Sthani is taller than me, and the first word that she uses to describe herself is 'mixed-breed'. Which is not a single word per-se, and I remind her, but she slaps me on the nose and tells me not to be such a snob. I feel she meant 'pedant' but I know better after that tearful nose-beating. She also has a noticeable mole under her chin, about which she is protective and 'proud'. She gets angry when someone talks to her about the mole.
Her parents did intercaste, and so did both her grandparent pairs. For such a diverse and accepting family, they are a conservative bunch. She tries avoiding touching guys a few days a month because she doesn't want them to get 'cursed', she goes to temples more often in a month than I go in five years, and she considers Baba's bibhutibi as a possible source of infinite food during famine and has seriously offered me bibhuti as a staple food on days I have missed lunch on several occasions. She thinks she's very modern though-- she's the only girl I know who has a large tattoo on her belly(see? Are YOUR parents so open-minded?) that shows well in a Sari (when the Sari's on Sthani, not when the tattoo is wearing a sari. Besides, tattoos cannot wear saris. Not usually). She puts on black bangles, for the Goth look. They have tantric chants written on them. And she often walks around in Kurta-Suruwal. Green. Her name is Swasthani with 'Swa' cut off because her parents thought Swasthani would be too difficult a name to pronounce... And Sthani rolls right off the tongue, like ghiu. She reads Swasthani to her family.
That is Sthani, my friend, for you. She has permitted me to tell you stories about her, so you will hear more about her in the future.
Babwa
I have not mentioned Babwa in a single post out of my 315+ posts. My apologies to him!
Babwa's real name is--Babwa. You don't need the surname, and can call him Babs. Like we do. And have since grade seven. He doesn't like the name because he thinks it sounds too much like 'babes' which he thinks makes his name sound gay. So we remind him that Babs also rhymes with Cabs, Caps, Snaps, Laps, Maps, Craps, Labs, Dabs, Hags, Lags, and so many other words that don't sound as gay. He remains unconvinced, but since he can't do anything about it, he pretends to follow our train of logic and quietens.
You can also talk to Babwa, when you are too excited or happy, in a Lalu-esque Bihari tone. Arre ohhh Babwa, tumra haal kaisa be? Sab theek thaak hooil nah? Gharmaa maa-babu sab theek bhayeel? He doesn't mind that, because that's his language. Though he does worry that we are being too patronizing-- how often do you ask your friends whom you meet several times daily about their home, parents and everything else, and pretend to speak like Lalu Yadav. We keep doing it ALL the time, and that kind-of buggers him. In turn, he takes out his irritation on the Newari guys-- a mixture of random words and a few very specifically chosen Newai swear words.
Sidenote here: he's apparently discovered some swear-word encyclopedia that he absolutely refuses to share with anybody else, and can swear fluently in eighteen different languages. We have tested his knowledge in all the claimed languages in Thamel and other touristy languages, and his authority on such matters is impeccable. The old Israeli couple were rather offended though.
You'd like him though. Even though you will probably make fun of his weird name in your first meeting with him, he will somehow turn that into something that will define your relationship with him. Except his habit of using swear words more often than non-swear words, trying to get acquaintances buy things for him for no reason(which he succeeds in most of the time), his habit of pretending to be an innocent little boy with puppy-dog eyes when he's in a fix, his retro dress sense, and his habit of describing football matches of previous seasons in extreme detail to uninterested audiences, there's little to not like about him.
This was about Babwa. He has permitted me to tell you about him.You will hear(technically--read) a lot more on him.
Babwa's real name is--Babwa. You don't need the surname, and can call him Babs. Like we do. And have since grade seven. He doesn't like the name because he thinks it sounds too much like 'babes' which he thinks makes his name sound gay. So we remind him that Babs also rhymes with Cabs, Caps, Snaps, Laps, Maps, Craps, Labs, Dabs, Hags, Lags, and so many other words that don't sound as gay. He remains unconvinced, but since he can't do anything about it, he pretends to follow our train of logic and quietens.
You can also talk to Babwa, when you are too excited or happy, in a Lalu-esque Bihari tone. Arre ohhh Babwa, tumra haal kaisa be? Sab theek thaak hooil nah? Gharmaa maa-babu sab theek bhayeel? He doesn't mind that, because that's his language. Though he does worry that we are being too patronizing-- how often do you ask your friends whom you meet several times daily about their home, parents and everything else, and pretend to speak like Lalu Yadav. We keep doing it ALL the time, and that kind-of buggers him. In turn, he takes out his irritation on the Newari guys-- a mixture of random words and a few very specifically chosen Newai swear words.
