ALEKSANDER ANDERSEN

JALESHWAR. In these parts of the country, Nepali television means the state broadcaster. If any other channel is on, it usually means someone from Kathmandu is visiting. Nepal Television (NTV) grabs a lion's share of advertising revenue, and its signal strength is also better than any other terrestrial or satellite channel in Nepal.

In software too, the pioneering broadcaster of the country is way ahead of all others. Three of the most popular slapstick teleserials in Nepali - Tito Satya, Meri Bassai and Jire Khurshani - run on the national channel. NTV often sources excellent documentaries from foreign broadcasters and has stringers in far-flung parts of the country.

But government ownership has its downside too. The news on NTV can get a bit dull when its editors have to defend the government or parrot official positions. It hesitates in giving airtime to those who have the most interesting things to say: government critics. But few private operators can match its resources in reporting straight from the villages and small towns of the country.

Two of the best television anchors in Nepal have their shows on national television. A self-assured Laxman Humagain allows his guests to hog the limelight as he deftly steers them towards the issue being discussed. Raju Thapa appears to have inherited the mantle of the late Indra Lohani and runs his talkshows with the panache of a public prosecutor.

The dominance of government media is even more unassailable in print: Gorkhapatra means 'newspaper' to many. UML loyalists still wait for Budhbar, but NC cadres seem to have forsaken Deshantar. Sales of Nepali magazines have plummeted, and are no longer in demand right off the buses out of Kathmandu. Indian newspapers too sell fewer copies, even though the Hindustan has increased its coverage of Nepali affairs.

The primary source of information and the medium of choice for entertainment are local FM stations. There are three radio stations in Jaleshwar alone. Inexpensive Chinese receivers catch the signals of all broadcasters based in Janakpur and Bardibas. Together, they have the entire district listening to young radio jockeys bantering away in Maithili, Nepali and Hindi about things that nobody thought they would ever care to listen to.

All local radios have tie-ups with national networks, and regularly broadcast news and feature capsules produced in Kathmandu. In addition, NGOs have their own slots to publicise their programs. Then there are the promotional materials of the conflict resolution industry, peace campaigners and pressure groups. Individually, these programs are much less popular than those that play pop Hindi numbers on request. But together, the programs of national networks and proactive NGOs weave independent radio into a web of solidarity and strengthen national unity.

Much before Benedict Anderson formulated his concept of the nation as an "imagined political community", Marshall McLuhan had intuited that the printed word was the real architect of nationalism. In building bonds of fellowship between the citizens of a country, hard copy still has no equal. Their availability and access imply that physical and market infrastructure for product distribution have been created; and readers are sufficiently literate and sophisticated to pay for information that may not be of much use for their livelihoods.

Radio and television do not enjoy the level of trust of the printed word. However, advertising professionals have long known that an intelligent mix of print, radio and television is the best way to persuade the audience. Perhaps a similar strategy can work to reinforce messages of inclusive democracy, non-violent politics and tolerant nationalism? It may not be by design, but community radios in countryside seem to be working for that purpose.