And who to stage a bandh (roadblock) this time but the former majority government party in charge, the Maoists? If the ruling party of the country can stage a bandh, anybody can. The only thing is, these guys are much better (worse?) at it.
They assemble early in the morning, 10-20 people per group, all of them blocking key intersections to the Ring Road. What is the purpose of it? Again, consider shutting down the Interstate 5 Freeway in Los Angeles or the Beltway in DC, and there’s your answer. Without traffic there can’t be any business. Most shops don’t even bother to open, save for the token mom-and-pop stores inside the Ring Road. The Ring Road without cars is an eerie sight, and the Maoists know it. Their protest against an untimely demise of one of their leaders (supposedly poisoned) is a good enough reason to neutralize Nepal’s businesses for a day, they seem to think. Even at this early hour I cycle to work, fully aware there probably won’t be any work that day.
It takes all of thirty minutes to prove me right as the announcement comes through the PA system. No work then. One of my colleagues lives close by, so I phone him. Up for a run in the hills? You bet, he says. You can always count on William for a good run.
In hot and sticky countries, it is best to run early in the morning, except that it doesn’t seem to make any difference here. We had a run the day before at eight a.m. and agreed it might be feasible to run an hour earlier. The difference was marginal, to say the least, kind of like the difference between playing soccer in a sauna or an outhouse. My stamina is quite good, but this time even I wilt toward the end of the run. The climate can make a difference.
The bigger challenge will be getting through the bandh, though. Our run took us through rice paddies and forest, hardly noteworthy spots to carry out bandhs at. So it’s back to the Ring Road on my bike, and even more protesters. Those who are not early risers have joined in by now. When I reach the intersection closest to my house, people get off their bikes. I follow suit. I am not going to fool around with people boasting their fighting experience. Hell, they probably invented the bandh here. One of the men from the protesting crowd steps into the middle of the road. Without a word he points his finger and slowly waves it up and down. Dismount is the message. Get off the bikes or risk losing them or pushing them home deflated.
Whenever I pass a bandh, I get off my bike, lower my head and go my way. I will not argue with these people. So many people I know call them ‘thugs’. Whether this is true or not hardly concerns me. This is no time to be a hero.
Hundreds of pedestrians continue to crowd the Ring Road like people forced into exile. I climb up my roof and can’t hear anything, which is no surprise being that the main culprits of noise (cars) are out of action for the day. Suddenly, out of thin air I hear a little boy singing from the top of his lungs. I will never know what he sang, but I just remember this high pitched voice lingering above Kathmandu, the mountains around the valley serving as an ideal backdrop. Is he singing about peace? Suffering? Is it support for the Maoists? I so wish I knew.
Later reports come over the radio about vandalized vehicles and clashes with the police. The bandh is terminated around six o’clock, a full day’s work done by the Maoists, a full day’s work lost by the rest of us. And we are told there is more to come.
They assemble early in the morning, 10-20 people per group, all of them blocking key intersections to the Ring Road. What is the purpose of it? Again, consider shutting down the Interstate 5 Freeway in Los Angeles or the Beltway in DC, and there’s your answer. Without traffic there can’t be any business. Most shops don’t even bother to open, save for the token mom-and-pop stores inside the Ring Road. The Ring Road without cars is an eerie sight, and the Maoists know it. Their protest against an untimely demise of one of their leaders (supposedly poisoned) is a good enough reason to neutralize Nepal’s businesses for a day, they seem to think. Even at this early hour I cycle to work, fully aware there probably won’t be any work that day.
It takes all of thirty minutes to prove me right as the announcement comes through the PA system. No work then. One of my colleagues lives close by, so I phone him. Up for a run in the hills? You bet, he says. You can always count on William for a good run.
In hot and sticky countries, it is best to run early in the morning, except that it doesn’t seem to make any difference here. We had a run the day before at eight a.m. and agreed it might be feasible to run an hour earlier. The difference was marginal, to say the least, kind of like the difference between playing soccer in a sauna or an outhouse. My stamina is quite good, but this time even I wilt toward the end of the run. The climate can make a difference.
The bigger challenge will be getting through the bandh, though. Our run took us through rice paddies and forest, hardly noteworthy spots to carry out bandhs at. So it’s back to the Ring Road on my bike, and even more protesters. Those who are not early risers have joined in by now. When I reach the intersection closest to my house, people get off their bikes. I follow suit. I am not going to fool around with people boasting their fighting experience. Hell, they probably invented the bandh here. One of the men from the protesting crowd steps into the middle of the road. Without a word he points his finger and slowly waves it up and down. Dismount is the message. Get off the bikes or risk losing them or pushing them home deflated.
Whenever I pass a bandh, I get off my bike, lower my head and go my way. I will not argue with these people. So many people I know call them ‘thugs’. Whether this is true or not hardly concerns me. This is no time to be a hero.
Hundreds of pedestrians continue to crowd the Ring Road like people forced into exile. I climb up my roof and can’t hear anything, which is no surprise being that the main culprits of noise (cars) are out of action for the day. Suddenly, out of thin air I hear a little boy singing from the top of his lungs. I will never know what he sang, but I just remember this high pitched voice lingering above Kathmandu, the mountains around the valley serving as an ideal backdrop. Is he singing about peace? Suffering? Is it support for the Maoists? I so wish I knew.
Later reports come over the radio about vandalized vehicles and clashes with the police. The bandh is terminated around six o’clock, a full day’s work done by the Maoists, a full day’s work lost by the rest of us. And we are told there is more to come.
0 comments