<figure><img width="640" height="427" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13c69c7e80680e0a993djpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Photos: AMITAV GHOSH</figcaption></figure>Born in Calcutta, and now a New York-based writer, Amitav Ghosh approaches the subject of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/un-climate-report-declares-planetary-emergency/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">global environmental crisis</a> through two literary genres: fiction and non-fiction.  As a celebrated novelist, Ghosh is known for his meticulously researched works of fiction that take complex transnational historical events, and weave characters into them, so that readers get a close idea of what it was like to live through those times. The Calcutta Chromosome, for instance, is a tale woven around the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-mosquito-that-changed-nepals-history/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">malaria scourge</a> that has lessons for the current pandemic. In The Glass Palace, Ghosh takes us back to colonial Burma, Malaya and Bengal and the story of a family caught up in upheavals. His novel The Hungry Tide is about a young Indian scientist in the ecologically fragile mangroves of the Sundarban in the Ganges delta. Sea of Poppies is about fictional characters caught up in the very real Opium Wars. <img width="191" height="270" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13c89c7e80680e0a993ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="190" height="271" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13ca9c7e80680e0a993fjpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="191" height="269" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13cb9c7e80680e0a9940jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="191" height="272" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13cc9c7e80680e0a9941jpeg.jpg" alt="">While Ghosh specialises in historical novels that merge fact and fiction, he has also written powerful non-fiction books, including the ethnographic In an Antique Land. The slim Countdown is about regional radioactive fallout of a future India-Pakistan nuclear war, and The Great Derangement in 2016 looked at the reluctance of politicians, novelists, artists and movie-makers to grasp and respond to the climate emergency.        <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/book-reviews-new-year-2074,3654">Horror story for a climate calamity</a>, Kunda Dixit <img width="187" height="267" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13cd9c7e80680e0a9942jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="192" height="268" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016114/636d13cf9c7e80680e0a9943jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="191" height="271" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016118/636d13d09c7e80680e0a9944jpeg.jpg" alt="">Ghosh’s pre-pandemic novel Gun Island could be seen as a response to the questions he himself raised in The Great Derangement about the paucity of novels dealing with climate change. In this fictional work, we are taken in typical Amitav fashion on the journey of a 50-something Bengali American, as he finds his view of reality shifting. Dinanath Datta, more commonly known by his American name Deen, is a dealer of rare books with a natural affinity for the ancient and poetic. While on an annual visit to his hometown of Kolkata, he is persuaded into taking a last minute boat escapade into the Sundarbans, the same mangrove archipelago that is the setting for the earlier novel The Hungry Tide. Deen heads to a riverbank with a shrine in honour of the protagonist of an old Bengali legend. Upon learning more about the details of this mysterious folk tale, Deen begins to recognise that this narrative may be based on a real life experience of an individual living during climatic changes of the ‘Little Ice Age’ 500 year ago, when a cold period swept the planet.Needless to say, there are many parallels to the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/climate-change-is-a-disaster-in-the-nepal-himalaya/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">climate crisis we are experiencing today</a>.  Deen, a secular realist, realises that the greatest barrier to humanity dealing with a global emergency is greed. He thinks (and obviously the author does, too, through his character) that the religious concept of demons is a metaphor for greed. ‘According to Hindu mythology, when demons take over is when the world ends,’ Ghosh writes on behalf of his character.Humans are inherently greedy and this nuanced take is the theological summary of the anthropocene. While demons have not actually taken over the earth, demonic ideation has. Later in the novel, Deen’s close confidant, Cinta, states that when she looks at this world ‘with the diagnostic tools of an Inquisitor, it becomes that the world of today presents all of the symptoms of demonic possession’. Cinta sums up our current climate crisis in a most particular, yet insightful fashion: ‘Everybody knows what must be done if the world is to continue to be a liveable place … and yet we are powerless, even the most powerful among us. We go about our daily business through habit, as though we were in the grip of forces that have overwhelmed our will; we see shocking and monstrous things happening all around us and we avert our eyes; we surrender ourselves willingly to whatever it is that has us in its power.’