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RAMESH SHRESTHA - WRITINGS
I - A NEPALI'S AMERICAN ODYSSEY
Michigan, 1975
Nepali poet, teacher and businessman Ramesh Shrestha was born in Bjojpur in the Eastern hills in 1950. His experiences as a Fulbright scholar at Michigan State University in 1974-76 and whilst travelling across the USA are narrated in his first volume of autobiography. The full text, published in Kathmandu by Himal Kitab in 2023, can be downloaded here and the list of contents snd an extract are given below.
| a_nepalis_american_odyssey_by_ramesh_shrestha.pdf |
Contents
Foreword (Mike Gill) vii
Introduction ix
Chapter I: Winning a Fulbright Scholarship 1
Chapter II: On the Way to America 13
Chapter III: MSU Days 25
Chapter IV: MSU Days II – TGIF 37
Chapter V: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Term-break Holidays 53
Chapter VI: Summer with the Linguistics Institute 61
Chapter VII: A Month on Greyhound - From Tampa to Austin 68
Chapter VIII: Greyhound Month – To Albuquerque, Madison, and Michigan 79
Chapter IX: Our Great Bicentennial Night Bivouac in Niagara Falls 94
Chapter X: Return to Nepal 101
Foreword (Mike Gill) vii
Introduction ix
Chapter I: Winning a Fulbright Scholarship 1
Chapter II: On the Way to America 13
Chapter III: MSU Days 25
Chapter IV: MSU Days II – TGIF 37
Chapter V: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Term-break Holidays 53
Chapter VI: Summer with the Linguistics Institute 61
Chapter VII: A Month on Greyhound - From Tampa to Austin 68
Chapter VIII: Greyhound Month – To Albuquerque, Madison, and Michigan 79
Chapter IX: Our Great Bicentennial Night Bivouac in Niagara Falls 94
Chapter X: Return to Nepal 101
Extract from chapter 4:
One of my frequent haunts on the MSU campus was the Grand River rapids next to the Linguistics department and Admin building. I went there almost every day for a cigarette break and some quiet time. The flowing water left ripples and foam behind, glittering in the sun. The river was mostly dark and dead but at that spot it was dammed and with some rocks made the water come to life with its own music. Ducks would paddle by, some with a family in tow. The ducks would migrate south for the winter when the whole river iced over.
This spot reminded me of the Himalaya and the hills back home. I realized that the October festivals of Dasain
and Tihar had completely passed without my being aware of them.
Late one afternoon, I went for a lonely walk just behind my hostel on a walking trail that led to a patch of forest. I felt like I was in the middle of heaven when, by the banks of the Red Cedar River, I first saw the leaves bursting in the reds and oranges of the North American autumn. In Spring, I would go canoeing on the river with Hagiwara, a friend from Japan. He was doing his PhD in Economics and introduced me to his mostly female friends from Japan, Singapore and Indonesia who adopted me as a regular guest when they met on Saturdays for an Asian cooking-and-eating fiesta.
One November, as I looked out from my 6th floor room the sky was deep blue and the sun shining. It seemed like a nice warm day was calling me for a leisurely walk in the sun. Clad just in my shirt, I took the elevator down and stepped out into the sun. But it turned out to be so freezing cold I ran back in, jolted by the seeming contradiction of a sky so blue and the glorious sun and the bone chilling cold.
Autumn view of Red Cedar River on the MSN Campus (Tim Kiser)
The Admin Building at MSU
II - COLLECTED POEMS 1970-2012
Ramesh's poetry reflects his experiences as an undergraduate and lecturer at Kirtipur in the Kathmandu Valley, as a graduate student in the USA, and as a husband, father and businessman in Thailand. He provides more detail of his life and especially his literary career in an interview published in The Record in June 2022.
The complete set of his English poems, with introductions by his friends and fellow members of the Kathmandu literary scene, Abhi Subedi and the late Peter Karthak, can be downloaded here as a PDF file. The list of contents and two selected poems are given below.
