Mayor Balen, I am Chameli. Do you know me? ‘The cow is tied to the stone, there is no one, there is no one, there is no one to speak of the poor’ – you must have sung this song. And, I hope, you have not forgotten this song yet. I am the character of that song, Chameli. Today, I am not here to make any demands, requests or complaints, but to convey my condolences of faith and belief. Please listen.

Let me clarify in advance that this condolence speech is not motivated by any prejudice or self-interest. Neither is this speech a mere protest against anyone, nor a slander. This speech is the voice of my heart. A sigh of my own faith. Which I have written in my heart and my dead expectations are written in it.

Please, by keeping the contradictions and egos within you quiet for a moment, you can listen to this speech. You may not like it. But you must know what condolence speeches are like. That is why I am telling you this. I am telling you this speech in the name of those who, like you, sang the song of jasmine and sought votes, won the election and finally ran the mad horse of power on the dream of jasmine.

I request you, while listening to this speech, listen honestly to your own time. While listening to this speech, listen to the true meaning and presence of the Shah that you are writing about and the Shah that your ancestors spoke about. While listening to this, you should listen to it with the light of historical consciousness within yourself. Otherwise, you will not be able to understand the words, feelings and meaning of this speech. Therefore, while listening to this speech, you should listen to it by examining yourself in terms of your promises and commitments.

At the beginning, I will present some pleasant details. I was very happy that day, the day your election campaigners first arrived in our squatter settlement playing this song. I still remember, at that time, the song was playing on the loudspeaker— ‘The rich have wealth on top of wealth, the poor have jasmine on top of debt.’ That day, my favorite song was playing in front of my hut. The one that said, ‘Jasmine should be equal for everyone.’

There were two reasons why I liked this song. The first reason is that my name is Jasmine, so that day I felt that the song was playing for me. Secondly, the song said, ‘Chameli should be equal for everyone.’ And, here, the word equal represented my many dreams. I felt that on that day, on the banks of the Bagmati, you and your people were awakening my dreams by singing my song. 

Then I spent almost the entire day searching for the meaning of ‘equality’ as the song says. We are currently living in a country where some are in the palace, some do not have five feet of land to dig a grave. Some walk on the streets, kicking up dust, some have to live buried in that dust. We are such people who live with abuse, accusations and contempt. We who have died a little, lived a little.

If we do not find work, we are victims of the fate of having to sleep hungry. We who are tired of Covid. We who are tormented by unemployment. We who are damaged by disease. We who are cramped in winter. We who are steamed in summer. We who cry and laugh every moment. We who cannot enjoy ourselves even after laughing. But that day, Mayor Sah, when I heard the song ‘Chameli should be equal for everyone’, my heart soared like a kite in the sky.

I thought that now we will also be equal to all those whose faces we never got to look at. Now we will be equal in the hospital. We will be equal in school. We will be equal in jobs. We will be equal in salaries. We will all walk the same path. And, when entering the metropolitan office, they will also stand in the same line where we will stand. 

Mayor Saab, that night I explained the meaning of the song ‘Chameli’ to my little daughter. I showed her your photo. I told her your name. The next morning, standing on the banks of the Bagmati for the first time, looking at the tall palaces built across, my daughter was smiling proudly. She asked me a childish question— ‘Mom, won’t anyone chase me there now when I go there?’ I assured her. I was hopeful and excited by that hope.

Then elections were held in the squatter settlements on the banks of the Bagmati. People from the old party also came seeking votes. But I saw the difference between them and you. Then, I fought with those who opposed you. I attacked those who criticized you. I watched your interviews and made others watch them too. Without you knowing, I walked in your procession. And, while the votes were being counted, I stood at the door of the assembly hall and prayed, leading my little daughter. 

Without saying a word, you won the election. I was very happy that day. I remembered your election promises. My imagination came to me – the same-sized shops built for us by the Metropolitan Municipality. Cheap water. Cheap electricity. Cheap schools. Cheap treatment. Toilets everywhere. I thought – the new mayor has understood how important toilets are for street vendors.

I dreamed in my mind – tall buildings will belong to others, now we will at least have an address. Whoever jumps in a loud car, the sidewalk will be ours. Now we don't have to hide our poverty. I thought, now the metropolis will be ours. The squares, falchas and alleys here will be ours. And, Chameli will belong to the metropolis. 

But unfortunately, my dreams did not last long. One day, I was roasting corn on a corner of the road. Nearby, my friend was selling hot dogs. On the other side, there were brothers selling fruits on bicycles. We were all 'daily wage earners', we had no savings in the bank and we had Iman's carts in our hands. That day, we were talking about the upcoming festival. My friend was telling us about her plan to buy clothes for her daughter for Dashain. Jageshwor Dai was calculating the medicine to be bought for her sick father.