Sidenote here: he's apparently discovered some swear-word encyclopedia that he absolutely refuses to share with anybody else, and can swear fluently in eighteen different languages. We have tested his knowledge in all the claimed languages in Thamel and other touristy languages, and his authority on such matters is impeccable. The old Israeli couple were rather offended though.
You'd like him though. Even though you will probably make fun of his weird name in your first meeting with him, he will somehow turn that into something that will define your relationship with him. Except his habit of using swear words more often than non-swear words, trying to get acquaintances buy things for him for no reason(which he succeeds in most of the time), his habit of pretending to be an innocent little boy with puppy-dog eyes when he's in a fix, his retro dress sense, and his habit of describing football matches of previous seasons in extreme detail to uninterested audiences, there's little to not like about him.
This was about Babwa. He has permitted me to tell you about him.You will hear(technically--read) a lot more on him.
The External Anatomy of a Chicken and Other Life Lessons
This week, I learned that the pickup line "Oh, I didn't know the series was based on such a FAT novel" does not work on a medical student who's carrying a copy of Grey's Anatomy. It's apparently THE handbook of Medical Anatomy and has got nothing to do with the show. Shocking, right?
If the trend's to continue, Devil Wears Prada will be a television series about a Kinky Rakshas(Devil) who likes wearing fashionable clothes for women. He struggles with his identity--he's supposed to be a strong character, a classical bad guy, but he's got a thing for women's clothing, and the series is about how he finally understand that people have to accept for who he is and he doesn't care what others think about him because he's the baddest and most hated guy and way and nothing could ever go worse, so he starts wearing clothes like Cher, but then he realizes that he actually DOES have a lot to lose-- the girl who he's got a crush on thinks he a weirdo, his subordinates start respecting him less, and whenever he invades the Heaven, the gods and their minions break into hysterical giggling instead being terrified by his presence.
He slowly develops his character as a normal kind of guy who has different tastes, and by the end of the series, Prada becomes an exclusively Men's Fashion line dedicated to cater the interesting needs of the bad guys. The girl falls in love with him, because he accepted who he was, but he's fallen in love with someone else now, and we get to know in the second season that the first gal is pregnant with his child.
He also has a funny loopy best friend who always seems to make the wrong decisions, but somehow ends up just where he wanted to by the end, his girlfriend who wants to get married and is tired of his lack of long-term vision about there relationship, a father who will die in a car accident in season 3, a mother who will be diagnosed with cancer at the end of season 1 and will die in the last season, after which He decides to settle down, and so does the friend and everyone lives happily ever after. Well, except those people who the Devil torments, tortures and kills, but hey, it's his job. He'd be unemployed without it, and how else would he feed the adorable children we get to see in the flash-forward seen in season 4?
Pr from P had already told me about Grey's Anatomy and its writer, and I was hoping to show off my knowledge about the author to some random strangers I met on the tempo home. It did not work at all.
In grade 8, we had to draw the external anatomy of a chicken for our agriculture class. My chickens were always too chubby--because what idiot farmer would rear thin chickens. Fat chickens=more meat=more money. And I never got the eyes right: sometimes, they'd look too cute for a chicken and I'd feel bad about it because they were going to die and I'd be sad that a chicken with such cute eyes would be slaughtered so soon, since it was so sad. And sometimes, they'd be too weird-- the farmers would probably kill the poor guy in its childhood; you don't want to keep a chicken that looks as if someone's put a curse on it for too long.
In a related note, (and this is 100% true) I cannot look at goats tied in butcher shops in the eyes. I am not a vegetarian, but when I look at them, I get the feeling they know their fate and are pleading me to help. So I am Sorry dude, you are probably dying this evening but I am going to overcome my guilty conscience by not ever looking at you and ignoring your existence. Oh, and sorry if that hurts, but there's not much I can do there. And stop buggering with you bleats, or I am going to get you killed right now. Never look at a goat in the eyes.
Those to-be doctors I unsuccessfully tried my pickup on were talking about having seen fetuses and heart and as such, which made me wonder: how come hearts look like 'love' AND strawberries, the most romantic of fruits? Can a person get a heart-attack by running? Also(I asked this question to Pr too, but he's answer was not very satisfactory) why the HELL does the position of an Anesthesia Expert even exist? Why don't they just make the patients smell lots of chloroform(trichloromethane) like they do in hindi movies, and then use some more when the patients starts getting conscious. Pr says it's gotta something to do with bodily 'reactions' and other scientific stuff, but I think this is a conspiracy by the Chemical Industry to sell unneeded chemicals to the unsuspecting masses, and all the doctors are in the conspiracy too. And everyone else.
