आफूले अधिकारको प्रयोग गरिरहँदा दायित्व बोध हुनु नितान्त आवश्यक छ भलै त्यो ब्लगिङ किन नहोस् :दिवाकर सुवेदी

कपिलबस्तुका दिवाकर सुवेदी त्रिभुवन विश्वविद्यालयबाट अंग्रेजी साहित्यमा स्नातकोत्तर गर्दै छन् । साहित्यिक सामाग्रीहरु पढ्न र लेख्न मनपराउने दिवाकरलाई नयाँ साथी बनाउन , अभिनय गर्न , अरुलाई हँसाउन , नयाँ ठाँउ घुम्न र संगीत सुन्न पनि उत्तिकै मनपर्छ । आफ्ना रुचिका बिषयलाई कहिले कुनै विद्या मार्फत,कहिले कुनै पात्र मार्फत समेटिरहेका उनी ब्लग लेखनमा पनि उत्तिकै सक्रिय छन् । मेरो रिर्पोटको साप्ताहिक स्तम्भ साताका ब्लगरमा आज हामीले उनै दिवाकर सुवेदीसँग कुराकानी गरेका छौं ।  प्रस्तुत छ उनीसँग गरिएको कुराकानी :

तपाईले आफुलाई सोसल मिडियामा के भनेर चिनाउन चाहानुहुन्छ ? बताइदिनुस् न ।

मलाई बुवाआमाले राखीदिएको नाम दिवाकर सुवेदी नै प्यारो लाग्छ । त्यसैले, म आफूलाई सोसल मिडियामा पनि दिवाकर सुवेदी नै भनेर चिनाउन चाहान्छु ।

ब्लगिङ गर्न कहिलेदेखि थाल्नुभयो र कसरी सुरु गर्नुभयो ?

मैले व्लगिङ गर्न २०७१ साल साउन महिनादेखि सुरु गरेको हुँ । सुरुसुरुमा मैले सामाजिक सञ्जाल फेसबुक र ट्वीटर लगायतमा आफ्ना बिचार र साहित्यिक अभिव्यक्तिहरु पस्किन्थे । पछिल्लो समयमा आएर सोही विचार र अभिव्यक्तिहरुलाई दिर्घकालसम्म सञ्चय गर्न र 'भर्चुअल' संसारको माध्यमबाट सबै माझ पुर्याउन ब्लगिङ गर्दै आएको छु । 

केका लागि ब्लगिङ गर्नुहुन्छ ? कस्ता विषयवस्तु तपाईको रोजाईमा पर्छन ?

मनभित्रका “कुण्ठा” र “खुसी”हरु पोख्न, आफ्ना भोगाई र भावनात्मक अनुभुतिलाई छताछुल्ल पारी मन हल्का पार्न साथै सन्देशमूलक जानकारीहरु पस्किन ब्लगिङ गर्छु । मेरो रोजाईमा प्रायःजसो सामाजिक साँस्कृतिक बेथितिहरुले प्रधानता पाउँछन् ।

तपाईले  http://zealsubedi.blogspot.com/ बाहेक अरु पनि चलाउनु हुन्छ ?अनि ब्लगिङ गर्न कत्तिको सजिलो छ  त ?

यही मात्रै चलाउँदै आएको छु । सजिलो र गाह्रो भन्ने कुरा एउटा मान्छेले कसरी अनुभूत गर्छ भन्नेमा भर पर्दछ । कुनै कुरा आफैमा सजिलो या अप्ठ्यारो हुँदैन । परिश्रम हरेक कुरामा गर्नुपर्छ र मैले पनि आफ्ना कुराहरु राख्न ब्लगमा धेरथोर परिश्रम गर्ने गरेको छु ।

तपाईको  ब्लग पढेर पाठकले कस्तो प्रतिक्रिया दिनु हुन्छ ?

