The thrill-maker of Kathmandu: builder of ride at zoo

Surya Bhakta Nakarmi is the owner, designer and technical officer of Funny Temple, an amusement ride in the Central Zoo, Jawalakhel. With just a certificate degree from Thapathali Technical Institute, Nakarmi built the ride from scratch, based on “trial and error” method. He expounds on his rollercoaster journey.

How did you get the idea to make Funny Temple?

I was employed at the airport, and frequently went on foreign trips. In Bangkok, I rode a ride and it inspired me to make one. I went to Bangkok several times to study the design.

Did you talk to the ride engineer?

No, I simply observed. I’m of the Nakarmi caste, ironsmith by birth. Perhaps that helped. Also, at the airport I worked in airplane maintenance. That gave me technical knowledge.

Where do you find the parts for your products?

That’s a major challenge. We can’t get things like hydraulic cylinders, but there are specialized shops in India. I buy them there and cart them all the way up here.

How did you transport Funny Temple to the zoo?

A crane put it on a truck at my workshop, and the crane again offloaded it at the zoo. We pulled the crane, it has wheels. I built the crane myself, which is one of the reasons Funny Temple took ten years to assemble. First I had to make the equipment to make it.

How did you manage your finances during the ten years?

I had a job at the airport. Bitten by the invention bug, I took leave for one and a half  years. After the leave expired, my boss told me to either come back or quit. I chose to quit and continue inventing.

I took loans from a bank, Rs. 500,000 initially. I allotted half of it to household expenses and the rest to invention. The loan later grew to Rs. two million. Ultimately, I sold my land of 101 annas (about 97 ropanis) to pay the loan. From the sale, I had surplus money which I invested in further inventions.

What are they?

I made another ride for the zoo: an advanced helicopter ride. While the helicopters are controlled by the operator, each child riding can press a button and steer the helicopter up and down. This gives the child control.

Also, I am developing an automated seesaw. I’ve completed a model which seats one person. But what I really want to do is make a 20-foot seesaw that can accommodate many people.

I also plan to make a rollercoaster, an aero-car, and a rocket. The rocket should shoot up and give the rider the impression of being in space. Up there, we can have a mini planetarium where the rider can see heavenly objects, and then ride down.

Is the sale from the land providing you enough for these experiments?

On the contrary, the money ran out long ago. I took further loans from banks, which now amount to Rs. 15 million. Funny Temple earns more than Rs. 4.5 million per year, but I pay almost Rs. 200,000 in interest every month and Rs. 80,000 as rent to the zoo. When you factor in the salary to operators and my helpers at the workshop, I hardly get any profit.

And in all this time, I have only managed to pay the interest on my loan, haven’t even touched the principal. My contract at the zoo runs out in a couple months, and I don’t know if I’ll get the next contract. I have even no idea how I’ll manage my finances if I don’t the contract extended. If only there was financial help for inventors like me, I could work without worrying.

Who helps you in your workshop?

Relatives, cousins and nephews. I can’t pay them much. Nor can I hand out pocket money to my daughters when they ask for it. But still my brother put up our ancestral land as collateral for my loan. They all tolerate me because they know I’m selfless.

What challenges do you face in your work?

Each of my products is huge. How often can you make and break iron? If I change the cylinder from an 8-foot to a 6-foot, do I know it’ll work? What do I do with the 8-foot one? For Funny Temple, I kept experimenting until I got the exact unbalanced swing of the ride in Bangkok, I didn’t want one of those high-speed Indian rides that make you dizzy. Can I afford the same time and effort to every piece?

Would it have helped if you were an engineer?

No. I would probably be busy as a professional engineer and may never have invented.

Are you satisfied with the choice of becoming an inventor?

I am 55 years old, and have spent most of my life inventing. There’s nothing I like doing more. I just want people to have fun. If anyone wants to copy my designs and build their own rides, they are welcome too. My work is about development as well as entertainment.