In other unrelated news, I got a T-shirt and keyring from NCell, I have become a thespian, and life sucks. Also, you should totally attend this event organized by one of my friends: tinyurl.com/pillowktm
STOP PRESS: In a maybe-related note, see this post by nepaliketi http://www.nepaliketi.net/2011/01/30/1385/. I was NOT like that. Total solidarity with you, Di!
If the trend's to continue, Devil Wears Prada will be a television series about a Kinky Rakshas(Devil) who likes wearing fashionable clothes for women. He struggles with his identity--he's supposed to be a strong character, a classical bad guy, but he's got a thing for women's clothing, and the series is about how he finally understand that people have to accept for who he is and he doesn't care what others think about him because he's the baddest and most hated guy and way and nothing could ever go worse, so he starts wearing clothes like Cher, but then he realizes that he actually DOES have a lot to lose-- the girl who he's got a crush on thinks he a weirdo, his subordinates start respecting him less, and whenever he invades the Heaven, the gods and their minions break into hysterical giggling instead being terrified by his presence.
He slowly develops his character as a normal kind of guy who has different tastes, and by the end of the series, Prada becomes an exclusively Men's Fashion line dedicated to cater the interesting needs of the bad guys. The girl falls in love with him, because he accepted who he was, but he's fallen in love with someone else now, and we get to know in the second season that the first gal is pregnant with his child.
He also has a funny loopy best friend who always seems to make the wrong decisions, but somehow ends up just where he wanted to by the end, his girlfriend who wants to get married and is tired of his lack of long-term vision about there relationship, a father who will die in a car accident in season 3, a mother who will be diagnosed with cancer at the end of season 1 and will die in the last season, after which He decides to settle down, and so does the friend and everyone lives happily ever after. Well, except those people who the Devil torments, tortures and kills, but hey, it's his job. He'd be unemployed without it, and how else would he feed the adorable children we get to see in the flash-forward seen in season 4?
Pr from P had already told me about Grey's Anatomy and its writer, and I was hoping to show off my knowledge about the author to some random strangers I met on the tempo home. It did not work at all.
In grade 8, we had to draw the external anatomy of a chicken for our agriculture class. My chickens were always too chubby--because what idiot farmer would rear thin chickens. Fat chickens=more meat=more money. And I never got the eyes right: sometimes, they'd look too cute for a chicken and I'd feel bad about it because they were going to die and I'd be sad that a chicken with such cute eyes would be slaughtered so soon, since it was so sad. And sometimes, they'd be too weird-- the farmers would probably kill the poor guy in its childhood; you don't want to keep a chicken that looks as if someone's put a curse on it for too long.
In a related note, (and this is 100% true) I cannot look at goats tied in butcher shops in the eyes. I am not a vegetarian, but when I look at them, I get the feeling they know their fate and are pleading me to help. So I am Sorry dude, you are probably dying this evening but I am going to overcome my guilty conscience by not ever looking at you and ignoring your existence. Oh, and sorry if that hurts, but there's not much I can do there. And stop buggering with you bleats, or I am going to get you killed right now. Never look at a goat in the eyes.
Those to-be doctors I unsuccessfully tried my pickup on were talking about having seen fetuses and heart and as such, which made me wonder: how come hearts look like 'love' AND strawberries, the most romantic of fruits? Can a person get a heart-attack by running? Also(I asked this question to Pr too, but he's answer was not very satisfactory) why the HELL does the position of an Anesthesia Expert even exist? Why don't they just make the patients smell lots of chloroform(trichloromethane) like they do in hindi movies, and then use some more when the patients starts getting conscious. Pr says it's gotta something to do with bodily 'reactions' and other scientific stuff, but I think this is a conspiracy by the Chemical Industry to sell unneeded chemicals to the unsuspecting masses, and all the doctors are in the conspiracy too. And everyone else.
In other unrelated news, I got a T-shirt and keyring from NCell, I have become a thespian, and life sucks. Also, you should totally attend this event organized by one of my friends: tinyurl.com/pillowktm
STOP PRESS: In a maybe-related note, see this post by nepaliketi http://www.nepaliketi.net/2011/01/30/1385/. I was NOT like that. Total solidarity with you, Di!
