How many girlfriends do you have?
Kamal Dev Bhattarai, editor at The Annapurna Express, abruptly asked me, “How many girlfriends do you have?”
He was clearly joking, but the question hit me—it stirred something in my mind. A flurry of feelings began rising and falling like waves. To comfort myself, I thought: in the prime of my youth, many girls were drawn to me. Believe it or not, there’s no boast in this—just a matter of fact. Some may dismiss it as vanity, others as self-praise. But as they say, self-praise is no recommendation, and I’ve always avoided that path.
Back in the 1960s, I had the opportunity to tour several foreign countries—nearly all of India, Thailand, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Japan, North Korea, and more. We flew via Royal Nepal Airlines to Calcutta and New Delhi, and from there, drove along the Grand Trunk Road to Haryana and Punjab. Haryana stood out to me—an agrarian heartland that had turned barren land into one of the most productive regions through the Bhakra Nangal Dam. That project, championed by India’s first Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, is globally recognized as a transformative achievement. Similarly, I visited the Suez Canal in Africa, built under the leadership of President Gamal Abdel Nasser.
I must admit, I often get carried away with my thoughts and stray from the main subject—please excuse me for that. But to return to the central question: how many girlfriends did I have?
This could be viewed from two angles: one, through the lens of physical attraction; the other, through the lens of family background and wealth. But rarely can both be found in balance. Personally, I’ve always preferred quiet elegance, paired with refined behavior—a sentiment that comes from the heart.
Without exaggeration, I open up a little about my youthful days. I was often chased by my college classmates, though I considered myself somewhat shy and reserved. A line from an old Indian movie comes to mind:
“Kaliyan ki muskaan hain, bhanwara bada nadan”— which loosely means, “The flowers are smiling, but the bee remains oblivious.” The metaphor is rich and sensitive—highlighting the magnetic power of charm and music, leaving the rest for onlookers to interpret.
That said, I remain content and confident. I believe that love and affection should be enduring—not just passing fascinations. True love must go deeper than mere excitement; it must be rooted in values. Influenced by Oriental philosophy, this belief has stayed with me. I was born a Nepali and wish to remain one—forever and always.
During a visit to Gujarat, possibly to Damodar Kund, Narendra Modi, the current prime minister of India, had just launched an initiative to preserve cultural heritage. As part of our tour, one lady from the Ladies’ Wing of the hosting department welcomed our delegation. Our team leader, Mr. Pratap Singh Basnet—an Ivy League graduate from Cornell University—introduced me as the youngest member of our ten-person team, a bachelor and a dedicated officer. I respectfully greeted everyone with a Namaskar.
That lady seemed quite taken by me. After our visit, Mr. Basnet, who had faith in my commitment to the Rural Development Department, told me the woman had expressed interest in marrying me to her only daughter. But I declined. I couldn’t accept giving up my Nepali identity or citizenship—not under any circumstances.
From there, we flew to Thailand, then onward to Hong Kong (then still a British colony), although we had no official program there. Next, we headed to Manila, the capital of the Philippines. During our reception, we mingled with participants from both countries. One humorous Filipino participant advised me, “Whenever you meet a Filipina, just say ‘Mahal Kita.’” I did so, innocently, to a quiet young woman who remained close to me throughout the tour.
It wasn’t until later that I asked another Filipino friend what Mahal Kita meant. He laughed and said, “It means ‘I love you.’”
I was shocked.
So, Kamal ji—does this address your playful curiosity? It’s all connected to your unexpected yet amusing question. I’ll share more next time, perhaps from my future academic venture to the Midwest, at Grant University.
Into the Fire: Timely and powerful
To begin, I congratulate Capt. Rameshwar Thapa for his brave and enthusiastic actions, flying through clouds of gunfire during hazardous bombardments. He is a dedicated and committed son of the soil, a brave national hero. Such individuals are rarely born, especially when the nation is in peril.
The people's revolution, which lasted for a decade, erupted sporadically across various remote regions of the Himalayan country. Threats and rising death tolls escalated fear and insecurity across the nation. My own hazardous experiences led me to frequently retreat to my dwelling as Maoists demonstrated even in the heart of Kathmandu. Fear and insecurity were pervasive throughout the country. I retired before negotiations flourished, something I can barely recall due to the toll age has taken on my memory.
Capt. Thapa, the author of Into the Fire, addresses 25 key issues in his work. His contributions are unparalleled, and his unwavering dedication to alleviating the suffering of others reminds me of Henry Dunant, the founder of the Red Cross. Capt. Thapa's selfless service to humanity is truly remarkable, akin to the legacy of Raja Jaya Prithvi Bahadur Singh of Bajhang, a devoted advocate of humanism during the time of Prime Minister Chandra Shumsher Jung Bahadur Rana. Singh, who represented Nepal at the 1933 World Parliament of Religions in Chicago, was a figure dedicated to the cause of humanism. Having read Into the Fire, I found myself transported back to my youth in the peaceful, serene landscapes of the Himalayan motherland, reflecting on my travels across Nepal.
The photographs at the end of the book added a personal touch, energizing me with their striking resemblance between Capt. Thapa and his mother. His family heritage and values have undoubtedly shaped his ability to carry out his tasks with great equanimity and care.
Before concluding, I consulted with my neighbor, retired judge Gauri Bahadur Karki. He quickly responded to my call and, in a heartfelt conversation, explained the chaotic situation in the western district of Jumla, where he had served under the High Court and Supreme Court. He provided clarity on the situation and even shared a book entitled Yuddha Biram: Barta “Bhumigat Rahar Hoina Badhyata” Janayuddha Serofero, published by Malabia Publications. This book, filled with hard truths, was a timely and powerful contribution to the ongoing discussions around the people's war.
