On the D

I think I’ve found my new best friends: canned and frozen food. Say everything you want to say about them, but as a student, or as a single person living in a foreign land, believe me they do tend to become your best friends.

So it’s been two weeks that I’m here in London. Kitchen is not exactly the place where I want to hang out. But as it seems I have to make compromises. But some compromises are easy, I suppose. Thanks canned and frozen food items.

But how long can you survive on that, right? Well, five years in the US and I should have at least learned something. But no. So like it or not, as it seems, I have to make that effort to step into the kitchen and try to make something once in a while.

And in these two weeks, I think I have done that. Maybe two times or three when I really craved for some spicy, authentic Nepali/Indian food., I’ve made that genuine effort (or not) to actually make something. But then again it involved the pre-prepared, canned stuff. Thank god!

So what I did—got this Biryani sauce (like the pasta sauce ones), made some rice and just mixed it. It was yummy! I think that’s the only food I have made except fixing some sandwiches and pasta. And whenever I go to the supermarket, I make a point to get some pre-cooked Indian veggies.

And yes, there are tons of stores that sell Indian stuff—right from chips to chana masala and everything else. Be it Dallas or London, think we should be very thankful to the desi community for without their humongous population, and the stores that sprouted later, I wouldn’t have had the luxury to buy food that reminds me of home.

Not a big sucker for food (as you can figure), but yea, sometimes, you can’t help those cravings. So until I don’t know when, the pre-cooked spicy Indian food, frozen, canned and ready-to-eat stuff is what I’m holding on to.

In the last six years, I have moved into three continents and over five cities—from a small town in West Virginia to the shores of Maryland and down south to Dallas-Fort Worth to across the ocean in Mumbai, settling down in Kathmandu for a while, and now again, making a big move to London.

All these years, moving from one state to another, one city to the other and finally making the move from one country to another, it’s never been easy. As you’re settling down, getting used to the place and trying to make that once unknown, weird and unfamiliar place home, it’s time to move again. That’s how the 21st century world is I guess—you’re just on a constant move.

And with that move the entire dynamics of love, life and relationships changes too.

The move to London hasn’t been easy. Well, yes, I’ve been on a move for a while, but as they say home is where the heart is. I mean, I literally have a love-hate relationship with my city. I hated it while I was there, but deep down the love never died. And of course, it’s where my loved ones dwell, it’s where I’ve been acquainted with love, it’s where I have discovered my passion, and it’s where I’ve had a chance to breed that passion of mine. And moving on doesn’t mean leaving it all behind, forgetting all those people and relationships I believe on. Oh well…

So now here I am in London, one city that I forever dreamed of visiting. Here I am now living here for a while, at least until I finish school.

Out of Heathrow, with an address of one of my dad’s friends, and tons of baggage I walked out. This time at least I had an address; it wasn’t like in Mumbai where I moved without anywhere to go. All I had was a broker’s number. Well…

So lucky me that my dad’s friend was there to pick me at the airport. Good that he helped me with my luggage and then we were off. It’s always great to be welcomed by daal-bhaat for dinner. I know I’m going to miss daal-bhaat!

And as of today, three days of moving into the residence halls, I am surviving on pre-cooked frozen food, bread, bagels, coffee and fruits. Well, that works.  And as a student, I mean, it’s again finding free food…let’s hope…

And yay, I’m back to school. That’s what this move is for. That’s why I am in London.

So it was first day of school—back to J-school again. Ad in a few days, it’ll be back to day-long classes, back to reporting, back to bitching…maybe not. Westminster does remind me a lot of TCU, especially the building and classes, they’re alike Moudy. I’ve yet to disover if there’s a newsroom like the Skiff. I know there’s a magazine called Smoke. Hmm..even the names start from “S.”

The first day of class went pretty well. It was basically all introductions, and I’m glad to have a large group of international classmates—from neigboring India and China to South Korea, Egypt, Palestine, Germany, Spain, Italy, my favorite US, and the UK.  Looks like it’s going to be a great cultural living and learning experience.

Speaking of the cultural experience, my roommate happens to be a French-Irishman. When I walked into the room, all I saw was a guitar, and I thought to myself that it’s pretty cool that my roommate plays the guitar. And turns out he is a musician. The past days, he’s played and sung in the room, and he ain’t bad at all.

So here is how I basically am summing up my move so far—totally the informal way.

As I sit here, thinking of tomorrow’s assignment—and also working on it—my mind is also hovered by memories of the past, of Kathmandu. I’m thinking about the city and the people. I’m unpacking my memories that I carried along with me. I’m relishing the moments that I spent with some special people.  Without you all, it wouldn’t have been real.

And as someone said to me days before I left, “Real smile means real happiness.” And I know I’m gonna be back for that wicked happiness. Soon.

Dreams do come true, you just need to believe in them and believe in what you’re doing. That’s the lesson I’m taking with me after working 19 months in Nepal, after having realizing my dream of becoming that reporter that I always wanted to be.

I remember the first time I walked into Republica’s office, a day after I returned to Nepal. And then I knew that I was working for the paper from the next day. And from Jan 3, 2010 to this date, Republica and especially its weekend edition The Week has been an integral part of my life.

The first time I walked inside the newsroom, I recall the strange faces of my future colleagues, some of them who have just transformed into what you call close friends. Without The Week, and without these group of friends, trust me, my life in Kathmandu would have been depressing. I would now be suffering from some frustration syndrome or something.