<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/panoramic-encyclopaedia-of-the-himalaya/">Panoramic encyclopaedia of the Himalaya</a>, Lisa Choegyal <figure><img width="267" height="400" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016118/636d13d19c7e80680e0a9945jpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>This is a striking and eloquent explanation of a world held in the spell of a capitalist consumer culture that has numbed us to its consequences on nature and life. The phenomenon of greed has “possessed” us in that way. Gun Island is a bit of a slow burn, but once the action begins the pages turn easily. Ghosh weaves references to contemporary events and issues, while incorporating them into human history. He is able to illustrate the importance of maintaining a relationship with the unknown and mystical, as well as how that can actually strengthen one’s relationship with reality. The author leaves his reader wanting to show strength in stepping out of the demonic choke-hold of greed and extravagance that society is currently in, and stand up for Mother Earth. And to ram the point home, Amitav Ghosh then uses the pandemic lockdown to write a non-fiction corollary to his novel, The Nutmeg Curse, released last month.In it, Ghosh speaks as himself, and not through one of his characters, about the history of cruelty and plunder behind the ‘discovery’ of the New World and the European colonialism elsewhere in the world. By recalling gory details of extermination of nature and genocides of indigenous peoples, Ghosh reminds us that the planetary emergency we face today is just an extension of the holocaust that local peoples suffered in past centuries at the hands of the conquistadors. In fact, it presages the current crisis.The reader is shown how the ‘conjoined processes of violence, physical and intellectual, were all necessary for the emergence of a new economy based on extracting resources from a desacralized, inanimate Earth’. Ghosh is referring to the spiritual relationship that indigenous communities have always maintained with planet Earth. But modern industrialised societies look at the Mother Earth only through the lens of what she can offer us, paying no heed that we destroy nature at our own peril – as the Climate-Covid co-crises remind us.  <a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/the-unsung-heroes-of-conservation/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The unsung heroes of conservation</a>, Nepali TimesThe Nutmeg Curse first takes us to 1621, when the Dutch colonial military wipes out the entire population of the Banda Islands in present day Indonesia to control the trade in the invaluable native nutmeg tree. Nutmegs were one of the most desired items of luxury and wealth in Europe at the time, driving the spice trade. The value of this fruit drove the Dutch East India Company to compete with the British to control the islands, and to do so they had to exterminate the local inhabitants. As with the entire European colonial project in South and Southeast Asia, Africa and the Americas, anything that stood in the way of resource extraction (nature, non-white humans and non-human animals) were expendable.  The curse of the nutmeg for Ghosh is an allegory for the more modern resource curse of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/decarbonisation-needs-to-begin-today/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">fossil fuels behind the current climate crisis</a>.  Replace nutmeg with petroleum, and you can see how colonialism laid the foundations for the present planetary emergency. Ghosh shows how the colonial process treated indigenous peoples as subhuman, and their knowledge of and sustainable co-existence with nature as ‘primitive’. The book gives us a long litany of horrors of European colonisation perpetrated on peoples around the world, systematically muting them, replacing forests with plantations, native cultures with slavery, and obliterating the natural world.In a way, this is an alternative history of the world that is diametrically different from the history text books in school that are dominated by politics, conquests and the resources that were mined to fuel industrial ‘civilisation’. Ghosh has a different take on history, and persuasively explains how our colonial past is inherently intertwined with the global climate emergency. The Nutmeg Curse also underlines the connectivity between our colonial history right down to the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/we-all-yearn-to-breathe-free/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Black Lives Matter movement</a> and the global pandemic. Ghosh tells us how he sat down to write the book during the pandemic lockdown in Brooklyn in 2020, as sirens blared outside and bodies had to be kept in refrigerated trucks because hospital morgues had filled up.