Love, Actually, Can Last 56 Years...

What's a boy to say to his parents celebrating their 56th wedding anniversary??!!? Words seem so small and modest relative to the achievement that they have attained. For those of us who feel that we are still in the blush of our wedding vows (our mere 18 years gone...), the heights my folks have achieved seems more daunting than most Himalayan peaks. The emotional, spiritual and daily obstacles that they have had to overcome in creating love. and then family, over these decades seem more Olympian than Himalayan...

In the West, at least, the Himalaya, especially fabled Mt. Everest (Sagarmartha to the Nepalis...) is a standard reference for physical endurance and man's ineluctable quest to dominate nature, to stand atop the highest of snow-clad summits to proclaim his unique existence, before being forced by the greater elements to descend to the valleys that nurture and protect him. Of course, in the Hindu & Buddhist worlds, the symmetry and metaphor of the Himalaya are much richer, more complex and nuanced -- befitting the majesty of this seemingly indomitable barrier, as well as due to the teachings provided by the legendary anchorites who retreated to isolated enclosures in search of profoundly spiritual understanding of our transient human existence.

However, in neither cultural context was the idea of marriage and family ever regularly associated with these awe-inspiring, distant mountain summits. Only the romantic image of Shiva and Parvati, god and goddess, in a union of celestial gentility reminds us that the Himalaya also protect the householder on this earth. Whereas in the Western mind, the Hiimalaya are more often associated with celibate monks or youthful death at high altitude -- neither image exactly conducive to wedding vows and family obligations.

From ancient Hellas, where Mt. Olympus ruled, we were taught that when humans achieve the divine, they may wear the golden, cumulus wreath of the Greek gods. Thus the laurel leafed crown of the earliest Olympics and the transformative Renaissance paintings of man as gods carried forward from Homer's wine-dark age.

Our modern 21st Century world, too, has found ways to honor the inspired divine in our too often commercialized commuter lives. We have prizes and awards, like the Nobel, the Rhodes, the Pulitzer, the Templeton and the Booker, to laud those who have achieved feats few of us can aspire toward in our daily lives. We have Academy Awards and the Golden Globe, as well, to honor the silver screen thespians who offer us luminosity, insight and a reflection of our lives to last through the ages. As a culture, we have found ways to honor the best and most enduring accomplishments of our times.

And yet, is there any way to so succinctly honor the middle path of life, the basic unit of our individual security and identity? The lasting endurance of marriage in a tremulous union of trust, compassion and empathy. We know much in our time of the travails, hurt and wounds associated with marriage and relationships. These knots of caring and need are the circuits of our daily lives. We light up with joy and go dark with pain based on our ability to share each other's innermost sufferings. The struggle for our personal maturity gains moments of insight from those with whom we live -- just as our the scars of childhood cover our longing for real and needed affection. These are the depths of emotion that we plumb unconsciously each day with those with whom we live and seek to love.

Love. How did we find such a deceptively simple word to describe our deepest human emotion? The word slips out almost unnoticed, shy lips pursed together in a near apology of tenderness and longing. Can we remember when a couple first used the word with each other. Or, saw the reflected look in eyes of understanding and care that bespoke a deeper bond?

56 years, you say... An eventful, near-traumatic evening on a cold, wintry December 24th night in an elegant hotel in New York. Families gathered. Both an Orthodox and Reform rabbi there to honor and solemnize the occasion. Generations of faces and souls now lost to us there to celebrate the natural & cultural affinity for continuity. The marital torch, as they say, passed to a new generation. Too young to know the fullness of their vows or the length of their commitment. Still innocent in the truth of that artfully simple word. Unaware of the price that time charges for such attachment. Or, of the fleeting joys that parenthood and childhood and adolescence offer us in this rapidly passing sense of a lifetime. My child, my child, my son, my son, my father, my father, my child, my son, myself...

As I said, and then, as usual, ignored, there are no words for such achievements. (Although words are all we have...) There are no annual prizes or awards. No way of describing the strength and endurance of a marriage that has carried across generations, centuries and memories.

There is only that elusive word, love...