The secret of Page 95: Revealed
Joke: Boitch, Remember grade 6 ko science book ko page 95? Right, right. Nudges.
Grade six ko science book ko page 95 had the internal anatomy of males and females, and that included reproductive system. As in, Ovaries, someone's glands, pancreas, etc. But OMG! Ovaries and fallopian tube, right? So perverted. And we (not me) would make helpful additions to the illustrations, some adding external anatomy to the internal one, some labeling the parts with their local names(don't ask. As someone who stayed in a boarding school for ten years, I can recognize swear words in six regional languages, and possibly more), and some tearing away the diagrams. I never understood why. What kind of sick pervert would have anything to do with a diagram of the internal anatomy of a human being that was rather poorly drawn? What could one possibly DO with it? Seriously, did you guys wipe yourselves after the toilet using the internal anatomy of male and female human beings when there was water shortage in the houses? Did your ideal mate look like those in the picture, with blood vessels running into the cheeks, and optic nerve running between the brain and the eyes? What?
So it was in grade six when we were formally informed about the human reproductive system. The guys were psyched about page 95. OMG, Aaja ke ke hune ho, teeheehee. Someone(I remember it was a girl) was made to stand up and read the paragraphs describing the human act of procreation, in extremely technical terms. We suppressed our hollers because Miss(who was actually a Missus, but nevermind) had made clear that anyone making untoward comment would be sent out of the class, and we did not want to miss our first class on SEX! So it came and went. Miss read out the lines once more, asked if we had any questions, and since no one had any, went on with less interesting parts of the human body(It was only in grade 9 that my friends had an extremely 'frank' discussion about sexuality with our Population teacher, that lasted for two lessons, and was so frank that I coughed so hard on both the occasions that I was sent to the Clinic to get cough medication. In the end, Mr LRP looked at the red faces of all the girl classmates, and said 'Not everything is discussed in the classroom okay? We can talk about this after classroom,' which in retrospect sounds like a line out of porn, but it happened and finally the Opening of the Chamber of Secrets of Guys' Secrets was closed.) So, Page 95 was no biggie. We were disappointed, but page 95 became a part of our lexicon. Oooh, Yes, I have done page 95 already; she's the kind of girl who does 95 all the time; they do 95 already and things like that. 95, for us, became an euphemism for sex and everything related to it. Which wasn't funny for everyone as one of the girls had roll number 95.
The era of 95 ended in 8-9 when sex-education classes started teaching about sex in a more realistic manner, and not like a reading of The Data Transfer in An Optic Fiber Network: It's Implications, Workings, and Limitations, and How Addition of Molybdenum Can Significantly Decrease Data Loss via Optical Degradation-- An Analysis. Don't have babies when you're young, Mr. LRP told us, and made us write down 15 disadvantages of becoming young parents. Marrying young is a dumb idea, he taught us. And of course, there were those lessons.
But those lessons have worked out well. I am certain not a single individual from our class of 150-160 will have become a parent while in teenage. It's an achievement. Congratulations guys!
Epilogue
Is it just me, or does the fallopian tube really look like a bird's nest? Also, what is up with the entire system, which looks like a bull to an untrained eye? Couldn't it look like something better-- the heart looks like 'love' or strawberries, the kidneys look like beans and so on. And why are there so many body parts named after Other people? Please, I do not want XYZ's Gland in me-- I want body parts named like Runil's green-colored gland-1, Runil's Medulla Oblongata( a part of the nervous system, duude!), in me. If you want to get a gland named after YOU, you name YOUR body parts, not everyone's.
Grade six ko science book ko page 95 had the internal anatomy of males and females, and that included reproductive system. As in, Ovaries, someone's glands, pancreas, etc. But OMG! Ovaries and fallopian tube, right? So perverted. And we (not me) would make helpful additions to the illustrations, some adding external anatomy to the internal one, some labeling the parts with their local names(don't ask. As someone who stayed in a boarding school for ten years, I can recognize swear words in six regional languages, and possibly more), and some tearing away the diagrams. I never understood why. What kind of sick pervert would have anything to do with a diagram of the internal anatomy of a human being that was rather poorly drawn? What could one possibly DO with it? Seriously, did you guys wipe yourselves after the toilet using the internal anatomy of male and female human beings when there was water shortage in the houses? Did your ideal mate look like those in the picture, with blood vessels running into the cheeks, and optic nerve running between the brain and the eyes? What?