Published in Republica on 18 April 2014, Page 7

How safe are the amusement rides around town?

It is New Year, and crowds throng the Exhibition Road. Thrill seekers are here by the droves, you can hear them yell from half a mile away, or so it seems. For Bhrikuti Mandap is home to Kathmandu Fun Park, which contains several amusement rides meant for both young and old. With the addition of an amusement and water park at Sanga, it would seem that youngsters in Nepal do not have to pine for Disneyland anymore. But though this nascent industry provides the thrills they desperately seek, it is still struggling to ensure complete safety of its consumers.

Kausar Javed, a teenager who often rides the Columbus and Ferris Wheel at Bhrikuti Mandap, enjoys these rides a lot. But when you ask her about safety, she grimaces. “The seat next to the last has its handles falling off,” says she. “But if you hang on tight, you won’t fall,” she concludes gaily. Forget safety harnesses, rusted handlebars are the norm, and it is not uncommon to find a few damaged bars like the one Kausar pointed out. It is only the cheerful spirit of the consumers that keeps these flaws from becoming lawsuits. It is also not unusual to find riders flinging off the safety bar and hopping down before the ride completely stops.

It is immediately apparent that much more precautions are taken for rides for very young children. For example, one of the rides at Bhrikuti Mandap is built like a cage –there is no way anyone can fall and it moves very, very slowly. Another one called Teacup has an operator constantly moving in and out of the ride to take care of fidgety children. This too moves very slowly.

But some of the times, the operators moving in and out of the ride are not taking care of the riders, but performing minor repairs with hammers and mallets. “They are trained mechanics,” says Nabin, ride operator at the Park. “First you get to be a helper, then an operator, and only then a mechanic.” He himself got to touch a machine only after working for six months as a helper.

But Nabin is a temporary staff, hired only for the holiday season. There are many other temporary operators hired for busy seasons who have no more knowledge of the machine than the on/off switch. But they can be seen going underneath the rides and checking and repairing flaws. Nabin may have got his knowledge from experience, but many credit their knowledge of the machines to intuition. The officers at Kathmandu Fun Park were unavailable for comments on its security aspects.

At Kathmandu Fun Valley in Sanga, electrical supervisor Upendra Karki informed that while he was specifically trained for the rides, all the operators are given weekly, monthly and six-monthly trainings. They also have trained lifeguards to help at the water section. The water sports there have been very popular, five-year-old Arpit Upadhyaya enjoyed himself so much that he refused to leave the Park.

But on a more serious note, though it has an experienced medical officer at hand for first aid, the Park does not have insurance for its consumers.

“Since the Park is fairly new, there have been no untoward incidents. Perhaps that is the reason we have not thought of insurance, though we take security seriously,” says Sudeshna KC, a human resources and admin staff at the Park.

Over at the Central Zoo, Surya Bhakta Nakarmi has taken an insurance policy of Rs. 500,000 on his personal initiative for his ride called Funny Temple. The lack of uniformity regarding something as crucial as insurance results from the fact that there is no central body governing the installment, management, and security of amusement parks as a whole.

“As a business, they need to take permission from whatever local body they fall under. But as for the ride itself, the owners operate it at their own risk,” said Laxman Aryal, CEO of Kathmandu Metropolitan City Office. The Park at Bhrikuti Mandap is governed by the Social Welfare Council, the one at Sanga by Bhaktapur Municipality Office, and Surya Bhakta has registered his workshop with the Department of Cottage and Small Industries.

This means that the rides operate with little or no government supervision. As businesses, they all pay taxes. But other than that, there is no interest in or monitoring of the rides from the government side. Like all fairs and carnivals, amusement parks are also governed by the Local Self Government Act. But the Act only addresses social factors like general security and peace, not specifically the technical aspects of amusement rides. Faced with a vacuum of regulations, the owners are the ones who decide crucial elements like safety, maintenance of the physical structure, and appointment of able candidates.