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/alpine-style-in-the-himalaya/">Alpine style in the Himalaya</a>, Kunda DixitThe reader is able to understand that in order to even begin to fight against social and environmental <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/black-lives-matter-but-dalit-lives-dont/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">injustices</a>,  we must make changes in the way we live and govern ourselves. Ghosh writes, ‘much, if not most, of humanity today lives as colonialists once did -- viewing the Earth as though it were an inert entity that exists primarily to be exploited and profited from’. If we can somehow backtrack and learn to co-live with Gaia in the compassionate way that the native folks once did, then there will be hope. We must speak up and unlearn accepted practices, and the deeply-rooted greed and over-consumption that dominates our lives. The Nutmeg Curse is an eye-opener. Ghosh is not preaching to the converted here, he provides even skeptics and deniers with a holistic history of global capitalism and its model of perpetual growth that underpins the current climate crisis. Full of rich and meaningful history, these accounts of genocide and plunder illuminate the implications of Western colonialism in so many of our current sources of distress. Readers of the novel, Gun Island, and the non-fiction, The Nutmeg Curse, will have to decide for themselves which form of literature is more effective in communicating the urgency of the climate crisis.These two books should be read together, they reinforce one another, and the impact is greater than the sum of their parts.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/20-reviews-in-20-years/">20 Reviews in 20 Years</a>, Nepali TimesMarilyn Lubetkin is a first-year student at Pitzer College in California. As a Houston, Texas, native, Marilyn experienced first hand the impact of climate change when she lost her childhood home to the disastrous flooding induced by Hurricane Harvey in 2017. <img width="301" height="462" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016118/636d13d39c7e80680e0a9946jpeg.jpg" alt=""><img width="300" height="462" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022111016118/636d13d59c7e80680e0a9947jpeg.jpg" alt="">Gun IslandJohn Murray PublishersPaperback, 320 pagesAvailable at Patan Book ShopThe Nutmeg's Curse: Parables of a Planet in Crisis John Murray PublishersPaperback, 352 pagesAvailable at Patan Book Shop

Kunda Dixit

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The climate crisis in fiction and non-fiction

<figure><img width="1000" height="1016" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636cebca9c7e80680e09ad29jpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Ulrich von Schroeder at age 22 in Kwa Baha, Patan in 1965. Photo: Nepalese Stone Sculptures</figcaption></figure>Ulrich von Schroeder first came to Nepal as a student of architecture in the summer of 1965 aged 22, backpacking overland from Switzerland. While other young westerners hung around Freak Street in those days, he would rent a bike and pedal around the Valley, systematically taking pictures of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nepal-needs-to-be-prepared-for-the-return-of-stolen-religious-figures,986" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">stone sculptures</a>.Von Schroeder’s lifelong labour of love has now been published in two bulky volumes titled Nepalese Stone Sculptures that is an encyclopaedia with nearly 3,000 illustrations, and 15,000 digital photographs of stone sculptures on an SD card embedded into the inside back cover.“This is unrestricted love for Nepal, my gift to the country,” says von Schroeder at the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-first-private-art-museum/">Museum of Nepali Art</a>, which invited him to Kathmandu this month for the launch of the books. “The market for Nepali stone figures is dead with this documentation. Auction houses won’t buy them anymore, and museums won’t display them.” <figure><img width="1500" height="1028" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636cebcd9c7e80680e09ad2ajpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Pages from Nepalese Stone Sculptures</figcaption></figure>The monumental work is divided into Hindu and Buddhist volumes that contain the result of 55 years of research and over 50 trips to Nepal. The books cost $750, and limited numbers are available at Vajra Books.Of the 2,960 illustrations of stone sculptures in the books, half of them have been stolen are now in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/replicating-nepals-stolen-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">museums and private collections outside Nepal</a>. Of these, 1,150 have never before been catalogued, including those of the Mohan Chok Hiti of the Hanuman Dhoka Palace, the Kumari Pati of the Royal Palace at Bhaktapur and the inner courtyard of Pashupatinath temple.Von Schroeder is the global authority on Buddhist art and culture studies and has six other volumes on Tibetan, Sri Lankan and Indian iconography but it is the Nepal edition he is most emotionally attached to and calls it his “meditation”.The book is dedicated to Nepali historian the late Sukra Sagar Shrestha, whom von Schroeder regarded as his mentor. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-gods-return-from-exile/">Nepal's gods return from exile</a>, Alisha Sijapati“Documentation is important because it will render stolen objects unsalable, eventually leading to their return home, so it doesn’t matter where they are at the moment,” says the scholar. “But I’m not for restitution, Nepal is not ready to bring them back and value and protect them.”This is in direct contrast to the growing activism for the<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5021#.YJHyCC8w3BJ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> repatriation of stolen figures</a><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/us-museum-returns-stolen-nepal-god/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> </a>from museums and galleries around the world. The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-homecoming-of-nepals-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">homecoming of Patan’s Laxmi Narayan</a> from the Dallas Museum of Art last month has raised hopes for the<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Christie-removes,257" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> return of thousands of other religious objects</a>.The documentation of 15,000 Nepali stone images by von Schroeder, however, is a milestone for researchers and institutions to identify stolen images, where they were originally from, and to help in their restoration. <figure><img width="960" height="1280" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110131116/636cebd19c7e80680e09ad2bjpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption>Ulrich von Schroeder at the Museum of Nepali Art in Kathmandu in April 2021 for the launch of his two-volume 'Nepalese Stone Sculptures'. Photo: LISA CHOEGYAL</figcaption></figure>“His lack of support for repatriation doesn’t justify his own work but with his book, we are in the position to go beyond and further in terms of restitution, we now have a comprehensive record of stolen images from the 1960s onward, previously we had to rely on incomplete information,” says Roshan Mishra, director of <a href="https://taragaonmuseum.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Taragaon Museum</a> and curator of the <a href="https://globalnepalimuseum.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Global Nepali Museum</a>, an online database of Nepali objects housed in the museums around the world. The good news is that there is now a trend of voluntary <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/us-support-to-restore-stolen-nepal-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">return of stolen images</a> from the western collectors, galleries and museums as the wave of decolonisation takes root. This means that sooner rather than later, Nepal will be getting back many of its <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7311#.YJHx4S8w3BI" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">religious objects</a>. Unfortunately, the government and local communities are not prepared for restitution.  “Everything need not come back at once. But at the very least we must get these museums and collectors to hold it in trust for us until such time we are ready to bring them back,” says activist Kanak Mani Dixit.  Currently, most of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/us-museum-returns-stolen-nepal-god/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">repatriated religious objects</a> are housed at the <a href="http://www.nationalmuseum.gov.np" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">National Museum</a> in Chhauni, poorly-lit and in dusty and dismal condition, much to the dismay of heritage activists—another reason why von Schroeder does not mind if the stolen objects do not return to Nepal right away. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2710#.YJHyOy8w3BJ">Here today, in Europe tomorrow</a>, Janki Gurung   There is also an ongoing discussion about the fate of objects with damage or cracks, as was the case with Laxmi Narayan. One of its hands was broken during transportation across the world. According to local belief, deities that are damaged cannot be kept as the central idol in the temple even though they are worshipped. In a country that is prone to disasters ranging from fires to earthquakes, risk assessment of buildings where returned artefacts are housed is also of utmost importance. Municipalities can also assist the central government in local housing and proactive restoration, say experts like Roshan Mishra He adds: “The end goal is to restore the objects to their original place but until we can do so with security, we should decentralise them to museums closest to their actual location for the public viewing while also strengthening the community’s sense of ownership.”