So it was in grade six when we were formally informed about the human reproductive system. The guys were psyched about page 95. OMG, Aaja ke ke hune ho, teeheehee. Someone(I remember it was a girl) was made to stand up and read the paragraphs describing the human act of procreation, in extremely technical terms. We suppressed our hollers because Miss(who was actually a Missus, but nevermind) had made clear that anyone making untoward comment would be sent out of the class, and we did not want to miss our first class on SEX! So it came and went. Miss read out the lines once more, asked if we had any questions, and since no one had any, went on with less interesting parts of the human body(It was only in grade 9 that my friends had an extremely 'frank' discussion about sexuality with our Population teacher, that lasted for two lessons, and was so frank that I coughed so hard on both the occasions that I was sent to the Clinic to get cough medication. In the end, Mr LRP looked at the red faces of all the girl classmates, and said 'Not everything is discussed in the classroom okay? We can talk about this after classroom,' which in retrospect sounds like a line out of porn, but it happened and finally the Opening of the Chamber of Secrets of Guys' Secrets was closed.) So, Page 95 was no biggie. We were disappointed, but page 95 became a part of our lexicon. Oooh, Yes, I have done page 95 already; she's the kind of girl who does 95 all the time; they do 95 already and things like that. 95, for us, became an euphemism for sex and everything related to it. Which wasn't funny for everyone as one of the girls had roll number 95.
The era of 95 ended in 8-9 when sex-education classes started teaching about sex in a more realistic manner, and not like a reading of The Data Transfer in An Optic Fiber Network: It's Implications, Workings, and Limitations, and How Addition of Molybdenum Can Significantly Decrease Data Loss via Optical Degradation-- An Analysis. Don't have babies when you're young, Mr. LRP told us, and made us write down 15 disadvantages of becoming young parents. Marrying young is a dumb idea, he taught us. And of course, there were those lessons.
But those lessons have worked out well. I am certain not a single individual from our class of 150-160 will have become a parent while in teenage. It's an achievement. Congratulations guys!
Epilogue
Is it just me, or does the fallopian tube really look like a bird's nest? Also, what is up with the entire system, which looks like a bull to an untrained eye? Couldn't it look like something better-- the heart looks like 'love' or strawberries, the kidneys look like beans and so on. And why are there so many body parts named after Other people? Please, I do not want XYZ's Gland in me-- I want body parts named like Runil's green-colored gland-1, Runil's Medulla Oblongata( a part of the nervous system, duude!), in me. If you want to get a gland named after YOU, you name YOUR body parts, not everyone's.
Pictures of the day
Went to a fashion show today, and attempted to take pics. Shouldn't have tried. Still....
Attend Pillowfight Kathmandu 2011
Please click Here or click on the image to learn more about this totally awesome event and become a part of it. Share this with as many friends as you can to make it an even fun-ner event!
Justib Beiber is coming to Nepal
As a pop-culture expert, I am asked a few questions rather often, so I have decided to answer those FAQs here.
Question: Is Justin Beiber, aka the Beaver, aka OMG is that Justin??, coming to Nepal? Will justin Beiber ever come to Nepal?
Answer: Yes, Mr. Justin Beiber, a popular pop-cultural musical icon of Canadian origin who lives in the United States, is really coming to Nepal. He will land in Nepal on March 13, and stay for 7 days. He will give four concerts during his stay here, and spend most of his time interacting with his fans in Nepal.
He will reportedly stay in Hotel Hyatt Regency, though that is yet to be confirmed by hiss agent. However, the dates of his arrival and departure have been confirmed. Mr Beiber is following the popular success of another popular Canadian performer Bryan Adams' wild success in Nepal.
Question: OMG!!! Really? You mean, Justin my love, Justin the defender of the faith, justin the power player, justin who deserves someone much better than that bitch selena gomez(like me!!!), Justin the lionheart, Justin the king of the world, Justin the Pink Panther, Justin the lizard, Justin the Edward Cullen, Justin the Jacob, Justin the Bella, Justin the witch of Portabella, Justin the Pikachu, Justin the man, is really really coming to Nepal? Really? Why?
Answer: We cannot tell you for sure, but we can confirm one fact: Than Justin Beiber, the popular teenage/tweenage sensation is coming to India as well as Nepal. To put it other way, Justin Beiber is really going to India and Nepal this summer, so you better not miss him, you little lovesick Asian girls!
Question: Where will Justin Beiber do his concerts in Nepal? Can you give me the dates of all Justin Beiber concerts, because I want to be that person who has attended all the Justin Beiber concerts.
