The extinct slug

Slugs have gone extinct from my garden, I no longer see them. They would have healed your broken bones, People say. Put them inside a banana And swallow them whole, they say. One woman tells me of a Newar mother Who would fry up the slugs  and feed it to her tubercular daughter who lived in the dank and the damp of Ason’s secretive courtyards. Solicitous, loving. Telling her daughter only: “I brought you fish.” And the daughter in turn would urge her: “Eat, eat, eat the fish, do.” The mother insisted: “No, you must eat them.” Finally the young woman recovered, And became fat and strong. And lived to learn That she had been eating slugs all along. I fed my mother those black slugs when she broke her hips-- Perhaps three kilogrammes, my butcher tells me. You can find them in Shivapuri  during the monsoon. I can get them, I have some afanta who can find them for you, Free of cost. The slugs don’t cost anything.

Art As A Call To Action

Image You can read about my art "The Quake" in the "The Art of Resilience" exhibition at the World Bank. 

2020-2030: The decade of hope

Scroll down to find out what I think this decade is about. *** Happy new decade, everyone! We will phase out #fossil fuel in 2020-2030. 2020-2030: More room for greenery, flora and fauna; less room for billionaire #CEOs and TNCs. I hope this #decade also becomes the decade when the world stops loving big #corporations . 2020-2030: The decade of #solar energy. Lithium batteries, molecular solar thermal storage, solar panels that can be pasted like stickers or unfold like flowers...!   2020-2030: The decade of #rewilding . 2020-2030: The Decade of #Natural #Agriculture . No more tons of #glyphosate dessicating millions of acres of lands and setting off apocalyptic fires as in Canada and Australia. 2020-2030: The decade in which people start to question whether #technology is eating their brains for lunch. #surveillance #techfascism   2020-2030: The decade of living #harmoniously with #nature . 2020-2030: The decade of #peace . Whe

The Art of Resilience



Published in Emanations, November 2018 I stood at the window of the hotel for a long time, staring at the full moon. I was in Yangon!  The unreality of the moment was breathtaking. How does a woman from Kathmandu find herself alone in Yangon, traveling across South East Asia, with the express purpose to write a book? The statistical impossibility of such an event made me pause. If I had been an European or American traveler, I may have seen that moment as a little adventurous, perhaps exciting, but nothing too much of the ordinary. After all, people like me would have done it a thousand times before. Almost all documented explorers, travelers and travel writers are white males (and sometimes females), and thousands, perhaps millions, of them travel to Yangon all the time. A man from my well-educated Brahmin community could find himself in Yangon, and perceive it as a little out of the normal course of the path of achievement prescribed for him, but nothing drastically out of