Cataloguing Nepal's idols to stop theft

<figure><img width="1000" height="1016" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b83a89c7e80680e06774cjpeg.jpg" alt=""/><figcaption>Ulrich von Schroeder at age 22 in Kwa Baha, Patan in 1965. Photo: Nepalese Stone Sculptures</figcaption></figure>Ulrich von Schroeder first came to Nepal as a student of architecture in the summer of 1965 aged 22, backpacking overland from Switzerland. While other young westerners hung around Freak Street in those days, he would rent a bike and pedal around the Valley, systematically taking pictures of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Nepal-needs-to-be-prepared-for-the-return-of-stolen-religious-figures,986" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">stone sculptures</a>.Von Schroeder’s lifelong labour of love has now been published in two bulky volumes titled Nepalese Stone Sculptures that is an encyclopaedia with nearly 3,000 illustrations, and 15,000 digital photographs of stone sculptures on an SD card embedded into the inside back cover.“This is unrestricted love for Nepal, my gift to the country,” says von Schroeder at the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-first-private-art-museum/">Museum of Nepali Art</a>, which invited him to Kathmandu this month for the launch of the books. “The market for Nepali stone figures is dead with this documentation. Auction houses won’t buy them anymore, and museums won’t display them.” <figure><img width="1500" height="1028" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b83ab9c7e80680e06774djpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The monumental work is divided into Hindu and Buddhist volumes that contain the result of 55 years of research and over 50 trips to Nepal. The books cost $750, and limited numbers are available at Vajra Books.Of the 2,960 illustrations of stone sculptures in the books, half of them have been stolen are now in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/replicating-nepals-stolen-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">museums and private collections outside Nepal</a>. Of these, 1,150 have never before been catalogued, including those of the Mohan Chok Hiti of the Hanuman Dhoka Palace, the Kumari Pati of the Royal Palace at Bhaktapur and the inner courtyard of Pashupatinath temple.Von Schroeder is the global authority on Buddhist art and culture studies and has six other volumes on Tibetan, Sri Lankan and Indian iconography but it is the Nepal edition he is most emotionally attached to and calls it his “meditation”.The book is dedicated to Nepali historian the late Sukra Sagar Shrestha, whom von Schroeder regarded as his mentor. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepals-gods-return-from-exile/">Nepal's gods return from exile</a>, Alisha Sijapati“Documentation is important because it will render stolen objects unsalable, eventually leading to their return home, so it doesn’t matter where they are at the moment,” says the scholar. “But I’m not for restitution, Nepal is not ready to bring them back and value and protect them.”This is in direct contrast to the growing activism for the<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=5021#.YJHyCC8w3BJ" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> repatriation of stolen figures</a><a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/us-museum-returns-stolen-nepal-god/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> </a>from museums and galleries around the world. The <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-homecoming-of-nepals-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">homecoming of Patan’s Laxmi Narayan</a> from the Dallas Museum of Art last month has raised hopes for the<a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Christie-removes,257" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer"> return of thousands of other religious objects</a>.The documentation of 15,000 Nepali stone images by von Schroeder, however, is a milestone for researchers and institutions to identify stolen images, where they were originally from, and to help in their restoration. <figure><img width="960" height="1280" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109111140/636b83ae9c7e80680e06774ejpeg.jpg" alt=""><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“His lack of support for repatriation doesn’t justify his own work but with his book, we are in the position to go beyond and further in terms of restitution, we now have a comprehensive record of stolen images from the 1960s onward, previously we had to rely on incomplete information,” says Roshan Mishra, director of <a href="https://taragaonmuseum.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Taragaon Museum</a> and curator of the <a href="https://globalnepalimuseum.com" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Global Nepali Museum</a>, an online database of Nepali objects housed in the museums around the world. The good news is that there is now a trend of voluntary <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/us-support-to-restore-stolen-nepal-gods/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">return of stolen images</a> from the western collectors, galleries and museums as the wave of decolonisation takes root. This means that sooner rather than later, Nepal will be getting back many of its <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=7311#.YJHx4S8w3BI" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">religious objects</a>. Unfortunately, the government and local communities are not prepared for restitution.  “Everything need not come back at once. But at the very least we must get these museums and collectors to hold it in trust for us until such time we are ready to bring them back,” says activist Kanak Mani Dixit.  Currently, most of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/us-museum-returns-stolen-nepal-god/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">repatriated religious objects</a> are housed at the <a href="http://www.nationalmuseum.gov.np" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">National Museum</a> in Chhauni, poorly-lit and in dusty and dismal condition, much to the dismay of heritage activists—another reason why von Schroeder does not mind if the stolen objects do not return to Nepal right away. <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=2710#.YJHyOy8w3BJ">Here today, in Europe tomorrow</a>, Janki Gurung   There is also an ongoing discussion about the fate of objects with damage or cracks, as was the case with Laxmi Narayan. One of its hands was broken during transportation across the world. According to local belief, deities that are damaged cannot be kept as the central idol in the temple even though they are worshipped. In a country that is prone to disasters ranging from fires to earthquakes, risk assessment of buildings where returned artefacts are housed is also of utmost importance. Municipalities can also assist the central government in local housing and proactive restoration, say experts like Roshan Mishra He adds: “The end goal is to restore the objects to their original place but until we can do so with security, we should decentralise them to museums closest to their actual location for the public viewing while also strengthening the community’s sense of ownership.”

