Forget Kathmandu is essentially a cri de coeur from a sensitive young Nepalese as she watches her country slide downhill, as violence spreads, governance fails, institutions collapse, politicians squabble, democracy is strangulated, values disappear, hope fades. It is a well-written book—fast-paced, hard to put down, written with style and sophistication, also honesty and emotion.
The author has spared no one—politicians whether of the extreme left or extreme right, veteran freedom-fighters, Maoist insurgents, civil society ("we, the bourgeoisie")—in her account of the multi-faceted crisis that grips her country today. She is especially irreverential about the occupants of Narayanhity Palace, past and present. Perhaps this was the only way to demystify history and expose the cynical self-serving actions of the Nepalese polity, which has brought the country to the brink.
While the unravelling of Nepal comes across with sharp and depressing clarity in the book, she offers no specific options on the way out. In the last chapter, Unfinished Revolution, Manjushree pleads for the democratic revolution of the 1940s and 1990, both interrupted, to be revived and completed. She says, "If only the extreme right and the extreme left can be disarmed and brought into the political centre," it should be possible to "re-imagine Nepal", to bring about a genuine, inclusive democracy. And she has no problem with scrapping the Constitution or ending the monarchy or removing the failed political leaders if they pose obstacles for ushering in a true democratic order. Other Nepalese intellectuals who have been critical of the monarchy have usually hesitated to suggest that the monarchy is dispensable. Kanak Mani Dixit, for example, recently suggested that if the choice was between Nepal becoming a "banana republic or banana monarchy", he would opt for a banana monarchy. Manjushree herself admits that the democracy which lasted from 1990 to 2002 was only superficially different from panchayat Nepal, in that it basically legitimised the power of Nepal’s traditional elites, and made for an exclusionary rather than inclusive democracy. "Democracy lacking democracy," in Manjushree’s words.
If democracy is to be genuine, it must mean more than free elections and freedom of speech; it must involve people at the local level, the marginalised, offer the hope of a more equitable social order, generate economic performance, be consensual and accommodating, have democratically committed leaders. Otherwise, democracy does not take root, it soon gets overwhelmed by poverty and revolt. Nepal’s challenge is thus not only to restore democracy to the pre-October 2002 position, but to free it from the "elite caste and class cartel" as Manjushree describes the version ushered in by 1990.
King Gyanendra clearly does not agree with the thesis that more democracy is the only route to a credible and sustainable process which would end the present instability and violence. He had the responsibility of taking Nepal out of the cul-de-sac he had pushed it into through his actions on and after October 4, 2002. Instead, he has chosen to end the facade of democracy altogether.
Manjushree’s book leaves the reader not much wiser about the basic questions. What do the Maoists really want? Is the King willing to be a constitutional monarch? Can there ever be a meeting ground between them? As for democracy, faction-ridden, leaderless, eternally squabbling for a share in power, when can it deliver so that it does not get overwhelmed by poverty and malgovernance? How can the international community, especially India, help? Can it at all help, if there is no critical mass in Nepal’s elite willing to put country before self?
But the book is a must-read, even in order to come to terms with Nepal’s grim reality. Now that the King has helpfully imposed censorship in Nepal, the author can rest assured that it will be read by even more people—especially those who have let their country down.
(The reviewer has formerly served as the Indian ambassador to Nepal.)
