The Piss Miss
This is the second in the series of Shirish's Secret Confession. The third one is a post already here, so the next 'confession' to be posted will be the fourth. I am happy I am doing something.
Listen, I have a confession to make. I know why my life is so messed up. I committed a major mistake today that has made it painfully clear to me why my life sucks, and why there has been no permanent solution to the problem in the middle east.
The next Loo was slightly less congested, and I took a relatively isolated urinal. After doing the deed, I headed for the washbasin, where a fellow Urinator was washing his hands. I was proud to be his comrade in washing hands-- only few did it. I was not as proud when he did not rinse his hands but instead used them to scoop out water to his hair. He wet his hair and washed his face, all with the half-rinsed hand whose fingers had touched his face before they touched water. I pushed pass him, did a quick washing, and got out.
Listen, I have a confession to make. I know why my life is so messed up. I committed a major mistake today that has made it painfully clear to me why my life sucks, and why there has been no permanent solution to the problem in the middle east.
It was 6.30 this evening. I was with my friends in Bishal Bazar when I had the urgent need to go to the loo. Whenever I have similar urges, I just tap my legs really frequently, and then close my thighs, so that the muscles know its NOT okay to open up. But today, all the caffeine and sugar and lard I had had some hours earlier had coaxed my muscles to move up without caring for what I wanted to do. So I got into this toilet. I usually don't use the urinals because some individuals cannot aim properly, and some have this habit of looking around a lot when they relieve themselves. I did not wish to provide such individuals with data for their informal survey, so I went directly to a cubical. There were four, and three were closed so I had no choice.
Those staying outside Nepal might have forgotten, but Pans are the preferred receipients of human waste compared to Commodes in public toilets. This Pan stood there in all its glory: with a big piece of shiny human excreta sitting in the middle proudly, like a King sitting in his rightful throne. It shone bright yellow in the bright yellow light, and I felt it would be wrong to destroy its majestic demean by doing something to it. I immediately left the Loo and started for the other floor. I might have heard a woman calling me, but since I was fairly confident my fly was not open, I did not bother to look.
JUST WHEN. I heard a man collecting money from the Loo users asking money. I was at the side, so I ignored him and moved passed him, pretending I never heard him. I did not pay money after using the toilet. Apparently, I had been asked money in the previous toilet too, but the woman had been too shy to ask men who had just relieved themselves for money. I had cheated paying for money twice, and I had done once intentionally.
In the four hours that have passed since, I have learnt that it was not the right thing to do, and it is probably the kind of attitude that has stopped my country Nepal from developing. When I go to college, I expect to be in students from all cultures and languages,and I will lean from them how to behave properly when coming out of he toilet, and the right amount of money one should give for using the toilet. Giving too little could mean you're a cheapskate--giving too much could make people unnecessarily suspicious if there is anyone in the toilet who should not be in there.
However, it will be only me who will have gotten the knowledge. To develop my country Nepal, I will come back and share the knowledge with my countrymen. Not only that, I will also teach them to aim properly, and give them activities to do while relieving themselves so that they will not bother looking to check how the other people are doing. With some advanced lessons and grants, perhaps I could teach them to make interesting shapes with their excreta.
I have been asked how this would provide a solution to the problem in the Middle East. The Arabs and the Israelis call each other with names that are usually synonyms of human excreta, and that I believe is the root of all problems. When they realize that human excreta is actually an interesting topic, out of which works of art can be made out, they will realize that their weapons don't mean anything and instead wage an artistic war among themselves, discarding all weapons in favor of paintbrushes and palettes.
The Ungay Confession
I haven't written anything for a verry long time, and the guilt's only getting bigger. I have to do Dhintang, and this and that... So much to do, so little time for creative stuff... So anyway, something got into me, and I actually wrote about 2000 words for facebook. It is the first of what I have called Shirish's Secret Confession series. I want to end it at 4, maybe 5, and then delete 'em from facebook, and then bring them permanently here.
I have a big confession to make. You may be shocked, and may even cry a little. You will reinterpret every interaction you have had with me in a new light. You could be repulsed by this, or could like me more. This is important, and I want to confess this before it gets too late. This is painful for me, but I must do it.