Little Boddhisattva Won't You Take Me By the Hand

tonight is the first night of hanukkah. it may also be the first year a lovely, little girl knows that her family has a religion and that there are special names to such momentous and confusing adult identities...

we had been telling little ms. leah for a few days already this week that tonight would be the first night of channukah.

two nights ago she suddenly looked up and asked josh, "are grammy & poppa jewish?". when he replied positively, she seemed reassured -- esp. as ez has been teasing her mercilessly that she can't celebrate christmas this year... of course, in ez's own tender, playful, irritating, ironic, iconic older brother way...

so, tonight, when we got home after dark, leah immediately grabbed me downstairs, not even letting me put my bags down, & pulled me by my sweater up the wooden staircase to our warm family room (where i type now...).

then, before opening the door, she said, 'close your eyes!' so she could surprise me with what she'd made for 'jewish' tonight.

resting on the floor, reflected in the bright, luminous eyes of a five year old girl, was a petite xmas tree decorated w/ all of her most favorite things!!

"is this for jewish?", she asked looking up innocently to her father.

i smiled and said, "of course, dear, it looks beautiful for 'jewish' tonight"...

in leah's spirit, therefore, may your 'jewish', 'buddhist', 'christian, 'bambuddhist' or whichever form of sacred vows you breath, bring you peace and light as the world outside steadily spins toward december's darkest day of the year.

let us all remember that we light these candles tonight & for the next seven days to remind ourselves of the spirit that is within each of us and the guiding light we offer to each other.

shanti shalom all beloved bodhisattvas near to our hearts!!! thank-you for being here with us in this mad, mad world of veils, tears & touching, forever touching...

Winter Mist, Loss in the Himalaya, Summer Plans, A Cambodian New Year's & Gary's Wisconsin Retreat...

it's rather cold out this morning. morning mist so thick there is no horizon or hills beyond the fog. i'm typing away at 7:30 am after josh & ms. leah trundled off to school & while ez & shaks sleep. i hear the sound of tek bahadur outside sweeping the morning leaves off the terrace & dear gita down in the kitchen cleaning up after last night's biryani dinner. as for me, i'm dressed in the same ochre fleece jacket, boxers & socks i wore to sleep last night.

winter in the third world remains a shivering affair. in kathmandu, we don't get the heaps of snow outside the window, the sleety roads or the joys of godly white crystals raining from the sky -- and within an hour here there will be a luscious blue sky over head -- but, the chill factor inside our homes at night-time is the price we pay for a dire lack of government services & modern amenities. of course, after so many years, i'm used to it, i.e. until winter comes and we crowd our space heaters in the evening & snuggle next to each other & our rubber water bottles at night.

if anyone's looking for a good holiday read, i highly recommend, "an inheritance of loss' by kiran desai. for anyone w/ some affection for beloved south asia or simply interested in how the mad rush to globalization affects the lingering, chattering & revolutionary classes, it's a beautiful, funny &, of course, slightly tragic story. as some may know, kiran just won the british booker prize for this novel. shaks & i loved it. although it was lambasted here by a writer who felt that she was too racist toward the nepalis. not exactly my impression (it's a novel, after all...). but then that may say something about the vulnerable state of the nepali identity these days given all the whiplashes of political fate and uncertainty in the country over the past few year years. sometimes we, too, feel like one of kiran's characters whose fate is wrapped up in larger issues & events outside of their control...

it sounds early, but we just used our latent nw (or, as ez says w/ a smile: northworst...) miles for a nearly six week trip to europe & the states next summer (even though i'll have only four weeks of official vacation...). we don't really have any plans, but it seemed wise, if we were going to draw down some of the 400,000 miles that i'd accumulated over the years, to book early -- so absolutely unlike us!! ;-) the boys are already scheming to dump us for the ten days in europe so that ez can run around copenhagen w/ his buddy, oliver, while josh may join lisa, his german girlfriend, in deutschland or flee together to spain. i had hoped to go together for a short walk in the swiss alps, but the teenagers are looking past their parents already, alas. then, a month looking at colleges in america, maybe a week in the adirondacks, time w/ family and, no doubt, a strong urge to get home to our own beds & lives toward the end of that time...

more closer to the horizon, over new year's, we are off to scott's new riverine home south of phnom penh. he's so excited by this latest wonder in his life and, it seems, to have been a joyous salve for the passing of his two biggest daughters from the home and the compounded rigors of a life in the un system. the last two thanksgivings, my amherst friend & best man had come up here to enjoy a bit of autumn while spending a week w/ us in kathmandu, so i'm glad to return the friendship and get away from the winter cold. we usually have gone to thailand, but i'm off there these days, w/ too much commericialism and the after-affects of the tsunami still in my short-term memories. a quiet week on a river in cambodia, reading, swimming, chatting sounds best.

i was, curiously, last night thinking, too, of my friend gary's lakeside home in wisconsin. shaks, leah, ez & i were watching the movie, 'notebook', and there are lovely scenes of the main character in his small white boat out on his alabama lake. for some reason, i thought of gary & his w/end retreat and how fortunate he must be to have a place of quiet & solitude.

sometimes, i think i'm getting ready to retreat from the world... is that ever possible?