Sonia Awale

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4379c7e80680e08f9afjpeg.jpg" alt="Author Nirajan Kunwar" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: SAGAR CHHETRI</figcaption></figure>When Niranjan Kunwar talks about Bollywood, his body language shifts: he sits tall, his face brightens up, his hands flit about in flowery circular motion, and his speech quickens.“I sometimes joke with friends that I have a PhD in 90s Bollywood and they believe me. Because if you asked me who won the Filmfare Award for best actor in 1993, I will tell you, ‘Sharukh Khan, of course, for Baazigar.’” He laughs.Born on June 9, 1981, Niranjan always knew he was different. When being sent off to boarding school, instead of the usual reluctance, he was eager to leave his parents. As a young boy, he was close to his cousin sisters and dressed in their skirts and performed for them. “I feel like I have lost that part of me,” he says. “I want to reclaim it.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd43b9c7e80680e08f9b0jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar childhood photo" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd43e9c7e80680e08f9b1jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan childhood photo" width="1800" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In December of 2020, amidst lockdown and pandemic, Niranjan’s memoir, Between Queens and the Cities, became the first queer memoir in English to be published in Nepal. Although readers may expect the typical coming-of-age or a coming-out story, the memoir is not that.Poet Ocean Vuong once said that queer lives in literature always seem exhaustible because their stories end when they come out of the metaphoric closet. In the same vein, Niranjan’s memoir is instead an honest and heartfelt record of the important, confusing and mundane parts of one queer life set between Kathmandu and New York City, that is not representative of all Nepali queer stories in and neither does it claim to be.Niranjan says, “I chose to write nonfiction because I knew that I wanted to document this story as ‘real’ and I wanted to visibilise it, as most queer stories are often made invisible.”He writes: No one counts our blessings. No one blesses us. We exist outside religion, outside society and culture. We are too Western or too wild. We don’t fit into their traditions. Their rituals don’t guide us. There are no magical mantras for us. Their divine deities don’t do anything for us. Our Dashains and Tihars are forever incomplete. The puranas don’t mention us. No one tells our tales.No one writes poems about our courtships, our commitments, our crimes. Our longings don’t turn into lyrics. No one composes lines about our heartbeats. No guitar strums for us. There is no harmonica; no piano converts our musings into music.In this month’s Lightroom Conversation, Niranjan and I talk about the fears and gifts of being queer, about rescuing hidden selves, re-authoring certain dominant narratives, and about male anger, the complexities of that emotion that we often do not talk about.Niranjan Kunwar: There’s a story that my relatives recount how I wanted to be a cow herder when I grew up. In a way, I had a streak that was a bit unusual; I wanted to be adventurous. I wasn’t attached to my parents. When I was going to Budhanilkantha at age nine, I was eager to say goodbye to them. The appeal for me was the school’s sprawling jungle and all the new friends I would make. And whenever my grandmother used to go to our village in Chitwan, I would follow her. There, I would graze cattle and run around all day.Muna Gurung: Tell me more about Chitwan. What was there?We have an old house there and my grandmother would visit regularly. We would go on a local bus, the roads were bad and I would get carsick. But despite that, I would fight with my parents if they didn’t let me go with her. There was no electricity in the village and I liked that because we would eat under the light from a lantern and there were delicacies like khatte, which was puffed rice deep fried in butter. I realise now that I feel calmer in nature and it was a striking juxtaposition with my life in New York, a culture that had very little space for animals, nature, pets. I used to love animals, but in the city, I felt myself hardening. It’s like in literature, we read about how the city hardens you. I guess that is also the queer experience, that sense of distance that is created between you and yourself.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4419c7e80680e08f9b2jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar family" width="1200" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>But there is one line in your book where you say that you had forgotten about the ‘gifts of being queer’. What were and are the gifts of being queer?  