The complete set of his English poems, with introductions by his friends and fellow members of the Kathmandu literary scene, Abhi Subedi and the late Peter Karthak, can be downloaded here as a PDF file. The list of contents and two selected poems are given below.
| collected_poems_ramesh_shrestha.pdf |
Contents
Introduction
Journey in Poetry – Abhi Subedi vii
Vers Libre: RAP Revisited – Peter J. Karthak xiii
Preface xxi
Kirtipur (1970-1974)
The Summer 3
Timeside Scarecrow 4
Storm and Mother 5
Rain in Kathmandu 6
Valediction 7
Nocturnal Colours 9
A Moon Poem 10 Air and Angels 11
Twilight Dreams 12
To My Twenty-Third year 13
Green-White 14
Evening Thoughts of Home 15
Lake State of Mind in Kathmandu 16
Oh, What Terrifying Winter Lies Ahead 17
The Walls of the Room are Cracked 18 Wakeful Kumbhakarna 20
“Thou Art the Dark Butterfly
Thou Art the Green Parrot with Red Eyes” 21
Here I Come America (1974-76)
A Maple Sunset 25
Hi America 26
The Salem Witch 29
The Spectrum of Sex-Appeal 30
He’s a Sunshine Man 31
A Super Lousy Day Today 32
An Eternal Sunshine of Mind 33
Easter Sunday Morning East Lansing 34
Greg Tells Me 35
Loneliness is … 36
Of Bonfires and Ashes 37
East Lansing 38
Another Sunset of Longings 39
Mississippi Moon 40
2nd Fall in Michigan 41
Getting Tired of Greyhound Buses 42
The City of Buffalo 43
New York Suburb 44
A Tribute to East Lansing Sunshine in May 45
Linguistics Karma 46 Memphis Satori 47
MSU Goodbye 48
Kirtipur Again (1976- 80)
Rhythm of Nostalgia 53
A False Gift of Spring 54
I Suffer These Evening Hours 55
A Nightingale Sings Through 56 Srinagar Spring Sensations 57
Ethereal Sweet Things 59
Empty Post Box in Times of Love 60
He’s An Outsider 61
To My 30th 62
Mind like a Cosmic Womb 63 Kirtipur Blues 65
In Love with T 67
Thailand (1980- 2012)
Rama VI Blues 71
Brain Drain in Timbuktu 72
America Re-visited 73
Visiting Grasmere 74
Sunrise Cha-am 75
Rama is No Longer 76
February in the Village of Golden Lotuses 77
On My 53rd (An Unfinished Poem) 78
The Loneliness of a Mountain Climber 79
On Graying Hair 80
A Caricature 81
The King Taketh Over 82
Another Cha-am Sunrise 83
Philippe Cottenceau, Fly to the Moon 84
India Recollected in Tranquility 85
A Dasain Sky Today 87
Orpheus and Krishna’s Jugalbandi 89
Memories of Dhulikhel Sunsets 90
Mother Passes Away 91
An Elegy for a Motherland 92
In Ville de Dieppe 97
Revisiting Bhojpur 98
Contents
Introduction
Journey in Poetry – Abhi Subedi vii
Vers Libre: RAP Revisited – Peter J. Karthak xiii
Preface xxi
Kirtipur (1970-1974)
The Summer 3
Timeside Scarecrow 4
Storm and Mother 5
Rain in Kathmandu 6
Valediction 7
Nocturnal Colours 9
A Moon Poem 10 Air and Angels 11
Twilight Dreams 12
To My Twenty-Third year 13
Green-White 14
Evening Thoughts of Home 15
Lake State of Mind in Kathmandu 16
Oh, What Terrifying Winter Lies Ahead 17
The Walls of the Room are Cracked 18 Wakeful Kumbhakarna 20
“Thou Art the Dark Butterfly
Thou Art the Green Parrot with Red Eyes” 21
Here I Come America (1974-76)
A Maple Sunset 25
Hi America 26
The Salem Witch 29
The Spectrum of Sex-Appeal 30
He’s a Sunshine Man 31
A Super Lousy Day Today 32
An Eternal Sunshine of Mind 33
Easter Sunday Morning East Lansing 34
Greg Tells Me 35
Loneliness is … 36
Of Bonfires and Ashes 37
East Lansing 38
Another Sunset of Longings 39
Mississippi Moon 40
2nd Fall in Michigan 41
Getting Tired of Greyhound Buses 42
The City of Buffalo 43
New York Suburb 44
A Tribute to East Lansing Sunshine in May 45
Linguistics Karma 46 Memphis Satori 47
MSU Goodbye 48
Kirtipur Again (1976- 80)
Rhythm of Nostalgia 53
A False Gift of Spring 54
I Suffer These Evening Hours 55
A Nightingale Sings Through 56 Srinagar Spring Sensations 57
Ethereal Sweet Things 59
Empty Post Box in Times of Love 60
He’s An Outsider 61
To My 30th 62
Mind like a Cosmic Womb 63 Kirtipur Blues 65
In Love with T 67
Thailand (1980- 2012)
Rama VI Blues 71
Brain Drain in Timbuktu 72
America Re-visited 73