Answer: Sorry, we cannot do that for security reasons. However, as already stated, he will do four concerts in Nepal, one of which will certainly be in Kathmandu. Since there are not many places in Kathmandu where such concerts can be held, Justin Beiber will almost certainly do a concert for her Nepali fans at Dashrath Stadium. In Pokhara, he will do it at Rangashala, and so on. Justin Beiber is doing concerts in Nepal at four different places, and they include Dashrath Stadium in Kathmandu, and Rangashala in Pokhara. Justin Beiber will also go to India for a few days and do concerts in Mumbai and Chennai. Also, Goa. Mr Justin Beiber will be in Goa.
Where can I buy tickets for Justin Beiber concerts? Where can I buy stuff related to Justin Beiber? How can I commemorate the coming of his mightiness he Justin Beiber to Nepal?
Luckily for you, the organizers have thought about such questions beforehand. You can buy Justin Beiber T-Shirts and other memorabilia absolutely everywhere, specially in Bhrikutimandap. You can buy everything, or all the stuffs, related to Justin Beiber in Bhrikutimandap. Or Mangal Bazar. Or Pashupatinath. Or Basantapur. You can buy tickets for justin beiber concerts in Nepal at isjustinbeiberereallycomingtonepal.com.np. Exclusively.
How can I meet Justin Beiber? How can I meet Mr Beiber when he is in Nepal?
You can meet Beiber the Beaver when he is in Nepal by buying exclusive Beiber Fanclub tickets from yayysobeiberisreallycomingtonepal.com.np for Rs. 10,000 apiece. All the funds collected from the website will go to feed hungry people. rumble, grumble.
Why don't I find this information related to Justin Beiber coming to Nepal and India and Bhutan anywhere in the Internet?
That is because we have an exclusive deal with Mr Beiber's publicist. Since we are organizing his entire trip in this part of the world, we are the sole authorised dealer of justin-beiber related information. NO one else has the rights to publish the information published about justin beiber here in this site, or we will sue the heck out of them.
Question: Is Justin Beiber, aka the Beaver, aka OMG is that Justin??, coming to Nepal? Will justin Beiber ever come to Nepal?
Answer: Yes, Mr. Justin Beiber, a popular pop-cultural musical icon of Canadian origin who lives in the United States, is really coming to Nepal. He will land in Nepal on March 13, and stay for 7 days. He will give four concerts during his stay here, and spend most of his time interacting with his fans in Nepal.
He will reportedly stay in Hotel Hyatt Regency, though that is yet to be confirmed by hiss agent. However, the dates of his arrival and departure have been confirmed. Mr Beiber is following the popular success of another popular Canadian performer Bryan Adams' wild success in Nepal.
Question: OMG!!! Really? You mean, Justin my love, Justin the defender of the faith, justin the power player, justin who deserves someone much better than that bitch selena gomez(like me!!!), Justin the lionheart, Justin the king of the world, Justin the Pink Panther, Justin the lizard, Justin the Edward Cullen, Justin the Jacob, Justin the Bella, Justin the witch of Portabella, Justin the Pikachu, Justin the man, is really really coming to Nepal? Really? Why?
Answer: We cannot tell you for sure, but we can confirm one fact: Than Justin Beiber, the popular teenage/tweenage sensation is coming to India as well as Nepal. To put it other way, Justin Beiber is really going to India and Nepal this summer, so you better not miss him, you little lovesick Asian girls!
Question: Where will Justin Beiber do his concerts in Nepal? Can you give me the dates of all Justin Beiber concerts, because I want to be that person who has attended all the Justin Beiber concerts.
Answer: Sorry, we cannot do that for security reasons. However, as already stated, he will do four concerts in Nepal, one of which will certainly be in Kathmandu. Since there are not many places in Kathmandu where such concerts can be held, Justin Beiber will almost certainly do a concert for her Nepali fans at Dashrath Stadium. In Pokhara, he will do it at Rangashala, and so on. Justin Beiber is doing concerts in Nepal at four different places, and they include Dashrath Stadium in Kathmandu, and Rangashala in Pokhara. Justin Beiber will also go to India for a few days and do concerts in Mumbai and Chennai. Also, Goa. Mr Justin Beiber will be in Goa.
Where can I buy tickets for Justin Beiber concerts? Where can I buy stuff related to Justin Beiber? How can I commemorate the coming of his mightiness he Justin Beiber to Nepal?