58th Int'l Human Rts Day: Social Inclusion and Human Rights

The Himalayan Times
EDITORIAL, December 11th, 2006
 
Social inclusion and human rights
Keith D Leslie

In the mid 1980s, my work in rural Nepal included building schools in remote villages. There was one aspect of my project that haunts me till date. When I compared the roster of those building the schools with the students who attended them, a remarkable fact emerged: the surnames of those involved in contruction were always different from those attending the school. The toiling adults were usually from Vishwakarma (BK), Pariyar and Sarki families, whereas the children studying in the school were from Subedi, Karki and Shrestha families.

It was apparent that Nepal was a distinctly hierarchical society that had been defined and predetermined by caste, gender and ethnicity. In fact, before 1963, Nepali Dalits were forbidden to attend government schools by the Muluki Ain. This century-old national law kept hard-working castes in the shadows of society, suppressed by a historical and religious proscription that allowed them to build the local schools — but didn’t permit their children to attend them.

Later, when our programme moved north to the remote mountains, where the Gurung, Ghaley and Baramu live, I could see that many Janjati (ethnic) communities receded from power - not sought it - over Nepal’s long and turbulent history. Similarly, in the Terai and the hills surrounding Kathmandu, the social and political barriers to education, property and political power were equally visible among the landless Maithali Dalits, the disenfranchised majority Terai Tharu and the intentionally exploited Tamang communities. Such cultural and economic realities were visible but rarely discussed. Quality was seen as the antithesis of diversity, not a core component of Nepal’s rich culture.

Only recently have Kathamndu-centric civil society, donors and national leaders used the words, “Social Exclusion”, “Unequal Citizens” or “Ethnic Discrimination” as acceptable terms to describe the impact of rigid national hierarchy. Now that a peaceful process to create a “New Nepal” has begun, it is essential that universal human rights be made the foundation of Nepal as established by the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the International Covenant on Economic, Social & Cultural Rights, and the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination. Although past governments signed such documents, the nation has never fulfilled its commitment.

Hence political parties and government representatives have to assume the mantle for changing this social disparity. Only when indigenous communities have access to similar educational opportunities as ‘high caste’ students will Nepal achieve a society that measures up to its ideals. Only when the rights of ex-kamaiyas to own home and land are secured will Nepal’s reality match its rhetoric. Only when Musahar and Dom children can afford to attend school and not work in dangerous brick factories will Nepal be secure and prosperous. Only when the children of soft-spoken Tamang community now working as domestics in urban homes achieve positions of authority in the government will the face of Nepal truly change.

Only when the rights of Nepali children of all castes, ethnicities and religions are protected and promoted by parents, communities and government will Nepal know the comfort of peace.

Learning To Be Silent

The pupils of the Tendai school used to study meditation before Zen entered Japan. Four of them who were intimate friends promised to observe seven days of silence.

On the first day all were silent. The meditation had begun auspiciously, but when night came and the oil lamps were growing dim, one of the students couldn't help exclaiming to a servant, "Fix that oil lamp!"

The second student was surprised to hear the first one speak. "We are not supposed to say a word." he said.

"You two are stupid. Why did you talk?" asked the third.

"I am the only one who has not talked.", concluded the fourth pupil.

Zen Flesh Zen Bones
Compiled by Paul Reps

Flower Girls, Space Heaters & the Apple of Desire...

Leah & Shaks are sitting in front of the gas space heater, while Ez has his own heater as he lays in bed downstairs on his iBook. Josh is out for dinner w/ his buddies on the last night their favorite teacher from last year, Chip Faircloth, is in town. It's a slow Monday night here in Kathmandu...