As a child I was very influenced by my three female cousins and Bollywood, so I would frequently wear their skirts and dance for them. They also encouraged that behaviour and I remember walking all the way to Chabel Chowk to get a Bollywood film tape in a skirt! When you’re a child, adults accept that, but only to a certain extent. Even in Budhanilkantha, I would wear skirts and perform, but then when the bullying and teasing starts, that’s when you begin to suppress and conform. By 9th and 10th grade, I had begun to conform and even act ‘macho’.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/featured-videos/between-queens-and-kathmandu/">Between Queens and Kathmandu</a>, Sahina Shrestha<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4449c7e80680e08f9b3jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar Budhanilkantha School" width="640" height="853"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The thing is, the story of young boys dressing up as girls is not uncommon. I have countless cousins and nephews who do that, and it is celebrated even. But as you said, only to a certain extent, after which they have to become a ‘boy’. Sometimes my family also rationalises a young boy’s ‘femininity’ as simply the remnants of their previous life, as in he must have been a woman before. This is making me think about how perhaps in many janajati cultures, gender queerness is more accepted. For example the maruni dance where men dress up as women and dance is an important part of most Gurung cultures and even celebrated. But that too is perhaps only relegated to that space. I don’t know how much of this has been investigated.You write that because you read a lot as a child, your queerness did not feel strange to you. What did you read as a child that affirmed your being? I would listen to my grandmother tell stories from the Mahabharat or the Ramanyana, but I was especially taken by the month of Swasthani, when my grandmother would read one chapter of the Swasthani tale a day and I would also read chapters with her. The stories were always full of possibilities like gods chopping off heads, or people reincarnating and becoming different; that immediately is a message that one can change form or travel far, or have magic powers. What does that mean for kids?And then I encountered Western literature and it was about humans living very different lives in very different worlds. When I was a little older, I made sure to buy every single Filmfare and Movie magazine.  Whether you call that reading or just studying pop culture and glamour, or looking at stars being themselves, it was a queer activity. Because fashion is also about people transforming into someone else, or something they are not. Today, I feel like I have lost this side of me, and I want to reclaim it. This reminds me of what the artist Alok Vaid Menon once said in a workshop. They asked, “What part of yourself did you have to destroy in order to survive in this world?” I think we all have to do that and it’s a sad realisation, but I think many marginalised groups, especially women, can relate to this question.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4469c7e80680e08f9b4jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar dancing" width="405" height="469"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>What did you have to destroy? My feminine side. Whether it’s Bollywood, Filmfare, wearing skirts and dancing as a girl, I think I have it in me. I am definitely not ashamed of it. I think it is a really powerful thing if an individual can be a man or a woman, it’s a skill and that’s also what is actually needed in this world today–the fluidity rather than the rigidity. There was one time that I dressed up in drag in New York and even then, I remember I was not completely at ease. The flipside of the question is how much anxiety and fear there is for marginalised people, starting with women. And because of this fear, so many things are hidden, invisibilised, not talked about. That is why I really appreciate younger Nepalis now who are out there in public being bolder than I am or I have been.On being bold, when you wrote this memoir, you were filling it with people who are connected to you in real life, how did you balance what to reveal and what to conceal?  I chose to write nonfiction because I knew that I wanted to document this story as ‘real’ and I wanted to visibilise it, as most queer stories are often made invisible. Although I also know that writing about someone’s life comes with ethical questions and one has to ask for permission, I didn’t do that because I knew that I wasn’t going to reveal any personal details of the characters in the story. But this begs the question, why did I write it? We teach in primary school that we have to write about things that give us strong feelings. While writing about my family, I began to write about certain family dynamics that was bothering me and I didn’t think about censoring, I just had to write it out, but it was only later in revising that I began to