“Internal rules govern such issues,” confirms Sushil Chaudhari, chief of Bhrikuti Mandap Operation Committee.

International standards dictate that the speed of a ride, the height of the person who can ride in it and other precautionary notices must be put up where the consumer can see them. But no such signs are in evidence anywhere near the rides at Bhrikuti Mandap, though there are notices suggesting that people with heart disease and epilepsy refrain from riding. As for age and height of riders, Sajani Khadgi, ticket seller, informs that they do not let children ride the Columbus—one of the more dangerous rides. But without objective measures of who is a child and who is not, this rule is informal and not strictly enforced.

Questions like whether the structure can hold the specified number of people, whether it needs updating, and whether the safety harness is sufficient for the kind of ride are also decided only by the owners of the rides. As for the physical structure itself, Nakarmi informs that he plans to continue operating Funny Temple at the Zoo as long as it doesn’t fail him.

“This is Nepal, we don’t change or update the structure just for cosmetic damages,” says he.

Machines of this size require regular lubrication, maintenance, and checking for flaws. Since he is the designer and technical officer of Funny Temple, Nakarmi takes care of these tasks himself and can guarantee safety on the ride. But the same cannot be said of structures which are at the hands of untrained or semi-trained operators. This is especially true of temporary rides which are set up during carnivals and dismantled soon after, and many of them are seen in derelict conditions. Consumers who seek the adrenaline rush need to keep in mind that they do so at their own risk.

Published in Republica on 18 April 2014, Page 7

Secondhand ware, firsthand wisdom

Tottering piles of books lie all around him. Some of the outer piles of books are curved, forming a full semi-circle over an inner layer. It makes you wonder how Narayan Prasad Sapkota, the proprietor of the nameless secondhand bookshop inside Bhrikuti Mandap, manages to find his way in and around.

“Tell me which book you want, and you shall know,” he grins at the dubious observer. Indeed, ask for any random book that’s been in a syllabus anytime in the last twenty years, and he’ll find it for you, semi-circular pile or no.

Secondhand bookshops like Narayan’s are dotted all around the city. These stores operate on a buy-and-sell basis: customers come in to sell books they have no use for, and buy new ones. In fact, these shops don’t need to look for customers; it’s the customers who come to them. They buy books at 20-25% of the price, and sell at 50%. Sometimes they also buy from bookstores that want to clear their stock.

While most of these shops stock up on fiction and nonfiction, for street vendors it’s a different story. Most of their books are “course books,” in other words, books that are part of curricula. But it’s not unusual to find a few novels and magazines like Vogue and Stardust among them.

Arjun Khatri, who displays his wares at Sundhara, claims to know by instinct which books will sell and which won’t, even though he can’t read English. “Some learn by reading, and some by experience,” says he. “And I’ve learnt by experience.”

You have to take his word for it, because at the outset, his display doesn’t seem very fetching. Strange books are juxtaposed together: A product catalog for furniture lies next to a Charles Dickens novel, and a pictorial of shawl designs for weaving is sprawled beside an Archie’s Comic.

But his patchy knowledge of non-course books isn’t a big problem for Arjun. He doesn’t count on them to bring in much money anyway. The bulk of street vendors’ business derives from the dependable course books. Students come in droves when one semester ends and another begins, selling old books and buying new ones. From these books, they make anything up from Rs. 500 per day, enough to support their family.

Whatever little they know of “out books”—a catch-all term for all books in English, be it fiction, non fiction, or shawl designs—vendors are certainly very cognizant of the “course books.” That makes them unwitting observers of trends in education.

“This book on political science, it used to be evergreen. It’s so not popular these days,” sighs Narayan, pointing at a political science classic. He knows very well that students have decreased in the Humanities and increased in technical subjects.

Radhika Khatri, who sets shop in front of NAC, buys every other book at 20-25% of its original price. But for science books, she has no problem shelling out 30%. She knows they will sell fast and high.