There is no easy way to do this, so I will put it bluntly: I am not gay. I know, a shocker, right? You have the right to know the entire truth. Because of my frequent use of <3 <3 <3, 'hehe', 'lol' and those cute smileys, and my general demean, you might not have thought of me in that way. But trust me, looks tell only so much.
When I wore that pink T-shirt with a matching pink short, you thought I had excellent gay fashion sense, right? I am not so good: I had it on only because my mother thinks pink suits me. 'And that tight Jeans you had?', you will ask. My mother's fault: my sister's pile of Jeans mixed with mine. Sorry to disappoint you but I am not the tasteful and charming young gay man you imagine me to be.
Listen, I can give you a hundred reasons why I should be gay. I lived the last ten years with boys whom I have eaten, read, slept, bathed, and watched scary films with. I had tickle-fights with my roommates until class 12, and I have tickled my opponents everywhere I can get my hands on(except the verry private parts, which I understand are not very ticklish). I went with my male friends to movies, restaurants, and every freaking damn place people go with their partners. Heck, I have been with my boy friends in every Valentine's day in the last ten years. With so much intimate interaction, you would think I should be as gay as a Dolphin. Unfortunately, that would be wrong: I am not gay, even though we agree, I ought to be. I haven't gotten very far into the gayness thing, and it seems I am destined to be forced into the straightness of the path traced by light outside a gravitational field.
I think it's my thinking that's messed up. Whenever I see an 'attractively dressed' man, I think: 'Yeah the dude's like, whatever. Though I'd probably look better than him if I cut my beard and hair that way, and had that suit and the tie. Pfft George Clooney is so overrated.' On the other hand, I can hardly form coherent thoughts when I look at an attractively-dressed woman, let alone look at her straight in the eye; I am usually burning red with shyness and guilt-- and other feelings-- which is not good if I am supposed to be gay.
Because I am not gay, all that I have been given has been wasted. I don't understand what use I can put my beard to if I cannot rub it against my partner's rough cheeks. What's the point of being a week-kneed man if you cannot wrap your legs around your bf's sturdy legs? And what the hell am I supposed to do of my potbelly if I cannot have belly-fights with the bf(I understand I can have it with women too, but at my age, a gay bf is much easier to find than a preggie 'partner')? My ability to produce bodily noises at the most unfortunate times is of no use if I cannot compete with my bf on who can produce the most interesting noise during, say, someone's funeral.
My parents wont be shocked by my sexuality and keep denying it until it is too late. My relatives wont be able to share interesting(and overtly exaggerated) anecdotes about me. Oh, those poor policemen will not be able to cuff' me and beat me up for my 'queerness'. My heart bleeds for those masculine men in dark alleys who cannot throw volleys of the most offensive words in English and Nepali, and then pinch me on the bottom. Knowing that my non-queerness is taking away happiness from so many people hurts be. I try, but I can't win this one.
It's the media's fault. How many sexxxy gay models do you see on tv? It's all those 'attractive' female models who are messing me up. Yeah, Archies comics have that new gay guy, and The Simpsons has Smithers and The Office Oskar, but pfft, that's meager compared too all the other 'straight' characters.
Listen, all the gay men out there: I envy you-- teach me your trick. To the straight guys: yeah, whatever. And to those strong, charming, rich, sensitive, and funny young men who might be be likable enough to change my taste, and are interested in me : Yes, I am free on Wednesday; City Center sounds great, and yeah, I am looking forward to it too.
And to everyone else: ermm..uhhh...Huhh, what was that...Sorry...No, Im not sick. It's juust... Yeah, wow it's new? Yes, yes yes it looks very nice...Its very nice... So...Err--huhh...Umm, So maybe I can get something to drink? Uhh, it's okay, you can take it home...yeah you can give it to him too, but he stu--...yeah, sure...whatever you say...
I have a big confession to make. You may be shocked, and may even cry a little. You will reinterpret every interaction you have had with me in a new light. You could be repulsed by this, or could like me more. This is important, and I want to confess this before it gets too late. This is painful for me, but I must do it.
There is no easy way to do this, so I will put it bluntly: I am not gay. I know, a shocker, right? You have the right to know the entire truth. Because of my frequent use of <3 <3 <3, 'hehe', 'lol' and those cute smileys, and my general demean, you might not have thought of me in that way. But trust me, looks tell only so much.
