chaos in the core of the city, we finally reached the place. Being one of the popular restaurants in town, the place was crammed with young people with loud music on the backdrop. As per the request of the interviewee, we then went to the rooftop and while we were there, the thoughts of my pending works and things I had to deal with were still roving in my head.
As we were just getting started with the interview thing, the person had already started to get fidgety. Noticing that, even my friend was starting to feel uncomfortable. He then started taking several phone calls and breaks in the middle. My friend was exchanging glances with me as she too was quite surprised to see his behavior. The person again disappeared for a while. After we waited for around 45 minutes, the person finally showed up. Then saying that he had an urgent meeting, which sounded really not convincing, he apologized and left abruptly. If he really couldn’t spare any time, he should at least have been direct about it rather than making such a lame excuse. By that time, I had already started to lose my patience and we just left the place, feeling quite annoyed.
That meeting was totally a waste of time and my friend and I were totally infuriated as how the person reacted was quite unprofessional. There are many instances like that my fellow writer friends and I encounter. There are all kinds of people out there, some are not punctual at all, and some are irresponsible while some have no sense of respect for other people’s time.
Actually, I’m a very patient and tolerant person. But dealing with unprofessional people is something that I can’t stand. It just gets on my nerves. But I did learn something that day. On a lighter note, I guess, we can’t do anything about people like that, and learning to deal with them is the only option.
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