Luckily for you, the organizers have thought about such questions beforehand. You can buy Justin Beiber T-Shirts and other memorabilia absolutely everywhere, specially in Bhrikutimandap. You can buy everything, or all the stuffs, related to Justin Beiber in Bhrikutimandap. Or Mangal Bazar. Or Pashupatinath. Or Basantapur. You can buy tickets for justin beiber concerts in Nepal at isjustinbeiberereallycomingtonepal.com.np. Exclusively.
How can I meet Justin Beiber? How can I meet Mr Beiber when he is in Nepal?
You can meet Beiber the Beaver when he is in Nepal by buying exclusive Beiber Fanclub tickets from yayysobeiberisreallycomingtonepal.com.np for Rs. 10,000 apiece. All the funds collected from the website will go to feed hungry people. rumble, grumble.
Why don't I find this information related to Justin Beiber coming to Nepal and India and Bhutan anywhere in the Internet?
That is because we have an exclusive deal with Mr Beiber's publicist. Since we are organizing his entire trip in this part of the world, we are the sole authorised dealer of justin-beiber related information. NO one else has the rights to publish the information published about justin beiber here in this site, or we will sue the heck out of them.
Into Pintu London Ma
Intoo Pintu London Maa
Haamro Saathi Paltan Ma
Iss Koolako paaledai
Pailo ghanti bajaai deu
Tinniiiniinninininininini
Jhap!
Haamro Saathi Paltan Ma
Iss Koolako paaledai
Pailo ghanti bajaai deu
Tinniiiniinninininininini
Jhap!
In a coffee cafe in Kathmandu
We went to this place where they have really great pastries for prices half that of Darbarbarg. We spent 10 minutes discussing what we would like to eat.
Pr was all 'Thank you, you bugger, but I am not eating that one but this one, no not that-- this one,'
and then another 10 minutes figuring out how much we'd have to pay, which wasn't very difficult, but since the two of us guys who knew moderately advanced maths kept quiet because we were not paying, there was a lot of confusion over how 55 could be multiplied by four and then divided among two people. The advanced mathematical analysis was finally done and we went upstairs.
Where we saw a clock on the wall. It was the wall-clock, quite literally. It was not exactly the usual clock, the numbers were hung on the wall, and there was a central lever system which moved around and pointed around at different numbers at different times so you could tell the time. Pr wanted to touch the clock-- or wall or whatever-- but we said no, if something happens to it they would probably make us pay for the entire damn wall, which looked expensive, specially because it was in an expensive place so she was not allowed to touch the wall.
And then we ate.
Pr had a nice scarf on, and I told her so, and she went all "Omg, I am gonna rip your head off, I swear, give me your pastry, I don't like mine," and looked at me as if I just made her eat really bad momos.
I said, "Okay you may have some, but see I'd told you, and so had that stranger who had suggested me to take this particular one and not the one you're eating, because I had it last time and it was bad,".
So she took a small bite of my pastry, and then said she liked hers better which she may or may not have, and then made a few more life-threatening comments to me.
I was scared, but since she was the sponsor, I was "Nice nice thank you very much, god, s/he who does not exist and has been defined generally as the opium for the masses, which i think is too much but correct nonetheless, bless."
She goes, "Hey I am not the one who believes in that kind of crap, so tell it to Sa," and then makes more threats of deaths and other decapitating acts to me.
I remember the Nepali tradition, and keep quiet, because as they say, your sponsor or funding agency is always--and absolutely always-- correct no matter how much contradicting information you might have.
So we were happy and all yayyayyay, until someone spilled something somewhere, and there was lots of confusion, which made me consider hiding because I was certain I was going to be blamed for it, and then killed, by Pr. Maybe not killed--but you get the idea.
The proprietors have an infant who they take turns to carry in this cutesy pouch-like thing that Kangaroos have.
The manager-- a thirtysomething guy with small mustache-- must have come about four times to check on us, and said "Please do not make so much noise the baby is sleeping."
Each time, we said "Aww so cute baby we are so sorry, we love cute babies, so we wont make noises and thank you so much for telling us, our bad," and the moment he went down, there would be another raucous, which would mainly include me being scolded for disturbing the cute and adorable baby and being told to shut the hell up, by Pr.
And oh, you gotta stop making weird faces when the baby is around. Thank you.
The couple looked really relieved when we left four hours later.
Pr was all 'Thank you, you bugger, but I am not eating that one but this one, no not that-- this one,'
and then another 10 minutes figuring out how much we'd have to pay, which wasn't very difficult, but since the two of us guys who knew moderately advanced maths kept quiet because we were not paying, there was a lot of confusion over how 55 could be multiplied by four and then divided among two people. The advanced mathematical analysis was finally done and we went upstairs.
