Chatpate(no italics) is one of the greatest contributions Nepali culture has made(along with Momos) to humanity. But not all Chatpates are the same-- some are good, and some not so much. Some are, in fact, so bad that that they create uncertainty about their greatness in those that eat them. Everyone needs to understand the cause of difference in the quality, to be able to distinguish the good from the bad.
The most important quality of a good chatpate is its ability to be customized for personal taste. A good chatpatewallah will always ask his(assumption) customers the saltiness they prefer, the magnitude of spicyness they would like to have, ranging from 'not spicy at all' to 'holy *hit, call the doctor. I might die. I will die if I don't get something to get rid of this', and the exact amount of the secret sauce to be used. If the chatpatewallah does not ask you for these things, he's not a good at this particular trade, no matter how good a cook or street-food specialist he maybe in general. Never, ever go to him again.
The possible combination are infinite. Probably not infinite, but so large that if you use combination/permutation to calculate, your calculator will show 'error' which could be assumed to be 'infinite' for our case. The fun thing about this food is, if you want to, you will taste a different flavor of chatpate every time you eat, and you never have to repeat a taste.
The other important factor to consider is the wetness to desirability ratio. A good Chatpate should be wet. However, it should not be so wet so as to make it icky-icky. A good rule of thumb to keep in mind to check how good a Chatpate is by looking at the wetness:desirability ratio. If the ratio is less than 1, that is you find it more desirable than it is wet, it will be too dry and crunchy. If the ratio is much larger than one, ie, if it looks much wetter than desirable, it probably is not going to taste too good. So a good Chatpate is the one that maintains the wetness:desirability ratio (which shall henceforth be known as Runil's Ratio) as near to 1 as possible.
The usual factors, such as hygiene, and taste do play a part, as in anywhere else, but the final thing to consider while judging a good chatpate is the kind of spoon the chatpatewallah gives. Even after the chatpate wallah has proved his cleanliness, his talents in making a good chatpate, allows for infinite customizations, and maintains the Runil's Ratio, the chatpate produced by him cannot be considered to be of good standards if the spoon/scoop offered is not sturdy enough. The scoop should be able to withstand at least 22 scoops of the chatpate it accompanies. Better scoops, however, should give away after 32 scoops, so that the second scoop, also included, is used.
What Dress Will The New Nepali President Wear?
A madhesi has become the first president of Nepal. Good. The impossible 'One Madhes One Pradesh' slogan should subside down. And the madhesi people should feel that it is just as much as their country as it is that of white skinned northerners. The big question is, does our New president think himself more of a madhesi or a Nepali.
Dr. Yadav has become the president because of his Mahesi ethnicity, no one is going to argue on that. But as I write now, he is probably taking the oath of presidency from the Chief Justice. What dress is he wearing?
Is he wearing a dhoti and kurta to show that he is from terai and that he is representing the madhesi people? It would be a blunder. He is a Nepali citizen first, and then a madhesi. If people of all ethnicities consider themselves to be members of their ethnic group first and then citizens of a country, there is no point talking about 'sovereignity' and 'integrity' of any country. Barack Obama, the US presidential candidate put it wonderfully,
There is no white America and there is no black America. There is only one America I know of and that is the United Stated of America.
But then, he cannot be wearing Daura Suruwal either. One should think of all those madhesi zealots who think that they have been suppreses for thousands of years and it is their turn for revenge...They would go mad over it and the whole point of making a Madhesi a president would be pointless. ' Daura surual is imposed upon other contrymen by the feudal Pahades. We must protect our culture and fight those colonoal imperialists. Let us preserve our integrity.' Daura suruwal would be a bad choice too.
What would be a safe bet for our new President? A good and sensible suggestion would be coat-pant. That way, he would not be in danger of being too provincial or neglecting his identity as a madhesi. These days nobody dares comments upon suit-pants; the days of bigots who considered these dresses and remnants of British colonialism has long-away passed.
Best Of Luck! Dress Well...
Farewell, dear friend
It is with utmost horror that I have to report the ultimate demise of our dear fellow-resident of our cubicle, the Big Fat Gray Mouse. He stayed with us for longer than we care to admit (or perhaps it was his ancestor?) and had all the fun at our expense. Nevertheless, I feel his demise should not be treated with disrespect—even a filthy vermin who bites and tears apart your favourite school shirt on the eve of the most important official event deserves respect—so I shall pay tribute to him by reminiscing our encounters with the fine fellow.
We (the human dwellers of the cubicle) came to know of his existence the day we heard something making a metallic noise at 3 in the morning. At first, we had believed we were being haunted by either a human thief or an ectoplasmic ghost, but once it was confirmed that the species was not a human, living or dead, we had no option but to go after it with our slippers. In the beginning we meant no harm, we still believed in the sanctity of life, be it human or mice, but once we saw the dirty rascal had bitten into and contaminated our secret cache of noodles and dry fruits that we had saved for the exam-time, we had no other option but to try killing it. The day was lucky or the Mice: it escaped.
Since that day, we have had several more encounters with him, and most of them involved him running for his life while we tried a myriad of options to kill him. We tried poisoned biscuits—they were almost ingested by our human neighbours next door but not him, we tried the trap—we collected a few lizards and almost cut our fingers but had no effect on the mouse, and we tried the age-old Hit The Little Bugger With The Broom. We failed every time. We had almost resigned ourselves to living with that nutter who had, it seemed, vowed to make our lives miserable.
So perhaps it was our luck that the Principal’s house cat happened to be around, and decided to visit our cubicle. In a fashion probably not very different from Tom & Jerry’s the cat must have chased the mouse, pierced the soft skin with its claws, and eaten the internal organs. We were very sad to see the carcass of poor old fellow lying just outside the house, his intestines lying all around. It would be a lie to say we would miss that horrible creature, but live well, wherever you are Big Fat Gray Mouse!
We (the human dwellers of the cubicle) came to know of his existence the day we heard something making a metallic noise at 3 in the morning. At first, we had believed we were being haunted by either a human thief or an ectoplasmic ghost, but once it was confirmed that the species was not a human, living or dead, we had no option but to go after it with our slippers. In the beginning we meant no harm, we still believed in the sanctity of life, be it human or mice, but once we saw the dirty rascal had bitten into and contaminated our secret cache of noodles and dry fruits that we had saved for the exam-time, we had no other option but to try killing it. The day was lucky or the Mice: it escaped.
Since that day, we have had several more encounters with him, and most of them involved him running for his life while we tried a myriad of options to kill him. We tried poisoned biscuits—they were almost ingested by our human neighbours next door but not him, we tried the trap—we collected a few lizards and almost cut our fingers but had no effect on the mouse, and we tried the age-old Hit The Little Bugger With The Broom. We failed every time. We had almost resigned ourselves to living with that nutter who had, it seemed, vowed to make our lives miserable.
So perhaps it was our luck that the Principal’s house cat happened to be around, and decided to visit our cubicle. In a fashion probably not very different from Tom & Jerry’s the cat must have chased the mouse, pierced the soft skin with its claws, and eaten the internal organs. We were very sad to see the carcass of poor old fellow lying just outside the house, his intestines lying all around. It would be a lie to say we would miss that horrible creature, but live well, wherever you are Big Fat Gray Mouse!
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