ब्लग पढ्ने प्रायस् आफ्नै साथीहरु छन् । उनीहरुले ब्लग पढिसकेपछि “अझै लेख्दै जान र आफूलाई निखार्न” हौसला प्रदान गर्ने गर्छन् ।

आफ्ना कुरा ब्यक्त गर्न अहिले युवाहरुले ब्लगिङ्गप्रति आर्कषित भई रहेका छन, नेपाली ब्लगिङको प्रयोगलाइ कसरी हेरिरहनुभएको छ सदुपयोग या दुरुपयोग ? अनि कस्तो देख्नु हुन्छ ब्लगिङको भविष्य ?

हो, पछिल्लो समयमा युवा जमात ब्लगिङ प्रति लालयित भएको पाउँछु । यसो हुनुमा सुचना प्रविधिको विकास र पहुँच पनि एउटा कारक हो । सुचना प्रविधिको विकास सँगसँगैं राम्रा र नराम्रा कुराहरु पनि जोडिएर आउँछन् । यो कुरा ब्लगिङमा पनि लागू हुन्छ । नेपाली ब्लगिङलाई हेर्दा यो भर्खर बामे सर्ने क्रममा रहेको प्रतित हुन्छ । ब्लगिङलाई अझै परिष्कृत र परिमार्जित गर्दै लान सक्ने यथेष्ट मार्गहरु छन् , जसले ब्लगिङको भविष्य अझ फराकिलो र मजवुत बनाउन सक्छ ।

ब्लगिङ वा ब्लगरका लागी आचारसंहिताको आवश्यकताको कुरापनि उठिरहेको हुन्छ, तपाईंलाई के लाग्छ, जरुरी छ ब्लगरका लागी आचारसंहिता ?

आफूले अधिकारको प्रयोग गरिरहँदा दायित्व बोध हुनु नितान्त आवश्यक छ भलै त्यो ब्लगिङ किन नहोस् । हरेक कुरा एउटा निश्चित परिधि भित्र रहेर गर्नुपर्दछ । ब्लगिङमा पनि अनुशासन हुनु जरुरी छ । सिमा नाघेर ब्लगिङ गर्नेहरुलाई नियन्त्रण गर्न र ब्लगिङलाई चुस्त दुरुस्त राख्न पनि आचारसंहिताको आवश्यक छ जस्तो लाग्छ मलाई ।

नेपाली ब्लगरले आचारसंहिता कत्तिको पालना भएको पाउनु भएको छ ? मुलधारका सञ्चार माध्यमले सोसल मिडियालाई कसरी प्रयोग गरेको पाउनु भएको छ ? 

अहिलेसम्म जति पनि ब्लग पढेको छु, ती सबैमा आचारसंहिताको पालना भएको पाएको छु । मुलधारका सञ्चार माध्यमले सोसल मिडियालाई “घटना” र “विचार”आदान प्रदान गर्ने थलोका रुपमा प्रयोग गरेको झैं लाग्छ, जुन राम्रो कुरा हो, यद्यपी यस्तो कार्य गर्दा श्रोत नखुलाई लेख्ने प्रचलन बढ्दो छ । यसले मान्छेलाई बौद्विक चोरीको सिकार गराई रहे झैं लाग्छ ।

ब्लग लेखन वा ब्लगमा समेटिएका सामग्रीसँग जोडिएका कुनै रमाइला घटना वा प्रसंग भए बताइ दिनुहोस् न ।

मेरा लेखहरु र साहित्यीक अभिव्यक्तिहरु सत्यताभन्दा पर नहोऊन् भन्ने हेक्का राखेर लेख्ने गर्छु । त्यसरी लेख्दा कहिलेकाही वास्तविक पात्र र घटनाहरु जस्ताको तस्तै उत्रन्छन् अनि तिनै घटनासँग सम्बन्धित पात्रहरुद्दारा “गाली” र “माया” दुबै पाउने गर्दछु । केही समय पहिला लेखेको कथा “कप्तान” पढिसकेपछि त्यस्तै प्रतिक्रिया पाएको थिएँ ।

केहीले ब्लगिङलाइ नागरिक पत्रकारिता पनि भन्ने गरेको पाइन्छ , के ब्लगिङ नागरिक पत्रकारिता नै हो त ?