Visiting Grasmere 74
Sunrise Cha-am 75
Rama is No Longer 76
February in the Village of Golden Lotuses 77
On My 53rd (An Unfinished Poem) 78
The Loneliness of a Mountain Climber 79
On Graying Hair 80
A Caricature 81
The King Taketh Over 82
Another Cha-am Sunrise 83
Philippe Cottenceau, Fly to the Moon 84
India Recollected in Tranquility 85
A Dasain Sky Today 87
Orpheus and Krishna’s Jugalbandi 89
Memories of Dhulikhel Sunsets 90
Mother Passes Away 91
An Elegy for a Motherland 92
In Ville de Dieppe 97
Revisiting Bhojpur 98
The Summer
I am a long naked slope of land
God of Rain, shower upon me
I want to be wet
and feel the mud on my body.
Cloud, wrap around me
I want to sweat
in this heavenly high.
Air, blow around me.
Leaves, fall upon me
cover my virginal body
and make it blush once again.
In the first sunny morning of creation
I trample the cool green green grass
grown on the muddy slope of my body.
And I hear the music of youth
surging through the lotus
grown on the lake of the body.
The cosmos dances in the same old harmony!
In this morning of creation,
God, keep showering upon me.
In Love with T
All the winter and the spring
I fed on your letters
they kept me alive
they were my bread and wine
my flesh and blood
they filled in my moments of emptiness
brightened my dark chilly hours with warmth and
sunshine.
Passionately
I wait for you
the ancient arrow going deeper and deeper.
In my arms
you are born and reborn.
I create and recreate you
in all shapes and hues of a woman
I have always seen and dreamt of
You’re born and reborn in the sweetest words
ever uttered by human tongue
verses ever written
songs ever sung in longing and fulfillment.
I dreamt of you
in a Keatsian dream
and woke up to find you
the beauty and the truth.
I carve you
in flesh and spirit
chiseled in sculptured triumphs of body and soul
I am a long naked slope of land
God of Rain, shower upon me
I want to be wet
and feel the mud on my body.
Cloud, wrap around me
I want to sweat
in this heavenly high.
Air, blow around me.
Leaves, fall upon me
cover my virginal body
and make it blush once again.
In the first sunny morning of creation
I trample the cool green green grass
grown on the muddy slope of my body.
And I hear the music of youth
surging through the lotus
grown on the lake of the body.
The cosmos dances in the same old harmony!
In this morning of creation,
God, keep showering upon me.
In Love with T
All the winter and the spring
I fed on your letters
they kept me alive
they were my bread and wine
my flesh and blood
they filled in my moments of emptiness
brightened my dark chilly hours with warmth and
sunshine.
Passionately
I wait for you
the ancient arrow going deeper and deeper.
In my arms
you are born and reborn.
I create and recreate you
in all shapes and hues of a woman
I have always seen and dreamt of
You’re born and reborn in the sweetest words
ever uttered by human tongue
verses ever written
songs ever sung in longing and fulfillment.
I dreamt of you
in a Keatsian dream
and woke up to find you
the beauty and the truth.
I carve you
in flesh and spirit
chiseled in sculptured triumphs of body and soul
Peter Karthak and Abhi Subedi with Ramesh (r) in March 1996.
Some of Ramesh's poems were previously published in 1977, together with poems by Abhi Subedi and Peter Karthak, in Manas (Kathmandu: RAP, 1977), which can be found here:
Some of Ramesh's poems were previously published in 1977, together with poems by Abhi Subedi and Peter Karthak, in Manas (Kathmandu: RAP, 1977), which can be found here:
| manas-01_compressed.pdf |
III - JOURNEY TO GOSAINKUND
NARRATIVE OF A TREK TO THE SACRED LAKE IN OCTOBER 1973, WITH PHOTOS BY JAYNEE MOON
It was the middle of the month of October, by consensus the best time to visit the northern villages, when the monsoon rains have just passed leaving behind a clear and sunny sky, sweeping away the summer heat, dark clouds and flooded rivers.
