Random hits on the keyboard

Collective consciousness refers to the shared set of beliefs, values, habits, and emotional patterns that bind people together within a society. The term was developed by the French sociologist Émile Durkheim, who argued that beyond individual thoughts, societies possess a moral and symbolic core that shapes how their members perceive the world. This shared awareness is not always visible. It may not appear in written texts or political speeches. Rather, collective consciousness is revealed in everyday behaviour: how people greet one another, how families are structured, how cities are built, and how communities respond to crises. During my recent visit to Bangladesh, I observed many similarities between Dhaka and Kathmandu in the way these cities are moving toward urbanisation. Both seem to have missed opportunities to preserve urban aesthetics. Each carries deep cultural traditions, yet these traditions are often overshadowed by the daily struggle to survive and keep pace with rapid ...

As I was running along the long sea beach this morning, I remembered my Geography teacher from school. We were generally good at Geography. We understood the Earth’s rotation and revolution, the Tropic of Cancer, the seasons, all the respectable parts of the subject. But one chapter haunted the entire class: tides. Our teacher tried his best. He spoke about ships waiting patiently on the shore for high tide, about the water level rising and falling twice a day, and the special high tides twice a month because of the Moon. It was fiction to us. The classroom collectively surrendered. Back then, there were no YouTube tutorials nor ChatGPT to explain it better, so the chapter quietly passed without much discussion. We memorised it word for word, line by line, and never questioned it again. Today I stand in Cox's Bazar , and tides are no longer a textbook chapter. I saw that the water level was higher this morning. The running route that I took a few days ago was under waves today. I w...

Before I touched down in Dhaka, my Google searches sketched an impression of the city for me. Some random YouTubers nicely explained the city as 'chaotic' but lively. The images that popped up in Google searches were a blur of rickshaws, endless sea crowds, and traffic jams across the city. A continuous hunk of vehicles adds an extra layer to the existing chaos.  And then I landed. The first surprise came at the airport. The exit procedures felt strangely comforting. I am used to with the confusing airport procedure, but everyone is happy to explain it to you. That's very similar to Kathmandu airport - manual systems, handwritten checks, officers talking to you instead of at you. It reminded me so much of Kathmandu Airport. Something is reassuring about organised imperfection. The hospitality was immediate. I felt that I knew the context, and I have a familiarity with the environment. Outside, my taxi took me to Gulshan 2. We took a toll road. A toll road! For someone from...

Time is relative. I am not bragging about Einstein's Theory of Relativity. This is about several time zones within Kathmandu city. Five o’clock is not universally “early morning.” This morning, it was a usual morning for me. But the empty roads suggested that for many others, it was still midnight. Near the temples, devotees were already walking back from their prayers. Their day had clearly begun long before mine. I imagine they must be thinking, "Ah, the late risers are out." And the vegetable vendors? For them, 5 a.m. is practically late morning. Shops open, scales ready, transactions underway. Their workday was already in full swing while it was still dark. Then comes Thamel, lights still glowing, people spilling out of pubs, laughing, smoking. For them, the night was young. It appears Nepal’s little Las Vegas, blinking through a hangover. “Early” and “late” are not absolute words. They are relative to what we make with our own lifestyles. Time is less a clock and mor...