 जसरी आँसु र पानी , पिसाव र पसिना फरक कुरा हुन् , त्यसरी नै ब्लगिङ र नागरीक पत्रकारीता पनि दुई भिन्न कुरा हुन् । ब्लगिङमा व्यक्ति बिशेषका रुचि, भोगाई,बुझाई र मुल्यांकन जस्ता कुराहरु बढि हुने गर्दछन् । त्यसैले ब्लगिङ र नागरिक पत्रकारीतालाई एउटै धरातलमा रहेर परिभाषित गर्नुपर्छ भन्नेमा म सहमत छैन ।

अन्त्यमा,

धन्यबाद !

Source: http://meroreport.net/

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Plath is the name of the new one

It is very easy to smoke cigarettes. It is also very easy to not smoke cigarettes, if you don’t already smoke cigarettes. It is slightly less easy to not smoke cigarettes if you already smoke cigarettes, and this works both ways. But the most difficult thing to do is to smoke just one cigarette every day.

I seem to have embarked on one of the most difficult journeys of my life.

But what to replace 9 out of 10 cigarettes with, then, if I were to smoke only one cigarette every day? Especially with Suryas, oh the struggle with a Surya. You can never get enough of the sun…Unless you’re suicidal, that is. You just let go of the sun and it’s very easy to not get up the next morning. Because the sun symbolises the morning, you have to hate it. If you don’t look at the first shred of light that falls on you while you sleep, it means the bed you are sleeping on is your deathbed and you are suicidal.

I am not suicidal, my friends. I just want to smoke one cigarette every day.

And so the struggle, again, is what to replace all those cigarettes with. I’ve thought about it, I’ve thought about it for a very long time. I have tried reading my way through 9 cigarettes until the one, but what to read, really? I have tried prose but prose is too cigarette. There is a very particular quality in the writing that I read--and this is probably the same writing you read, probably--that disallows you to understand prosaic rhythm until it syncs with the cccrackles and the tchssssss. Surya, my friends.

Which means reading doesn’t work. And reading will never work, because things that never work once will not work twice. This should be a lesson in life, if there are things like lessons in life. Bye-bye reading prose and hellow drinking. What kind of argument is that, anyways?

I’ve let go of that idea as quickly as you have been to condemn it. Although, there is a difference, my friends. Letting go is not characterised by condemnation. It is characterised by pity for the self, and that is never the best kind of pity. Pity for the self comes with years and years of doing what I’m not even sure. Self-pity comes from the soul, and you haven’t ever seen the soul before. What do we do with things we’ve never seen before?

We say, “No, no, no. I will not see her anymore.” And perhaps or perhaps not, but this is the same as the fundamental conflict of meaning. Life will mean nothing to you until this meaning glares at you from the depths of darkness, and I mean the dangerous premise. Depth comes with the darkness, and darkness comes with death. You and I may have tried our hands at death several times, but it is an even more dangerous premise to look for easy death. Dying has to be difficult. The suffering is what must be noted, and keeping note of the suffering is very difficult, my friends, because it takes many forms. There is suffering in understanding what your mother wants for your father, and what your father wants for you, and there is even more suffering in knowing that none of these are things that are ever going to thing. There is suffering in knowing that the only way you can tell your mother to do away with your father and your father to do away with you--and I don’t mean killings, my friends, because dying is for the self--is by telling yourself, again and again, that the next time you step into the air that surrounds mother-father is going to be the last. There is suffering in understanding that love is for the people who like drowning and lack the skills of swimming and that the last time I tried to drown someone in love, the skills lacked with the one who was being loved, not the one who was loving. And so that is that and I have never seen her again, because, my friends, dying is for the self. The void is for the self, and the void is something you have never seen before, much like the soul. But the people who are left behind, the people the self betrays, are never allowed near the void. This means that where the self goes, no one else goes and, although the self is alleviated, no one else is.

And so the next replacement for the 9 out of 10 cigarettes is exercise. My friends, where “friends” is a very large group and father belongs to it, have always told me that exercise helps with endurance. A sound mind-body connection. It keeps your psyche in touch with your physique, and that has always been most important. Exercise helps with discipline. It helps you overcome overwhelming stress. But then again, the problem with exercise is that the effects are slow, slow, slow. I cannot wait for a year or even half a year, because remember I said I am not suicidal, my friends--am not, but not will be.