But we were not so lucky. When our bus left the Balaju bus depot north of Kathmandu, it was still raining. Still, the Sikh driver somehow managed to drive the rickety bus safely along the wet roads cut at times right through the heart of the hills, perching perilously on hanging boulders and sliding slopes. The bus at his hands seemed like some kind of roaring toy-chariot which he safely flew through the clouds and the rain. After eight hours ride we were at Trishuli Bazaar, headquarters of the district west of Kathmandu This is where the paved road ended and walking on foot or trekking started.
It was still raining the next morning but there were tea-shops all along for an occasional stop for chiya and a smoke ("let's create an event"). As we started climbing up the hills from the Trishuli valley, we came across a young Texan couple, a version of a knight-in-green with his similarly green-fatigued lady, both decked out in trekking boots and suits and carrying rucksacks as they walked back down. They told us about the unending rain and leeches. They had decided to return to Trishuli Bazar and wait for a sunny day to resume their trek.
After some time, we, too, hit the leeches to the right of us and leeches to the left of us. You stopped to pick them off your legs, but there were a million charging towards you. Somebody suggested we use local banmara leaves growing nicely on the path side but that did not help. There was nothing we could do except to ignore them and keep on walking. Some local rakshi helped forget the bite and the rain once we were settled for the day at a tea shop. We passed the night resting in a school building.
Waking up next morning it was exhilarating to see the sun and the silver peaks of the Himalaya.
After a quick breakfast with tea and eggs at a tea shop, we were on the path that was strikingly well-made and well-kept, partly because it was the most popular pilgrims’ path to Gosainkund, our own destination. Today, we wouldn’t meet any bloodsuckers as they begin to thin out on higher altitudes. And it happened to be a sunny day. The vegetation was already changing.
There were tea-houses every few kilometers, serving warm tea, food and occasionally a board[???providing lodging]. Chortens were everywhere, some going mossy because of age. We also saw a few cheese factories along the way run under the Swiss Integrated Hill Development scheme.
For the third night, we stopped at Dhunche (8000 ft). Dhunche is the headquarters of Rasuwa, a frontier district with one of the most frequently used passes in the early days of Nepal - Tibet trade. As is typical of all district headquarters, three quarters of the houses here are occupied by government offices. That, plus the presence of government officials themselves, meant that the price of goods had shot up. We bought our provisions for the next three days as there would not be any stores further on.
From Dhunche to Gosainkund is only 10 kilometres. But the steep ascent from 8000 feet to 17000 feet makes it impossible for any quick walk. The air is so rarefied that you have to stop every few steps to give your lungs a chance to rest. But walking slowly with lots of stops gives an excellent opportunity to appreciate the panoramic view of Gosainkund, Ganesh and Manaslu Himal and, contrasting with those dizzying heights, the deep valleys below you.
This is the Rhododendron belt. In April- May, one can see whole hills turn into dozens of colors. Huge sal trees are covered with wet moss and orchids. These trees are densely packed, green and dark, with a line of pine trees above them. We saw some yaks grazing in the forests and above in the pastures fringed by the pine trees.
We stopped for the day at a cheese factory. The whole day, we had walked only four kilometers.
The landscape turns desolate from here on as the skeletal trees are bereft of leaves due to the freezing cold climate. There are Himalayan peaks on the left. There are bushes but no trees; Rhododendrons have turned into tiny bonsais. The air gets thinner, walking is harder. The smell of flowers bedside the path intoxicates you. Your senses begin to give way to the eternity of mountains and valleys all around you. Time ceases to exist.
We hit the snow-line. Soon after, there is a river cascading down from the source of the river Trishuli. Half a kilometer up we reach Saraswatikund - a large, triangular lake with deep blue water named after the Hindu Goddess of learning.
Just a few minutes further up, we see a few Tibetan prayer flags, a small Shiva Lingam, and a wide, round lake. Clear and very cold. It’s Gosainkund. The sun is bright and the sky the bluest imaginable. There is snow and mountains all around you.