From that first story that I did for The Week to my last one from Kathmandu, I have matured as a reporter, I now respect my profession more, and don’t even get me talking on the passion: it’s life for me. I recall my first story—I had to go and meet NPR’s Jay Allison for a story, and that too in an area that I had never heard of. Thirty minutes of losing track of where I was going, and 15 minutes of frantic asking around, I arrive at the place 45 minutes late. But in these 19 months, I don’t think I’ve made any excuses for being late because I tried not to—I always respected the value of time and deadline. I’ve had frustrations over time—people not showing up for interviews, making me wait for more than two hours or bailing out when I am already there, but I just took it as a challenge of working in Nepal. And yes, how can I forget those press conferences where the host starts an hour late assuming the journalists will be hour late and the journalists reach an hour late assuming that the hosts will start late!

Then a series of stories that I have written over these 19 months, the people I met and came across, the interviews—they’ll always remain close to my heart for the amount of love, passion and dedication that I’ve put in those stories. There have been stories that I just didn’t know how to start, some were boring, and some just not so cool, but I did them all, and I think from every story and my sources, I have learned something.

Also, it’s The Week that gave me an opportunity to explore my own country. I mean, I would never have trekked up to the Everest Base Camp, visit a rural village in Solukhumbu, go on a overnight trip to Birgunj or even go visit Salyan in Midwest Nepal. But it was all work, and I’m glad I got an opportunity to see these places, meet some amazing people there and then delve into stories that made sense. And oh, how can I forget my grand South Africa work trip and then that amazing Bryan Adams concert that I got to write about—too bad we couldn’t interview him.

So I’ve talked a lot about The Week, but believe me, it’s the people who work at The Week that makes The Week what it’s like. It’s an amazing group of team and the teamwork and the effort we all put, the outcome of which you read every Friday.

Inside the newsroom, at The Week cubicle, there’s just an amazing energy. There’s always music. There’s always someone laughing—well, that’s me most of the times. We whine, complain, bitch but at the end of the day don’t mind staying until midnight on Wednesdays to finish our stories and then past midnight on Thursdays for the production of The Week.

Oh Thursdays. I remember my first one and here’s apparently my last one today. Thursdays at The Week is synonymous to so many things: deadlines, stress, getting mad at the designers, I mean crazy mad, proofing and then of course HUNGER. It’s Thursday nights late in the newsroom, we are always a bunch of hungry people. So if you’re a fan of The Week, someone reading this, please deliver food in the newsroom late Thursday nights!

Arpan, thank you for being the amazing editor and a friend that you have been. I know that a lot of people don’t get along with you or vice versa, but you’re just yourself. You are definitely on the list of the coolest bosses.

Sumina Karki, where do I even start from? It’s like we’re twins. I don’t know how the hell in the world we share similar clothes—talking about colors, prints, styles! I know you’ll do well, and I’ll miss your fashion show. But we’re meeting soon in that city!

Ujjwala, I’ll kinda miss pulling your hair and then poking with you pens and coming to you and saying, “Have you finished your story?!” Keep posting the videos of your poetry performances, and I’ll enjoy it there!

Shreya Thapa. Hmm. Should I write something about you? Hehe. Well, I know I’ve irritated you a lot, and when I say lot, a lot. Maybe a little less than Sumina, but I admit you have been a victim too. And I am sure you will miss that. And thanks for all those comics. I’ll flaunt them with pride to everyone in London. You never know, I might just get published!

Alok, well sometimes your blabbering is just too much and I’m like—STOP. But well, we need sometime who can just help us laugh and pass on those gossips and news from the world of celebritydom while we’re lunching or sipping tea at our regal Hyangs.

Pravat or Parabhat. The snobby, snooty little princess. Well, we didn’t even talk for a few months when you joined and now we’re a part of the three musketeers—you, Sumina and me. I hope you find the third partner but remember, I need someone who can replace me though you guys said I am irreplaceable! And oh, how can I thank you for all those drunken drop offs. And that speeding was scary—only once but scary!

Kanchan, well I think I’ve irritated and annoyed you enough as well. But seriously, the newsroom does miss you. That’s all I got to say.

And dear Shitu sister, you’ve been an inspiration. That’s all I have to say. And thank you for the GPI gig and the lunch boxes that you bring to office. Oh god, this makes you seem like an old lady. But hey all, she isn’t old.

Oh wow, as it seems, I am really going to miss the newsroom. I’m going to miss my cubicle. And I’m really going to miss the moments I’ve spent here. It’s my second home, literally. We spend like so much time here that my house has become like a guest house or something where I just go and crash in my bed and eat and then shower.

Working at The Week has never been work for me, it’s always been something fun, something that I was waiting for. I’m so glad that I chose to come to The Week and not go anywhere else—the experience wouldn’t have been the same, I bet. And the opportunities and the flexibility The Week has, it’s just unbelievable. I mean, I can come to work in my green shorts, orange tshirt and yellow shoes!

Well, as I am moving on, I’d like to thank the entire The Week team and then our editor-in-chief for Republica for having the trust on me and letting me work the way I wanted. But moving on doesn’t mean that I am leaving The Week. I’ll always remain a part of the team, wherever I am. I’m still going to be writing and you can still count on me if there is anything. I’ll always be ready to join the bandwagon called The Week and its “Mahan Gaurabshali Team.”

Thank you all. It’s been one helluva joyride. And I still say, I absofreakinglutely am in love with my job!