I need the immediate, grasp the quickest, fast, fast, fast. Let me tell you that the last time I waited for a year or even half a year, close to her, closer, closer, and suddenly, there was no longer anything--anyone--to be close to. I cannot possibly want that, I cannot possibly have that happen again, my friends. There is only so much a man can take before he has to let go of himself. This brings me back to self-pity and it is only for the self, my friends. And maybe that is the problem, I have thought. Maybe it has been the self for too long, but then again, too long is shorter than too longer. Maybe it is time that the self be done away with, and the other be the priority. Once upon a time in the city where I live, there was a girl who loved poetry as much as she loved me. Even then, the self was larger than the other, but she was my own. And one day, I thought I had let her go, but before long I found out that she let go of her self. I loved her so much for too long until I realised that always, always, too long is shorter than too longer.

And now, maybe, the catharsis is in the poetry. The same poetry that drove her to sinking will be my upheaving, then. I will scream her name many times until her name stops meaning as much, the same way meaning leaves words when they are repeated repeatedly. The struggle of replacing 9 out of 10 cigarettes until that one is an unimportant struggle, my friends. I will not care for it as long as I have cared for the self, because as it turns out, caring for the self does not actually do much good to the self.

And so, for now at least, the same poetry that persuaded her to let go of, in self-pity--and that is the dangerous one, my friends--will replace cigarettes.

And maybe, just maybe, Plath is the name of the new one.






Written by : Chiran Raj Pandey

Source: http://kathmandupost.ekantipur.com/

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When I received ninety three letters...

 Life doesn't go smoothly. One surely will be encountered with ups and downs which sometimes make us hopeless and sometimes make us mature and strong for the further circumstances. Life itself is the collection of experiences. Some experiences are bitter, painful, and troublesome whereas some are joyful and we expect them t to happen again and again. Joyful experiences bring some sort of glow and smile on our face which helps to re-energize the people. However, I am going to write about the bitter experiences of my life. When I recall this event, I wish it wouldn't have happened to me. It is the painful experience which still gives me pain. I don’t want to remind this event because it has left some sort of negative impression.

This event happened to me when I was in class nine and I was only thirteen years old. Except reading, I used to listen to the radio programs all the time because I had no access to television and internet service as there was no electricity in my village. Most interesting thing is that I used to lend my ears to the radio programs even at the time of home assignment. Every time I used to keep the radio along with me. Those programs and radio had become my friends who would accompany me in the lonesome time. I used to send the letters on different radio programs; whenever my name used to be played, I would feel like a prestigious person and like a celebrity inside my soul. There was one program called let’s make friends in which my friends used to send the letters for the pen friendship. Pen friendship had almost become the fashion and trend among my friends. Twice in a week, postman would come carrying the bag with full of letters and in the break time he used to handle the letters to the respective students. We sometimes were given responsibility to handle the letters to our neighbors. Once I even sent the letters to that program in which I mentioned my name, address and interest. My purpose was not to make pen- friends rather I was interested to receive the letters on my name which would make me feel like a great human being in the world. After a week my name was played, than my happiness knew no bounds and I thought that I would get the letters like my friends. Nearly ninety three letters were posted on my name. Unfortunately, postman, instead of me handled all the letters to the principal of my school. My friends would get only five or six letters but something different had happened in my case. As my expectations, those letters instead of making me happy made the worse situation. 

