I entered Kathmandu University (KU) in August 2000 with a history almost emaciated by employment at private schools. The founder of the first school I served in Morang knew but did not care that I voted for a political party he did not. The founders in Kiritipur gave me a similar impression when I kept sporadic contact with the party and student union I voted for. KU was too big to know my history and to care, even if I revealed that I came from an anti-Panchayat shelter. The vehemence with which political affiliation was deplored at KU in those days was not signalled in the interrogations I faced in the entry-time interview. They had only given me a hint that any aspect of one’s character that confronted professionalism was a blasphemy.
For more than half a decade, I did not have to talk ideology at KU. In fact, no such situation arose. When the anti-monarchy movement broke out in April 2006, I felt a mounting pressure to be a part of it. When processions intensified in Kathmandu and took a surge in Banepa, I joined the bandwagon on April 24 (Baishakh 10, 2063). It was personally a very bad day, though the participation had given me a lifetime consolation that I was not an ostrich. My little son got electrocuted because of being left unattended at the quarters. This fatal incident aside, I could spare myself from the blame of escaping the historic movement. My political adherence always remained validated by this one-day parading along the gullies of Banepa. The local activists who saw me in the streets carried the impression that I was one of them and not one of the many non-joiners from KU.
When student agitations began to take murky turns at the university after 2006, I was already considered a potential negotiator. The KU authority somehow discovered that I was close to the ‘parent party of one of the student wings. They began to ask me to pacify those students whenever they led an agitation at the university. Practically, I had to acquaint myself with them as one of them so that I could negotiate in the language they identified with. I also participated in talks with other student wings later and learned their intents and jargon with equal intensity and commitment. But I gradually got exposed, which led me to acquire membership in the party I always voted for. Not too late, I reclaimed the history thus emaciated by professional promises.
I am neither wild nor worried about being at the forefront. In my present stature as a critic of everything that is inhuman, unjust and unprofessional, a party membership is tantamount to buying a new necktie while a dozen others are hanging unattended in the almirah. How would the thing fare after you have decided to spend the rest of your life wearing daura-suruwal?
An affiliation doesn’t stay without occasional gossip-mongering, and gossips come from political sycophants. These mortals sporadically advocate ‘no politics’ when they see the chance of attaining power and facilities in the guise of fairness. They sniff politics in their competitors’ fair rise despite their own visible incompetence. The result is occasional mudslinging. But I give a damn about it and about them though at times I feel a tinge of pity for their spitworthy stupidity.
I know without doubt that ideological leanings bring unforeseen dilemmas. This is more so if you are genetically engineered to favour fairness and justice. My acceptance of a leadership role on the ideological side has come with a few entanglements in the last three years. Colleagues from the same line expect me to lobby for positions and personal recognitions unconditionally. The expectations sometimes fall as admonitions, following resentments when not responded to with seriousness. When biased advocacies do not form my primary responsibility (say, response), I tend to display disinterest or dismiss pleas for such lobbying with no second thoughts.
Unfortunately, we all live in a time when talk of fairness sounds like a pipe dream. My adherence to fairness loses its essence when so much sycophancy resonates around.
I know that I am now positioned to play tactfulness and wisdom. On the one hand, I have this general promise of fairness and professionalism as a professor and associate dean. This demands a completely neutral stance and compliance with the needs of students and decisions of the higher authority. On the other hand, I represent a group of people who are ‘genetically conditioned’ to voice for identity, participation and justice — sometimes irrespective of quality and merit. This is also a political line that considers limitation of competition the best way to assert visibility and prominence. I am juggling both roles. The second threatens to overshadow the first. But I have so far refused to reinvent myself to claim credibility mired with any ideological colouring. I am not sure how long this rigidity lasts. I may one day be forced to choose one between the two, and I will go for the first.
Damn those who fail to fathom this conviction. Damn sycophantism. Damn hypocrisy!