On the other hand, the business is not so brisk in shops which don’t sell course books. Unlike street vendors who can depend on the periodic flow of customers according to the educational calendar, shops in Thamel depend on the unpredictable flow and tastes of tourists. And tourists today would much rather read e-books than paper books.

“Computers have taken away the book business,” Rupchandra Maharjan of Academy Books explains. “Now people turn to computers not just to read but also for entertainment.”

Rupchandra’s opinion was echoed around Thamel. Threatened to extinction by technology, these booksellers believe it’s no longer possible to make a living out of secondhand books. Rupchandra is already considering doing away with the secondhand books he has and stocking up on catalogs and gift items that tourists prefer instead.

But getting rid of old books isn’t so easy. Overwhelming inventory is the ‘problem number one’ for those in book business. On the streets, sellers contend with outdated course books. The wares they display are just a small part of their overall stock; their storehouses are overflowing with outdated books. They are forced to sell such books for mere Rupees.

In the cozy specialty shops in Thamel, the problem is simply too many books. “Tourists want to sell before they buy new books,” says Surendra Singh, proprietor of Horizon Books in Thamel. “And if you don’t want to buy their books, they won’t buy yours. Why would they? They know there are others who will help them.” And so he’s forced to buy even though he has no extra money to waste on inventory. His house is now full of these unwanted books, and they are the reason his shop has little space for walking.

The out-of-control inventory keeps booksellers in the business even when they don’t see much profit in it. Narayan’s books cover an entire shop and extend over most of the frontyard in concentric semi-circles. He has a degree in law, but with so much investment in books, he rues that pursuing a career in law is no longer a viable option.

Besides, there are the intangible perks of being in book business. For Surendra, who has always loved books since he was in college, having a bookshop means he gets to talk to people who read, which he cherishes.

And contrary to assumption, not every shopkeeper in laidback Thamel does it for the love of books, and not every illiterate vendor in the streets is in it just for the money. Radhika isn’t much of a reader herself, but still thinks this business is better than others because it’s about knowledge and helping people. She has developed attachments to the books, having dealt in them for so many years.

For Arjun, his business is a way of being close to books, though belatedly. “If I had had books when I was young, I would’ve been educated,” says he. “But there were no such cheap books then. My business helps students with meager means.” Arjun perhaps says it best when he states that his work isn’t just business but also social service.

But at the end of the day, business prospects seem to be the foremost consideration for booksellers, no matter how much they love books. We’re likely to see vendors who deal in course books around for a long time, until all students can afford e-books at least.

As for the quaint boutique-like shops, otherwise known as booklovers’ paradise, their future seems shaky at best.

Published in Republica on 11 April 2014, Page 10

Reflection after a discussion on federalism with editors

What (most of) our editors think about inclusion in the newsroom, and why I disagree

Recently I was invited to a discussion on how media has presented federalism, and how it should present federalism in the future. The first half was, to say the least, very enlightening. Editors of prominent media talked about how Nepali media is event driven, which is why events and leaders’ speeches get more coverage than the structure of states in federalism. Also, emotional issues like identity and number of states have overshadowed substantive debates on the mechanisms of state division. 

One editor’s point, that perhaps these emotional issues are required to raise the issue of rights, was thought provoking, because indeed, the issue of decentralization and devolution of power have been brought up again and again, but no concrete steps had been taken until the emotional issues of identity took centre-stage, which then propelled stakeholders into action. 

Regarding whether or not federalism is necessary, only one out of the five editors categorically stated that federalism, or the division of states, is not necessary. What is required is the devolution of power. I agree with him, even though for everyone else it was an agenda that we could not go back on, having been mandated by the people. I have doubts regarding that, because as one of the editors himself said, every party has been grey on federalism in their agendas. I was out in the streets in 2006 protesting against certain things, and I don’t remember endorsing federalism. I assume it is the same with most people who gave the parties their “mandate.” They supported the parties to solve immediate problems, not necessarily because they wanted federalism.