We passed the night inside a recently built but uninhabited one-storey house of mud-bricks and wood. I went out in the middle of the night. The little valley was totally flooded with the light emanating from the surrounding snow. It felt like you were standing in the middle of a still-life Tibetan Thangka painting of snow peaks, clouds, and dragons - very eerie, very quiet and very alive.
It looked as if dragons were jumping out from an exquisite Tibetan scroll painting
into the quietness of the brilliantly lighted night. For the first time it was clear to me why Thangka painting are the way they are.
Next morning, we had the excitement of being lost in the Himalaya when we left early in the morning for the pass without the porters, who were not yet ready. The path ahead looked smooth enough. But soon there were no trails where we were walking but only unmarked boulders all slippery with ice. After jumping around on these hapless stones for a while, we saw our porters about a kilometer away and ahead of us. They laboriously put us back on track. We were taught later how to read the road maps in these high passes by watching for the rocks passers-by pile up as they go.
After we passed through the snowy pass at around 20,000 feet, the vegetation and landscape generally was a repetition of what we had seen coming up except that this time the trail went down, down and further down.
We came across a few sheds for animals brought high up here in search of pasture when grass becomes scarcer at lower altitudes. We passed our fifth night inside a cave.
The next morning was a whole day's walk down the long hill of Gupte. For the first time in three days, we met up with a group of fellow trekkers - a dozen western tourists with local guides and porters.
Then a very pleasant walk through Helambu - to Serma Thang and Tarkeghyang– where we spent a night in full luxury on beds of our own. Then a dip in the Melamchi river to wash away the accumulated sweat and grime of nearly two weeks. We would be back in Kathmandu in three more days.
The circle was complete as was the yatra. But the memory and images of the snow, passes, lakes, pines, open valleys for miles unending, thin air, blue sky and bright sun remain long in mind and still beckon.
(October 1973)
But we were not so lucky. When our bus left the Balaju bus depot north of Kathmandu, it was still raining. Still, the Sikh driver somehow managed to drive the rickety bus safely along the wet roads cut at times right through the heart of the hills, perching perilously on hanging boulders and sliding slopes. The bus at his hands seemed like some kind of roaring toy-chariot which he safely flew through the clouds and the rain. After eight hours ride we were at Trishuli Bazaar, headquarters of the district west of Kathmandu This is where the paved road ended and walking on foot or trekking started.
It was still raining the next morning but there were tea-shops all along for an occasional stop for chiya and a smoke ("let's create an event"). As we started climbing up the hills from the Trishuli valley, we came across a young Texan couple, a version of a knight-in-green with his similarly green-fatigued lady, both decked out in trekking boots and suits and carrying rucksacks as they walked back down. They told us about the unending rain and leeches. They had decided to return to Trishuli Bazar and wait for a sunny day to resume their trek.
After some time, we, too, hit the leeches to the right of us and leeches to the left of us. You stopped to pick them off your legs, but there were a million charging towards you. Somebody suggested we use local banmara leaves growing nicely on the path side but that did not help. There was nothing we could do except to ignore them and keep on walking. Some local rakshi helped forget the bite and the rain once we were settled for the day at a tea shop. We passed the night resting in a school building.
Waking up next morning it was exhilarating to see the sun and the silver peaks of the Himalaya.
After a quick breakfast with tea and eggs at a tea shop, we were on the path that was strikingly well-made and well-kept, partly because it was the most popular pilgrims’ path to Gosainkund, our own destination. Today, we wouldn’t meet any bloodsuckers as they begin to thin out on higher altitudes. And it happened to be a sunny day. The vegetation was already changing.
There were tea-houses every few kilometers, serving warm tea, food and occasionally a board[???providing lodging]. Chortens were everywhere, some going mossy because of age. We also saw a few cheese factories along the way run under the Swiss Integrated Hill Development scheme.
For the third night, we stopped at Dhunche (8000 ft). Dhunche is the headquarters of Rasuwa, a frontier district with one of the most frequently used passes in the early days of Nepal - Tibet trade. As is typical of all district headquarters, three quarters of the houses here are occupied by government offices. That, plus the presence of government officials themselves, meant that the price of goods had shot up. We bought our provisions for the next three days as there would not be any stores further on.
From Dhunche to Gosainkund is only 10 kilometres. But the steep ascent from 8000 feet to 17000 feet makes it impossible for any quick walk. The air is so rarefied that you have to stop every few steps to give your lungs a chance to rest. But walking slowly with lots of stops gives an excellent opportunity to appreciate the panoramic view of Gosainkund, Ganesh and Manaslu Himal and, contrasting with those dizzying heights, the deep valleys below you.