When I wore that pink T-shirt with a matching pink short, you thought I had excellent gay fashion sense, right? I am not so good: I had it on only because my mother thinks pink suits me. 'And that tight Jeans you had?', you will ask. My mother's fault: my sister's pile of Jeans mixed with mine. Sorry to disappoint you but I am not the tasteful and charming young gay man you imagine me to be.
Listen, I can give you a hundred reasons why I should be gay. I lived the last ten years with boys whom I have eaten, read, slept, bathed, and watched scary films with. I had tickle-fights with my roommates until class 12, and I have tickled my opponents everywhere I can get my hands on(except the verry private parts, which I understand are not very ticklish). I went with my male friends to movies, restaurants, and every freaking damn place people go with their partners. Heck, I have been with my boy friends in every Valentine's day in the last ten years. With so much intimate interaction, you would think I should be as gay as a Dolphin. Unfortunately, that would be wrong: I am not gay, even though we agree, I ought to be. I haven't gotten very far into the gayness thing, and it seems I am destined to be forced into the straightness of the path traced by light outside a gravitational field.
I think it's my thinking that's messed up. Whenever I see an 'attractively dressed' man, I think: 'Yeah the dude's like, whatever. Though I'd probably look better than him if I cut my beard and hair that way, and had that suit and the tie. Pfft George Clooney is so overrated.' On the other hand, I can hardly form coherent thoughts when I look at an attractively-dressed woman, let alone look at her straight in the eye; I am usually burning red with shyness and guilt-- and other feelings-- which is not good if I am supposed to be gay.
Because I am not gay, all that I have been given has been wasted. I don't understand what use I can put my beard to if I cannot rub it against my partner's rough cheeks. What's the point of being a week-kneed man if you cannot wrap your legs around your bf's sturdy legs? And what the hell am I supposed to do of my potbelly if I cannot have belly-fights with the bf(I understand I can have it with women too, but at my age, a gay bf is much easier to find than a preggie 'partner')? My ability to produce bodily noises at the most unfortunate times is of no use if I cannot compete with my bf on who can produce the most interesting noise during, say, someone's funeral.
My parents wont be shocked by my sexuality and keep denying it until it is too late. My relatives wont be able to share interesting(and overtly exaggerated) anecdotes about me. Oh, those poor policemen will not be able to cuff' me and beat me up for my 'queerness'. My heart bleeds for those masculine men in dark alleys who cannot throw volleys of the most offensive words in English and Nepali, and then pinch me on the bottom. Knowing that my non-queerness is taking away happiness from so many people hurts be. I try, but I can't win this one.
It's the media's fault. How many sexxxy gay models do you see on tv? It's all those 'attractive' female models who are messing me up. Yeah, Archies comics have that new gay guy, and The Simpsons has Smithers and The Office Oskar, but pfft, that's meager compared too all the other 'straight' characters.
Listen, all the gay men out there: I envy you-- teach me your trick. To the straight guys: yeah, whatever. And to those strong, charming, rich, sensitive, and funny young men who might be be likable enough to change my taste, and are interested in me : Yes, I am free on Wednesday; City Center sounds great, and yeah, I am looking forward to it too.
And to everyone else: ermm..uhhh...Huhh, what was that...Sorry...No, Im not sick. It's juust... Yeah, wow it's new? Yes, yes yes it looks very nice...Its very nice... So...Err--huhh...Umm, So maybe I can get something to drink? Uhh, it's okay, you can take it home...yeah you can give it to him too, but he stu--...yeah, sure...whatever you say...
Go eat her potatoes[The life and times of Miss Shrestha]
The last time we heard about her, she was reading poems and doing stuff. Now, the great revolutionary leader Namrata Shrestha is selling potatoes[and other stuffs].
Krishna Dhungana and company went to her restaurant and talked to her. Below is what appears to be happening. Links at the end.
110 Rupees? If it's any good, it's freaking cheap, because go anywhere decent and you have to pay wayy more than that for potatoes. The 'Royal' also makes it sound more--well, royal-- so huzzah, go for the royal potatoes. And brag that you ate Namrata Shrestha's potatoes.
The place should be damn good if it has any Momos. It sounds nice, but more importantly, it belongs to Namrata Shrestha. So hit it. It's surprising you're still reading this: go to Lazimpat's The Attic and eat her potatoes. Wink, wink.