And then a journalist opened the Pandora’s Box by asking about inclusion. Newsrooms are not very inclusive, said he, and could that have contributed to a one-sided discussion of federalism among the public? No no, said the editors, all but one. We select journalists based on competence, not inclusion. I never try to make my newsroom inclusive, said one. I receive a lot of criticism for having the least number of women in my newsroom, said another. 

The journalist again pointed out that international studies indicate that there is a direct correlation between the composition of a newsroom and the news it produces. The program organizer had said in the beginning, when he gave a background to the program, that there is very little understanding of federalism among the public, and what is there is negative—people think of it as a ‘desh tukryaune’ tactic. But that is exactly the perception of the high caste males that dominate the newsroom! Like the Madhesi journalist pointed out, if you listen to radio programs operated by madhesi journalists, the perspective is completely different. Editors harped on ‘competence’ for a long time, but this example makes it evident that journalists’ bias is taking over competence their reporting. 

Editors may claim that neither they nor their reporters are biased, but your bias is not something that you can see yourself. At least, not people of normal intelligence. Editors are supposed to be above normal intelligence though. By insisting on this ‘quality,’ which probably means good writing skills, editors are missing out on the balanced viewpoint that could emerge from a diverse newsroom. 

As stated above, personally I am not for federalism, but here I was outraged for those who are: to hear that editors thought others’ opinion did not matter, that their little clique of likeminded cronies was sufficient. They had the audacity to believe they could think for the whole country, and that the difference in schools of thought brought about by socio-economic upbringing is not important. 

Editors put up ludicrous claims to justify their stance, from ‘I have seen writers from one dalit community ask me to kill a story by a writer of the same community’(writers from every community do that, even your high caste males that dominate your newsroom do that. That does not make a case against not having them, nor make them less ‘competent’) to ‘we have done a report of madhesh by a bahun that was highly appreciated’ (but you have nothing to compare it to. How do you know a madheshi would not have said something different? For millennia men have been writing humiliating treatises about women, which have been highly appreciated and applauded by men, their primary audience. Giving opinions and receiving applause from a tiny echo-chamber does not say much about the comprehensiveness of your reports.)

Now, it is no secret to anyone in the journalism community that editorials are written by editorial teams, though under the editor’s supervision and approval. Having worked in the editorial team, I know exactly how inclusion matters. Editorial is taken as the voice of authority, actually, all of media—to those outside the media fraternity, but editorials even more so. When I write about women’s issues in the editorial, it is very different from the way my male colleagues. Despite the fact that my colleagues were very nice, most undiscriminating, and sympathetic to women, they just could not understand the finer nuances of, for example, what menstruation rituals meant to women (not just a means for ensuring hygiene, but also for ensuring women’s secondary place in society, their obedience in terms of religion, and a means to bar them from religious decision-making which have far flung implications), how abortion is perceived (several socio-cultural factors lie behind every decision to abort, but mainstream media portrays only the woman as question as guilty for abortion). But hitherto, few of these views had been regarded as authoritative, simply because there have been fewer women in the media. Injecting a little bit of women’s viewpoint was a step towards a balanced discourse on these issues.

Perhaps the most disheartening comment about inclusion was when editor said that inclusion may be relevant in other sectors, but not in journalism. Journalists set the agenda for the whole country, journalists make opinions. And the point of federalism is not just to ensure access to resources but also to information and to opinion making. Without this access, people have no way of correcting the biases and misinformation against them, or of raising their agendas. If, without the participation of marginalized groups, a small group could raise everyone’s agenda, then we would never have arrived at this unequal society in the first place. We are here because every group that controls knowledge thinks only of itself. Inclusion is, first and foremost, important in the place where information is created. Only a diverse team at this level has any chance of creating a discourse that is, through a dialectic process of give and take, balanced. 

After that, I could not concentrate on anything else. My mind was so disturbed by this unanimous show against inclusion that I have absolutely no memory of what the rest of the session was like.