Search Results for sahitya akademi

Sahitya Akademi Awards – Loknath Upadhyay Chapagain

” हाम्रो आफ्नो राज्य हुँदा हाम्रो आफ्नो अस्मिता, हाम्रो चिनारी, हाम्रो परिचय यहाँ स्थायीरूपले हुन्छ भन्ने हामी सोंच्दछौ । तर जसको राज्य छैन जस्तै संस्कृत, इंग्लिश या हिंदी । हिंदी पनि सर्वभारतीय भाषा हो । त्यसको आफ्नो राज्य छैन । तैपनि यो भाषा को मूल्याङ्कन त्यति माथि हुनुको अर्थ हो – त्यो भाषा धनी छ । हाम्रो भाषा पनि धनी छ तर हामी कति धनी छौं? हामीले आफ्नो भाषालाई कति चिन्दछौं जान्दछौं र अरूलाई कति चिनाएका छौं भन्ने कुरा हामीले सोंच्ने पर्ने बेला आएको छ ।”

Karna Thami Sir – In Memorium: वरिष्ठ साहित्यकार कर्ण थामी प्रति नेसासको श्रद्धाञ्जली

TheDC team joins Nepali Sahitya Sammelan Darjeeling in mourning the death of our Sahitya Akademi Awardee Karna Thami sir. He was one of the pivotal figures in the Nepali Bhasa Manyata Abhiyan – which was instrumental in getting Nepali language recognized under the VIIIth Schedule of our Constitution.

Freedom Fighter Pratiman Singh Lama: A Jewel of the Himalayas

On 14th June 2019, a historical event was organised by Pratiman Singh Lama Salig Nirman Samiti, Kurseong Municipality commemorating 129th Birth Anniversary of Veteran National Freedom Fighter & Writer of First Original Nepali Novel ‘Mahakal Jasoos’ – Shri Pratiman Singh Lama.

‘Syanu Tara Bisalu’: Mamata Banerjee’s 3 Mistakes in Darjeeling

The Darjeeling hills, Terai and Dooars are one of the most complex and complicated, cosmopolitan regions in India. This region is a miniature replica of our nation and the complexities surrounding it. Anyone wishing to govern such a complex piece of geography should have a thorough understanding of its history, polity, politics and socio-cultural fabric.


The air no longer holds in itself the fragrances of orchids and marigolds and azaleas and the murmuring bamboo trees that once would twitch in delirious orgasms through night and day seem to have surrendered the vibrancy of their youth today. The old mountains to the new day are no more than just that – old mountains. The story-telling rivers and the singing brooks and streams have narrated their last chapters and have sung their last melodies and now bow their heads in silence. The lustrous pine trees adorning the slants of the hills have lost their telepathic abilities. And the people – men, women, teenagers, children – have traversed so far away from their basic nature that it would become an arduous task if one were to tell man from machine. There is a certain chaos that dwells in the atmosphere of the town that we see today. You hear the sounds – the clamour, the noise, the rhythm of regularity – and you perceive it well and you turn your eyes in their sockets and you identify the frenzy that unfurls around you for time has trained you well. You breathe in the air. A concoction of colours enters you and along with it, you inhale the remains of that old town. Something flares up inside you. Memories are burning; memories of a town that is not this, memories of a life that is not this. And you realize the bittersweet travesty that is ‘time’. Gorkhaland Revolution was born in this town in 1986 and two years later, I.