Winter in Nepal leaves a lingering chill in the air here on the southern slopes of the Himalaya. We're at 5,000+' with magnificent sun from the early morning, but there is a dry breeze in the evening coming off the 25,000' mountains only ten or twenty miles to the north. Of course, our home was really designed for the tropics of Bali, not the Himalaya. We have eight sets of sliding glass doors downstairs, plus a couple of normal swinging doors, as well. Purrrfect for ten months of the year here, when the low hanging sun on the horizon rises high & long enough to warm the inside of the home. But during the "darkest day of the year" (as Frost wrote of New England...), the single digit centigrade temperatures pour in through the cracks in the handmade wooden window frames and coat the thin, ice-like glass that shelters us from the black skies outside.

I remember the first time I met a 'space heater' at a friend of Alma's off Greenwich Green when Scott & I landed in London the first week of March 1978. After decades of natural gas flowing unnoticed through our homes in America, warming the insides of our houses while snow piled high outside, it was a bit of a shock to realize that not all of the world had the easy comforts of our American middle class world.

Now, decades after having made my home in Kathmandu, when early December arrives, these handsome Italian heaters come out of the closets to protect us from these dark nights & hot water bottles warm our beds before we slip in to sleep. Such are the minor changes and adjustments one almost forgets to notice after so many years away...

Yet, like you, night follows day, and sleep calls after a busy and fulfilling day. The doors on my work on the other side of town are closed, the office lights off. Now, as Leah lying on the floor finishes her last drawing of a flower girl (with a colorful wreath of flowers around her head), the BBC news on in the background, the low rumble of the gas heater churning out warmth, I finish my ruminations and head to our bedroom. Leah will pick out a few books to read before she sleeps. I'll take my "Botany of Desire" to dream of apples and, perchance, a gentler myth of love...

Ms. Leah Learns to Use the Phone... Keith Goes to Work... Ezra Gets A Cast... Josh Plays Basketball & Shaku Creates A "Namuna Nepal"

leah's on the phone now; it starts early! nicole, her teacher, has the kids practicing their numbers by offering them the chance to do what they love to do best: chat with their friends. leah likes it so much she's whooshed past the three kids who she was supposed to call for her 'homework' and is now moving on to choying, one of her other buddies. i believe that this is a red letter day, as it's ms. leah's first official, individual, personally-made calls. she's a bit shy (not much actually...), but she's leaning against me as i type seeking bodily reassurance as she sallies forth in the world of disembodied poetics. now, isn't homework FuN??!!

i'm back from another day in the orifice, which was mainly out in meetings with our key colleagues and government counterparts. i had a couple of hours in my room before we also 'sallied forth' with lances in our hands to tilt at the windmills of our minds. in this case, we are still working to ensure that the clauses in the interim constitution (which is overdue to be promulgated by the seven party alliance & maoists as part of the initial phase of this peace deal). there are some serious questions regarding the independence of the NHRC (national human rights commission) as it is currently written in the legislation. according to the 'paris principles' that define the basic ground rules for such national institutions, they should be fully separated from the executive branch in order that they are not influenced by such political considerations in order to fulfill its mandate of protecting, defending & promoting the human rights of its citizens. there are other aspects of the new constitutional clauses, as well, that we are seeking support on, e.g. a broader & more diverse membership of the commissioners, greater powers et al.

in this sense, my new work is more political than being director of an ingo and more involved in the political transformation of the country, which, of course, is fascinating. there appears to be an effort to make truly historical changes in the composition and structure of the nation during the coming year. it's impossible to know how successful this will be, given the profoundly status quo nature of most politicians and the many unknowns about the maoists, including their sincerity to participate in a multi-party government, rather than a revolutionary one. peace agreements have been signed in the past week which is a positive sign, but also, in another sense, merely the starting gun (at least less threatening the actual guns they have been carrying for years...) for the new games to begin. how well these disparate parties learn or desire to work together will go a long way to determining how well this peace process goes in 2007...

as for the home front, ez has a cast on his left ankle/leg after tearing some ligaments around his ankle in a basketball practice on the w/end. it's rather a drag as he would have played some in the upcoming saisa (south asia international schools association) tournament at lincoln school this coming w/end. but, at least he's only in 9th grade and has some years ahead to play. josh is the starting center (at 6'3") so we'll still be there when the games begin.

and, shaku is out finalizing her new social activist organization, "namuna nepal" (model nepal) to advocate for greater proportional representation for the disadvantaged groups, particularly the 'janjati' ethnics and the dalits (former untouchables) of the country in the new political process. she has a great group of people w/ her and they are soon going public with their ambition... move over politicians, there's a new wind blowing...

