ShradhaGiriblogs

I work the 9 to 5 job so you would expect me to be ecstatic on the day my salary arrives. Nah. I get emotional and negative for the whole day still contemplating on why we pay taxes. Add up the salary tax, the car tax, the road tax, the home tax and the food tax. It’s appalling. With the amount I pay, I and you should have access to free education for our children and access to free quality health care. Although I kind of sucked at math in school, but when your hard earned money trickles down the drain I tend to add and subtract pretty good. A couple of week ago Nepalese witnessed the breakdown and chaotic Non-Resident Nepali (NRN) Association convention which led to the election of the new NRN President. The sight no doubt was chaotic but it also reminded me of the fight that broke in the parliament couple of years ago. The NRN’s complain regarding the systematic failures of doing clean business in Nepal yet they brandish the same image – their status, money and their change

Menstruation is a taboo. No one talks about it. Women do not openly purchase sanitary napkins. We pretend we don’t menstruate. We refrain from talking about our period at homes and at work places. I have always tried to reason with the stigma vis-à-vis the biological fact a female body goes through. Like how men have beards when they hit pubescent - girls bleed. What’s the big deal I repeat? Often, families and friends laud the teenage boys for sprouting one line moustache or a goatee. The boys are identified for being macho and finally a man. On the contrary, families hide their girls when they start their first period, ashamed when their bodies provide proof that the girl is perfectly healthy and normal. These young girls go on to believe that their bodies have betrayed them. They coax their bodies because suddenly it has made them impure. They can no longer mingle with the other sex openly; they must be mindful and often face exclusion from family functions. They are forced to a

The memories of my childhood are so vivid that I often wonder if it is all a déjà vu. I remember the friends that came over to my house or the time when we went out diving in fish ponds, riding a buffalo and stealing rice with the sole purpose to sell and buy back candies.  A couple of weeks back I was in my hometown that lies two kilometers away from Birtamode in Jhapa – called Buttabari. Being out and about 12 hours a day was how I spent my vacation – a rare occasion for children these days. Happy were the days when I would ride my ‘hand me down’ (from my brothers) bicycles and ride with my best friend – our cook’s daughter who was known as Kanchi (common name for the youngest for a female child). Round about 20 years later and I often think about that friend. It kind of sucks that I never bothered to ask her name – her real name. Did she have one? Of course, she did. Because she went to school, I say to myself repeatedly. Last I heard, she had two kids and it’s been almost tw

My dear daughter, you are only seven today but you will soon be seventeen. And when you become 17 I know the world will no longer be the same for you and I. We will be together in the same house but we will be distant apart in our heart and head. I was once 17 you know. And like everything else nothing is constant so before you grow up too fast I am writing a letter to you and the million other 17 year olds just like you. Love life - you are going to fall in love - hard. So hard that you are often dizzy with love. A love that is insignificant but withholds you from achieving all your dreams. Dreams that you dreamt when you were barely ten. Dreams that your parents dreamt for you when they first held you in their warm loving arms. Dreams that your mother dreamt for you when you were just a tadpole in her growing tummy. You are 17 and you have just graduated high school. At the verge of becoming an adult. You think you are big enough to make decisions and that you know the best f