Nepalis dominate two tiny restaurants run by my wife in Noida. Over the years, our lives have become intertwined with their wonderful cooking. At home, we’re spoilt silly by their insistent hospitality - at the restaurant, the chefs and sous chefs, waiters and delivery boys from Kathmandu and Pokhra, touch the heart of every mystery guest.
These talented migrants are poor but proud, their talent matched only by the innocence of their smile.
Particularly the children. I can see their bright eyes in the skyline of Nariman Point. Robin outruns every child in his school. Suhana outdances them. There’s naughty Nishant now banished to a school in Darjeeling. The day that gorgeous unnamed child of Chandra Bahadur and Ganga Maya was felled by a congenital heart ailment, we lost a family member. Each child is Team Panda Wokk is a young citizen of Nepal, waiting to light up the world of the future.
Romanticism apart, now that I have moved to Mumbai, the restaurant owner tosses and turns about continuing the mother branch in Sector 18.
The officialdom is extortionist and the infrastructure firmly gone to the dogs. If Michael Porter did an index of worst places to do business, his search could end right here!
Not just the restaurant, press reports in Noida editions tell us that sales of our distinguished neighbours like levi’s and Nirula’s are down to 15 per cent of peak levels. Yet, there’s no respite to friendly visits from petty babus coveting Panda Wokk’s signature chicken money bag which only chef Rahul can make!
But each time my wife and I discuss shutting shop and arresting the hemorrhage, we think of the children whose education depends on the restaurant. Their parents may never return to Nepal. They will find other jobs. But who replace them from our heartsIJ So, the honey chilly potato keeps rolling out. The pot of Thai green curry is kept warm and fresh.
Each month, we think of invoking the cancellation clause in the lease. Each time, we stay put, hoping the officialdom in Sector 18 will pull us out of six feet deep excavations right at our doorstep.
Now we have one more reason to hang in. When my colleague, Neelabh Banerjee, offered the tribute to the brave people of Nepal (shared here and going viral on the social media), Premalata, wedded to chef Vishnu took to Whatapp (she still hasn’t discovered JioChat!)
“Thank you, didi. Maa ke aansu ponche, India ne,” she said.
“(Narendra) Modi did so much, your helicopters landed in my village, but our folks are fast asleep,” concurred Dhan Singh, a tough 6-footer in the security contingent of Maker IV in Mumbai.
Which brings me to the larger point. Each time we carp and complain about corruption and misgovernance in India, we ignore the face of hell a few hundred kilometers off our northern borders. No decent schools, no hospitals, no factories, no physical infrastructure – and an elite that has betrayed its poor in a manner much worse than we have.
Transparency International places Nepal at No.126. In fact, most of the money pouring in now is expected to be siphoned off.
Ah yes, Nepal still has a spot of temple tourism and fabled mountains, but thanks to the quake, both lie in ruins.
For India Inc and Modi Sarkar, and each one of us in our individual capacities, Nepal’s tragedy isn’t about another country. Nepal is us!
(The columnist last experienced Nepal some months back in a Track-II initiative at the invitation of Washington-based Atlantic Council. Nepal played the host when Pakistani delegates were unable to procure visas to India. He works for RIl. Views are personal. Twitter @therohitbansal)