get anxious about these issues of sharing sensitive information. But how do you ask for permission from your family? It’s a tricky thing.I can imagine, I mean, the father character. You explicitly write about his anger and your own. It was one of the things that drew me into your memoir because we don’t talk about anger as much as perhaps we should. I struggled a lot with anger. Anytime I was in despair or depressed, my frustration would just short circuit to one person: my father. There was a time I remember when I was in New York, and say, I got really hungry, I would get angry at my father. If I missed a train, I would immediately think of my father and feel rage in me. And that I knew was not ‘normal’ because he was not even there and it was not his fault. So, what was that about? That needed investigation. When emotions don't get processed properly, or when there's depression and a history of not talking about it, the repressed stuff comes out, you know. I knew it was unfair to him, and that it was no one’s fault. So, I had to write them out and put things in front of me so that I could sift through them and understand better. Some of it was my fault and my immediate situation having a stressful job in New York, or that I was drinking too much… some of those, I had to take responsibility.But sometimes anger is also important or useful because it moves things, it is an energy.Some people have told me that sometimes when I am angry, I am my most honest and articulate self, and I say what needs to be said. Sometimes, anger can be a shortcut to get to the truth of a matter. The outburst that I wrote about in the memoir, it needed to happen because it was repressed emotions that had not found an outlet. I was a very angry child but I grew up never being able to express myself. And in New York, instead of finding an outlet, I was distracting myself with alcohol and clubbing. I didn’t write about this part in the book, but the morning after that outburst, my father came into my room and said that it was the first time he had seen that side of me.The outburst was almost necessary.Yes, and just the day before, I had another huge blowout with my father. So, I’ve had this anxiety with my memoir because my relationship with my father has shifted and it is better now. When I was writing, I felt like I didn’t care about anything or anyone, I only knew that I had to tell my story honestly. But later, the anxiety started brewing. Even throughout the book launch, I was anxious because I hadn’t told my father about the details of the book and I didn’t know how he was going to take it if he found out. It is also sad because I have written a book but I can’t even share it or celebrate it with him. That is, in many ways, I guess a very queer aspect about having written the memoir. But after this recent blowout, it is almost like that anger ate up that anxiety and I was able to own a little more of myself. This time round, I feel a lot more justified and I don’t feel anxious like before.What I also loved that you were able to show to the readers was the tenderness of the father character and not just his anger. For instance, when he says “goodnight” or comes into your room the next morning after a blowout. It is a language, a gesture, a slight vulnerability. The accountability issue is what gets me, though. I would be fine with my father having an anger issue if he were to come around and fix it. You must fix what you break. If only he knew how to apologise. But that just does not happen.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221110111136/636cd4489c7e80680e08f9b5jpeg.jpg" alt="Niranjan Kunwar teacher USA" width="1434" height="1434"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Poet Nibha Shah said that we are not taught how to love, and I was thinking, perhaps it is the same with apology, too.  And how much we need that education. This is why I wanted to become a primary school teacher. One of my first encounters in the US was in a preschool classroom where the kids were learning, through story books, how to treat one another and the people in their communities with respect. I immediately saw that it was completely lacking in my life and in Nepal. It really moved me and when you think about family dynamics or even politics, I maintain that we learn our behaviours in the primary school classroom. If you don’t learn how to listen or respond to each other with respect, you won’t automatically learn it in parliament or after you get married. It’s too late by then. There are many of us who didn’t have this education or opportunity, and it is just something that we have to carry with us and try to do better.Lightroom Conversation is a monthly page in Nepali Times that features interesting figures in Nepal’s literary scene. <a href="http://www.munagurung.com">Muna Gurung</a> is a writer, educator and translator based in Kathmandu.

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