Shakun's Childhood Quiz

I remember a childhood quiz:

There was a farmer who had to cross a bridge with three conflicting issues from his farm- a bundle of grass, a goat and a tiger. The bridge could only hold the weight of one and himself. In the challenge of delivering all three safely across the bridge, he would have to assure that one did not fail bait to the other. The issue for his survival as well as each of them depended not only in his insight but also his wide-angled intelligence. He had to deliver them across by taking them one by one. But if he did this, he would have to sacrifice one, as each served as the fodder for the other. If he carried the grass across and came back to get the goat he would find the goat missing. If he asked the tiger to follow first, on his return, he would find the jaws of the goat cuding away the grass. The only puzzle in the scenario was that the tiger had no taste for grass and the grass had no brains for either of them. In this, lay the answer for the farmer.

Nepali people will have to cross the bridge of democracy and deliver safely all Nepalese of caste/ ethnicities and women. The victory of the Maoists, to me, is like cow dung in cheese souffle. Their 2-3 days of cleaning campaign in Thamel is no different than their whim to wipe out clean, a community building or school in Myagdi. Should I or other, thinking and feeling Nepalese, consider the smile of a Hyena, signing a peace contract, an auspicious sign? A Hyena just does not know how to wipe out that clean smile off his face, even while preying and praying. Nepali denizens are constantly lured by cutting of ribbons, vermilion blessed foreheads, lighting diyas, handshakes, namastes, sweeping propaganda. and promises of reservations and so forth. All promises that bring us back to the colloquial "Mangal Man".

Every decade since 1940s, Nepal has garnered mass movements, only to fall prey to consequential governments which take you no further than the delusions of a caste based representation of the very nature of what it is fighting against. It's like rolling the dice and getting the same number four times. The hierarchy of caste/class conflict continues with even more gusto and vengeance in the present context as there is the economic, global factor to reckon with, reinforcing power like fueling a tank.

King Pritivi Narayan's "char varna 36 jaat ko phulbari" (Garden of Dreams) could not see King Gyanandra through the April Andolan. The symbol of his forefather's "up you" finger of oneness, has converted his statue into a red, look-alike, veiled and devout Muslim (the color red is to honor the Maoist flavor of the day) in front of Singa Durbar.

The 7 parties professing democracy for Nepal can barely pronounce the fundamental rights and directive principles in their own backyard, Their fundamental concerns are- me, my and mine badis. They speak for the people but who are the people to them?

After the Andolan, when they blatantly elect three representatives in the election commission; all brahmins- Bhoj Raj Ghimiri, Usha Nepal (a brahmin woman) and Nil Khanta Upreti; is this their genuine understanding of one representing all, for proportional representation and democracy? This is only one example, the rest is an unchanged pattern of business as usual.

What about the Arms Management agreement? Is it peaceful to be stupid? Lock them up in high tech cantonements and hand over the keys to the Maoists while the UN gets to play the Pundit. This is the ceremony of confusion. It is like asking a man-eating tiger to shut his mouth with a lock and let him keep the keys, when a plump breakfast is being served. The UN is adorned a "Group Four" authority with chaukidar status, policing the cheese while the cats have free access to milk. Why not have a lock that does not need a key? Why does the Pundit not have the power to configure a code number that is it's own mantra?

When the likes of me hear Mr. Dahal, alias Prachanda, say that he is going to turn Nepal into Europe in another decade, I am just wondering what Andolan will gear up in the next ten years.

The Nepalese are facing the challenges of damning the devil you know and the devil you don't know, syndrome. As long as the government and the donors are not able to respond to Nepal's diverse citizenry through broad based inclusion, Nepal will remain a failed state while I remain a sardonic rat scurring the traffic in Kathmandu.

History’s Dragon Awakes from a Deep Slumber

History’s Dragon Awakes from a Deep Slumber


The lights of the city begin to fill the darkened sky, while we wrap our minds around a table of ideas, questions and humor. The day passes as we seek lessons from our history and the work that fills our lives. Colleagues have come from Nepal’s five regions to meet amid the green hills of Godavari, a bit south of Kathmandu, where we won’t be disturbed during this weekend conference.

As we drove out this morning from Harihar Bhawan, the decaying 19th century Rana palace where we have our office, we passed buses of young Maoist supporters heading into Kathmandu for their celebrations of the recent peace agreement. They gathered at Ratna Park, posters of their hero, “Prachanda” – the ‘fierce one’ – plastered all over the city.