Ooh, another boyfriend? Or maybe just a friend? Cousin? The dude(who BTW is that dude in the pic below) looks nice, so unless he's her cousin, or gay, she should totally go out with him. Have fun. Do stuff.
The title of the film 'Purple Days' sounds great, but it sort of reminds me of the kinds of films with other color names in them. Filthy me.
So she's getting rich, eh? Go, go gurl, you show 'em what you can do. Ahem.
Read the original Nepali version of this article here
[gallery link="file" columns="2" orderby="rand"]
Krishna Dhungana and company went to her restaurant and talked to her. Below is what appears to be happening. Links at the end.
After she was dragged into controversy after her 'private' videos were made public, model and actress Namrata Shrestha is slowly going back to settling normally in the society. Not only has been seen more often in social and public functions recently, but lately she has also started in a completely new field with her friends: Restaurant business. 'Royal Potatoes' cost Rs. 110 in her restaurant, exclusive of VAT and service charge. SO who comes to her restaurant? She says the restaurant's not particularly targeted at ANYbody. "All kind of people come. I feel specially people from media come more often," she says. Coincidence--her social life was almost over because of certain people in the medial. I am not sure if she was being sarcastic with her replies, but we had gone their without any planning and informing(her).
110 Rupees? If it's any good, it's freaking cheap, because go anywhere decent and you have to pay wayy more than that for potatoes. The 'Royal' also makes it sound more--well, royal-- so huzzah, go for the royal potatoes. And brag that you ate Namrata Shrestha's potatoes.
It was an impulsive and immediate decision to go to Namrata Shrestha's Attic restaurant on Wednesday afternoon. After a very short conversation with Rishikesh Dahal and Ashok Thapa from Nagariknews, we agreed to go to Attic for lunch.
She was silent after the video scandal. Hoping to break her silence, we climbed up the stairs to the third-floor attic of an old-fashioned house in Lazimpat. The exterior is quaint, but the furnishing is modern. We had to wait for some time before Namrata arrived in a long overflowing white dress. " I am a confident and hardworking woman who likes to learn new things," she cleared. It was not difficult to guess how confident and hardworking she was: after working as a model, radio presenter, and an actress, she was here now, in her on restaurant. "It was a new experience for me," she reminisced opening the restaurant with friend Raman, "It was opened because there was a need of new ideas for a hang-out junction."
The place should be damn good if it has any Momos. It sounds nice, but more importantly, it belongs to Namrata Shrestha. So hit it. It's surprising you're still reading this: go to Lazimpat's The Attic and eat her potatoes. Wink, wink.
She's not really into restaurants, though. She considers this an experiment. For her, the restaurant is important more for the PR than for the profit. "Melodious music, attractive exterior design and delicious food our specialties. That is why our customers are those looking for music, peaceful environment and good food."
The Attic has live musical performances every Wednesday and Friday.On special occasions like Holi and new year, they have similar programs, with the added bonus of the presence of a lot of local celebrities.
Because she's so busy busy with films, modelling and events, Namrata cannot give much time to the restaurant. "I miss my friends then, but I feel like I am here, wherever I may be physically," she says. Aand would that 'friends' be Raman, I wanted to ask, but I bit my tongue. "You learn either the easy way or the very hard way. I learnt it the very hard way, after a pain of a year," she confides, speaking openly about the scandal for the first time in twenty minutes of the interview.
Ooh, another boyfriend? Or maybe just a friend? Cousin? The dude(who BTW is that dude in the pic below) looks nice, so unless he's her cousin, or gay, she should totally go out with him. Have fun. Do stuff.
She's working for as the lead actress for the film 'Purple Days' being produces by Prabhu Shamsher Rana. While even the male actors, who are much higher-paid than actresses, do not get Rs. 5 Lakhs for a film, Namrata is being paid the amount for the film. "The thing is, I will take what I am qualified for," said Namrata, diplomatically.
The title of the film 'Purple Days' sounds great, but it sort of reminds me of the kinds of films with other color names in them. Filthy me.
So she's getting rich, eh? Go, go gurl, you show 'em what you can do. Ahem.
Read the original Nepali version of this article here
[gallery link="file" columns="2" orderby="rand"]
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