I wanted to buy a good school bag for my daughter. At that moment, suddenly, some people wearing dresses came in front of us. They said, 'You scumbags are not allowed to stay here. Selling corn is prohibited here. Selling hot dogs is prohibited here. It is forbidden to sell fruits here.’

Before we could say anything, they started throwing our belongings. We were chased. We screamed, we cried. But there was no remorse or compassion in those people in dark glasses. That day, these senseless people like monsters were marching on our dreams on your orders, and I was sitting by the side crying.

Then, my faith in you collapsed. My dreams collapsed. Trust collapsed. Because, that day, I was not only removed from the streets, my self-respect was also shattered. I did not get land in this country, I did not get a house, I did not get a job, I asked for a small section of the road in your city, and that was also taken away. I asked your people, where is my country? Where is my government? Where is the land on which I stand? Where is my capital? Your people said, ‘This is the order of the mayor.’

Then, the fire burning in my stove went out. And, that night I put my daughter to bed hungry. I ask you today, Mayor Sah, is it a crime for a poor person to roast and sell corn under your rule? If so, what is the song of Chameli that you played? Why did you silence our feelings yesterday and why did you stab our feelings today?

That night I regretted the vote I cast for you. I regretted the dreams you showed my daughter. I regretted the prayers I made to God in your name. I counted your false promises in my mind. The promise to clean the Bagmati. The promise to generate electricity from garbage. The promise to bring a construction ambulance. The promise to improve public transport. The promise to end the suffering of Chameli. The promise to organize street trade. Open the package of your own promises, sir, and analyze what was said and what was done? Think, who are you, the representative of the people, who cannot meet the people? Are you an emperor? You who hastily hang maps in the office and sing jasmine songs, why are you so absolute and intolerant towards people? Looking at your behavior, it seems that your eyes, covered in dark glasses, do not have the light to see the suffering of people. Neither do you have a sense of history, nor a sense of time. That day I was sure that you are a liar and a person without empathy. 

Now I will talk about today. After a long time, a status you wrote caught my attention. I read the status, where you wrote, ‘I want to see Nepal laughing.’ After reading that, a question arose in my mind – what kind of laughter would the country that Mayor Sah wants to see? In a country where there is no land to stand for the poor. No house. No road. No employment. No self-respect.

In a country where the mayor elected by the poor does not belong to the poor. And, a mayor who does not even give the poor the option of selling vegetables in his city, what kind of laughter would the mayor want to see? You and your people say, we have made your capital dirty. Tell me, sir, haven't you made the city dirty with the sound of your dancing disco? Look back at how arrogant and shameless your statuses are. Haven't the social media statuses you have written dirty the network?

Haven't your supporters who abuse and harass people, dirty our knowledge, conscience and debate? You who chase the same jasmine from the streets by singing jasmine songs, haven't you dirty political responsibility and accountability? You are making the society more dirty than we are, and how is it that our dirt only makes you look bad? I want to ask you, sir, our dirt increases when you sweep it, how can the dirt you have done be washed away? 

Mayor Sah, you have many supporters. Those who applaud you even if you burn Singha Durbar. They applaud even when you chase the poor from the streets, and they applaud even when you say 'F'. Do you have the strength to protect yourself from them? Mayor Sah, you have now become a politician. The ambition to become the Prime Minister has awakened within you.

You may be a minister, a Prime Minister, a President, all the best. But tell me this, do you, who are seen in the Indra Jatra like a king or a Maharaja, have the liberal consciousness and character to do democratic politics? You play on the self-esteem of the poor standing on the streets and talk about building a country, now tell me what kind of country you will build? I have heard that you talk about good governance.

But many judicial questions have been raised against your own party president on charges of fraud, carrying those questions on your shoulders, what kind of good governance do you bring? Looking at your statuses, it seems that you are running away from questions and asking questions to others. Mayor Sah, tell me, how do you represent the people by running away from the questions on the ground? 

Sir, please understand this, Chamelis are not forced to endure injustice, oppression and contempt. Chamelis are not victims of fate, they are victims of planned discrimination by the state. Tell me, sir, what do you know about the historical discrimination suffered by Chamelis? I have suspicions about you, sir, because you see the country, not the Chamelis within the country, so whose politics do you practice? Tell me, sir, when you were mayor, we poor people did not get a place to stand on the streets of the capital, when you became the prime minister, where will you chase us?