I wonder, sitting around this emerald table cloth, as the day slips by, a mid-November chill creeping down from the nearby ridges, are we on the cusp of a remarkable historical change in Nepal or merely another false dawn for the aspirations of the struggling people of this transformed ancient land?

Of course, there is much to celebrate w/ the promised end of a ten year conflict that has kept the country in a state of suspended animation for over a decade. The wearisome fear of night-time attacks in district centers and isolated incidents in the cities has waned. The wasteful destruction of the limited infrastructure of the country may be over. The constant pressure among the rural schools to send students to Maoist indoctrinations or close them to protest the handing of local management back to communities may, possibly, at last, be over.

There is cause for hope after the Maoists and Seven Parties signed their peace accords. Yet, equally, there is cause for concern given the politicians past history of failing the Nepali people and, too often, putting personal gain & prestige above realistic compromises and sensitivity to the suffering of others.

Or, is this merely, as is said, either ‘the beginning of the end’ or the ‘end of the beginning’? We wait and watch and seek for the echoes of experience to guide us on the path ahead.

Fortunately, the past is not necessarily a roadmap to the future. We can hope that the current context -- and even the individuals -- have changed enough that they, too, are weary of the anxieties and uncertainties that this internecine conflict has inflicted upon our darkened Himalayan landscape.

Clearly, Nepal had begun the process of shedding a mottled and lengthy skin when I arrived in this once sacred Valley a quarter century ago. The final hoary breaths of a once palatial Gorkha history were drawing to an astonishing close. The creaky door of history was shutting, at last, on a formal, musty, feudal past.

Whatever their crimes, give the Maoists credit for analyzing their country’s fading moment in history and hastening a weakened and discredited system over a fin de 20th siecle mountain cliff. They may have used brutal, revolutionary means in their quest to overturn the forms of a decaying history -- but they understood that with enough pressure (cookers…), they could ensure its eventual self-destruction.

Tonight, we sit around the table discussing the structure of the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) at a time when the high tide of the peace process carries the human rights violations of the nation's leaders furtively into the shadowed corners of the room.

Even as the “PEACE IN NEPAL” documents preach the values and aspirations of human rights, the reality is that the desire to find acceptable forms of a manageable peace mean that the painful facts of past human rights abuses -- possibly only temporarily -- are obscured by the hopeful headlines announcing an end to this sad war.

As night settles around us here out on the edge of the Valley, it’s easy to wonder what these national leaders, the men in whom we must place our faith, are thinking. Are they pleased with themselves? Is there a trace of self-righteousness in having come so close, at last, to their political ambitions? Or, perchance, is there equally a sense of loss of so many other's lives, of villagers who have lived in fear for so long or the women who became youthful widows and the children who have missed years of school they will never see again?

Do these large political men reflect like the rest of us? Do they wonder about the impact of their own words and actions over these past ten years? In the quiet of their minds are they able to acknowledge some of their own guilt or responsibility for the lifelong suffering of others?

Or, are these men of history for whom there is no past -- only their idealized future they see on the distant horizon. Having achieved rehabilitation and resurrection among the heights of Kathmandu political culture, are they busy scheming to gain even more power for themselves in the months ahead. Or, is this initial step towards collaboration and compromise a sincere promise of further accommodation and responsibility in the future?

Tonight, do they look out their windows and see the same darkness that I see? It’s quite black outside. Only the fragile, flickering lights of the city below -- like a valley of butter lamps, small ‘battis’ at the feet of the eternal Himalaya. Like the prayers of millions of simple souls who will never have a seat around the peace talks table. People who ‘endure’ -- in Faulkner’s famous phrase. Nepalis who walk to work or sit in crowded micros, who struggle to feed their families and dream of modest successes by which to measure their worlds.

People for whom prayer is still a form of communication.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday Evening in Kathmandu

Friends & Family,

Well, as an unrepentant Luddite in the Himalaya, I created one blogspot a week ago (with Ez's help...) and then, promptly, forgot exactly what I'd done...

So, while Joshua is watching his beloved Liverpool battle the favored Arsenal in their home turf, and Ez, his adored Man United having already seen off Blackburn last night, having gone to bed, I'm taking second chance at starting a new Lesliechand family blog.

Of course, there's much to reflect upon, both within the family & w/in the daily life of Nepal -- but I'll save that for later this week, once Josh assures me that this website is up with the family site that he & Ez created last month.

So, while Shakun and Ms. Leah sleep, I'll say, 'goodnight'. xoxo, K.