I was at a small Newari town in the Kathmandu Valley at the beginning of the New Year. The hotel where I stayed at was perched on top of a hillock, and as the cold wind blew through the Himalayas I nestled up to the fire which an elderly woman was feeding with corn cobs. People in Kathmandu these days chuck wood frames painted with synthetic paints and inhale this dangerous fumes without a thought, so I was glad this woman, who turned out to the be the wife of the hotelier, still had some corn cobs to feed her fire. “How much corn did you plant this year?” I asked. The woman, who was in her sixties, shook her head. “Its no longer worth it,” she said. “I’m going to let it fallow next year.” She picked up a cob, about a feet long, and showed it to me. “To produce this cob, we need to spend about thirty rupees on seeds, pesticides and fertilizers. Otherwise it won’t grow. Its getting too expensive. My son wants to turn the land into a fish pond and farm fish.” Even till ...
The civil wars of the twenty-first century: Sushma Joshi's slightly twisted perspective of the universe.