This is the Rhododendron belt. In April- May, one can see whole hills turn into dozens of colors. Huge sal trees are covered with wet moss and orchids. These trees are densely packed, green and dark, with a line of pine trees above them. We saw some yaks grazing in the forests and above in the pastures fringed by the pine trees.
We stopped for the day at a cheese factory. The whole day, we had walked only four kilometers.
The landscape turns desolate from here on as the skeletal trees are bereft of leaves due to the freezing cold climate. There are Himalayan peaks on the left. There are bushes but no trees; Rhododendrons have turned into tiny bonsais. The air gets thinner, walking is harder. The smell of flowers bedside the path intoxicates you. Your senses begin to give way to the eternity of mountains and valleys all around you. Time ceases to exist.
We hit the snow-line. Soon after, there is a river cascading down from the source of the river Trishuli. Half a kilometer up we reach Saraswatikund - a large, triangular lake with deep blue water named after the Hindu Goddess of learning.
Just a few minutes further up, we see a few Tibetan prayer flags, a small Shiva Lingam, and a wide, round lake. Clear and very cold. It’s Gosainkund. The sun is bright and the sky the bluest imaginable. There is snow and mountains all around you.
We passed the night inside a recently built but uninhabited one-storey house of mud-bricks and wood. I went out in the middle of the night. The little valley was totally flooded with the light emanating from the surrounding snow. It felt like you were standing in the middle of a still-life Tibetan Thangka painting of snow peaks, clouds, and dragons - very eerie, very quiet and very alive.
It looked as if dragons were jumping out from an exquisite Tibetan scroll painting
into the quietness of the brilliantly lighted night. For the first time it was clear to me why Thangka painting are the way they are.
Next morning, we had the excitement of being lost in the Himalaya when we left early in the morning for the pass without the porters, who were not yet ready. The path ahead looked smooth enough. But soon there were no trails where we were walking but only unmarked boulders all slippery with ice. After jumping around on these hapless stones for a while, we saw our porters about a kilometer away and ahead of us. They laboriously put us back on track. We were taught later how to read the road maps in these high passes by watching for the rocks passers-by pile up as they go.
After we passed through the snowy pass at around 20,000 feet, the vegetation and landscape generally was a repetition of what we had seen coming up except that this time the trail went down, down and further down.
We came across a few sheds for animals brought high up here in search of pasture when grass becomes scarcer at lower altitudes. We passed our fifth night inside a cave.
The next morning was a whole day's walk down the long hill of Gupte. For the first time in three days, we met up with a group of fellow trekkers - a dozen western tourists with local guides and porters.
Then a very pleasant walk through Helambu - to Serma Thang and Tarkeghyang– where we spent a night in full luxury on beds of our own. Then a dip in the Melamchi river to wash away the accumulated sweat and grime of nearly two weeks. We would be back in Kathmandu in three more days.
The circle was complete as was the yatra. But the memory and images of the snow, passes, lakes, pines, open valleys for miles unending, thin air, blue sky and bright sun remain long in mind and still beckon.
(October 1973)
IV- MISCELLANEOUS PROSE WORKS
The text of Ramesh's monograph Adult Literacy in Nepal (1978) can be downloaded here and is also available as a Wikisource page.
| adult_literacy_in_nepal_rs.pdf |
His review of Kamal P. Malla's The Road to Kathmandu; selected writings 1966-1977 (Nepal: Sajha Publications 1979) was published in Contributions to Nepalese Studies (VII: 1 & 2, Dec 1979 and June 1980, pp. 231-38). Kamal Malla was both a prominent scholar of English in Nepal and a researcher in Newar language, literature and history.
| road_to_nowherecnas_review.pdf |
In `English as a Second Language/English as a Foreign Language Distinction: its Pedagogy and the Nepalese Context' ,Contributions to Nepalese Studies (XI: 1, Dec 1983, pp. 45-58), Ramesh argued that for the average Nepali student English was most important as a`library language', with reading as the most important skill, and also that in speaking the model should be `ideal Nepali English' rather than the standard British or American variety.
| eslefl.pdf |
Kamal Prakash Malla (1936-2018)