One day as soon as the tiffin time was over, all the students entered our classroom. Surprisingly, principal also appeared in our room though it was not his teaching time. What was striking is that he had carried the pile of letters on his both hands. There was a profound silence in the class as everyone was curiously looking at his hands. He stared at me but I thought his staring was not for me. Every student had the giant and fearful image of the principal as he was very much aggressive. After the profound silence, he uttered my name breaking the silence and said, “Who is Deewakar Subedi?” I was astonished when I heard my name from his lips. I didn’t speak anything and my classmates started staring me like a new introduced object. Again furiously, principal pronounced my name and his words were like this, “Who is Deewakar in this classroom? Come front and take your letters.” When I heard these words, I had become hopeless and helpless. I didn’t dare to go front and principal came close to me, forcefully hustled me from my bench and made me to stand facing all the students. I was aghast and dumbfounded at that very time. My face looked as if blood would come out of my cheeks. I could feel the sense of heat inside me as I was trembling. I was not looking at his face rather I was bowing down helplessly. Suddenly I felt a thunder on my both cheeks. Than my tears rolled down through my cheeks; tears trickled down for two hours. Principal, pointing to me, satirically advised all the students to follow the same as I had done. Principal treated me like as I had committed the crime and sinful thing. No teacher had ever punished me like before that as I had been the obedient and studious student in the school level. He even read the few name and address which was mentioned on the envelope. He even scolded me offensively which I was not able to endure but I had no option except crying. Teasingly, he told showing the letters, "these are her books and in the exam she will secure good marks. You are brilliant student of our class, see what she reads and write." He didn't stop insulting me and took me to the staff-room. As the period was over, all the subject teachers even gathered in the staff room and they had discussed on the trend of pen friendship.  They were continuously asking me different questions but I remained like a statue.  No teachers could feel my pain and no one thought about what I was feeling right there. In my opinion, that was not an issue but they treated me very badly.  Even in the staff room, Principal started scolding me but I kept on tolerating. 

Honestly, I had the murderous feelings throughout years for the principal. Teachers even told me that they would inform my mother next day. After having a long discussion, they gave me all the letters and told me to go to the classroom and I obeyed them and came to the classroom holding the pile of letters. When I entered the classroom, I felt humiliation again when my so- called friends laughed at me and they started whispering with each other. They even teased me saying that I would get the first position by reading ninety three books. I didn't speak with anyone and held my head on the desk than I started sobbing. Whenever principal used to come to our class, I never paid any attention to his lecture rather I used to wish for his death in front of me and would scold him inside. Neither teachers nor my classmates supported me. Even in the classroom, my classmates treated me like an alien who had come from the unknown land. I was expecting someone to wipe out my tears and someone’s pat on my shoulder. I was expecting someone to tell the principal that I had not done anything wrong and his treatment was not good. My parents even had not punished me like that. My hopes were shattered because that was the most humiliating experience of my life. Before that, every teacher had the good impression of mine but this event in my thought proved me as a bad student though I had not done any wrong thing. That day when the classes were over, I went to home and revealed all the things to my Mom about how the principal punished me, how I got those letters and so on. Quite surprisingly, Mom didn't scold me rather she advised not to give reply those letters and she said that if I spent my time on such activities, I wouldn't have time for reading and writing activities. I even didn't read any letters and burnt them down .After that, my interest for study was slowly going down. I even stopped talking to my friends; I used to remain silent in the classroom because that punishment had created a fearful image of the teachers.

What I have learnt from this experience is that students shouldn't be punished because it gives mental as well as physical trauma, torture to the respective students. Punishment instead of bringing positive changes creates negative impression which eventually becomes the obstacles for all round development of the children. There is saying that teacher is the candle which burns itself but gives light to others. When I recall this event, I think being a principal of that school, he could have talked to me in the privacy and have suggested to me. Instead of humiliating in front of all the students and teachers if he had suggested me politely, I wouldn't have negative impression of him. I even appointed as a teacher in the boarding school after the completion of bachelor level where I never give any punishment to the students. Whenever I found my students doing misdeed, instead of punishing them I used to give suggestion. As a result, every student used to love me. The most important thing that I know from this humiliating experience is that inspiration, motivation affection and care are the elements that can bring the good changes in the students’ behavior. Teacher should play the role of instructor and should pave the right way to the students if they go the wrong way. Moreover, intention of my principal might be good but the way he treated me was obviously not the right way because that created more fearful image of the teachers. Sometimes because of humiliation and punishment, students might do misdeed in the name of revenge.

-zealsubedi@yahoo.com

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