Where we saw a clock on the wall. It was the wall-clock, quite literally. It was not exactly the usual clock, the numbers were hung on the wall, and there was a central lever system which moved around and pointed around at different numbers at different times so you could tell the time. Pr wanted to touch the clock-- or wall or whatever-- but we said no, if something happens to it they would probably make us pay for the entire damn wall, which looked expensive, specially because it was in an expensive place so she was not allowed to touch the wall.
And then we ate.
Pr had a nice scarf on, and I told her so, and she went all "Omg, I am gonna rip your head off, I swear, give me your pastry, I don't like mine," and looked at me as if I just made her eat really bad momos.
I said, "Okay you may have some, but see I'd told you, and so had that stranger who had suggested me to take this particular one and not the one you're eating, because I had it last time and it was bad,".
So she took a small bite of my pastry, and then said she liked hers better which she may or may not have, and then made a few more life-threatening comments to me.
I was scared, but since she was the sponsor, I was "Nice nice thank you very much, god, s/he who does not exist and has been defined generally as the opium for the masses, which i think is too much but correct nonetheless, bless."
She goes, "Hey I am not the one who believes in that kind of crap, so tell it to Sa," and then makes more threats of deaths and other decapitating acts to me.
I remember the Nepali tradition, and keep quiet, because as they say, your sponsor or funding agency is always--and absolutely always-- correct no matter how much contradicting information you might have.
So we were happy and all yayyayyay, until someone spilled something somewhere, and there was lots of confusion, which made me consider hiding because I was certain I was going to be blamed for it, and then killed, by Pr. Maybe not killed--but you get the idea.
The proprietors have an infant who they take turns to carry in this cutesy pouch-like thing that Kangaroos have.
The manager-- a thirtysomething guy with small mustache-- must have come about four times to check on us, and said "Please do not make so much noise the baby is sleeping."
Each time, we said "Aww so cute baby we are so sorry, we love cute babies, so we wont make noises and thank you so much for telling us, our bad," and the moment he went down, there would be another raucous, which would mainly include me being scolded for disturbing the cute and adorable baby and being told to shut the hell up, by Pr.
And oh, you gotta stop making weird faces when the baby is around. Thank you.
The couple looked really relieved when we left four hours later.
Confessions of a facebook stalker
I don't look at photos of people who are my friends in facebook. Occasionally, I 'like' a picture or to that's already gathered tens of other likes, and sometimes I check too see if any of my friends has a photo that deserves to be mocked.
It's the people I am NOT friends with whose albums I enjoy. Hmm, 4 common friends you say? Good enough. Lets go at pictures, pictures of xxx. Oh, privacy conscious person? No problem. I usually click on the first few friends of the person, and at least one of them has privacy options that lets me view the original person's pictures. It's not the pictures themselves, it's the sleuthing, and poking and stalking--all the work that goes into gaining access to those precious few photos-- that makes it interesting.
Would I ever meet this person? I hope not. Dude, he's a guy and he's hugging a pink doll. I have nothing personal against the color pink, or dolls, or a guy hugging large dolls, but when someone starts pretending that a doll is his girlfriend, I am freaked out. But I want to see more. Lets see what more this doofus has in store. Oh, KFC? Been there, done that, gotten the diarrhoea. And he rides a big bike. What's that on the keychain? Errgh, I am the creepy stalker here, and I am totally freaked out. Gotta go dude. I need to see some of your prettier friends.
This girl. Six common friends. I vaguely remember N talking about her. He doesn't know who she is either, but he's added her anyway. Maybe I should send her a request too? The profile picture looks good. Maybe not. I should look for other pictures. After half and our of poking around her friends' accounts, I realize the entire gang is pretty suave about privacy options. There's absolutely no way I can see how she looks. Maybe I should add her as a friend after all. If she's gone so far to protect her privacy, there must be something there that needs to be protected. Do I add her. Or do I not. I decide I don't want to add her. Not because I am scared of being a stalker, but I realize that there's an extremely good chance that she's some cousin of mine that I don't know about. There's nothing creepier and crazier than stalking your family, I tell you that. Don't ever stalk your family. Ever.
And then there's this person. 2 mutual friends. I know the family history, quirks, favourites, relationships, and other things that are to know after going through the 800 photos. Oooh laah la! I have more important things to do-- I gotta' type 7000 words, I gotta send lots of mails, I have to read, but everything else comes after this. I muust know how the Prom went, what happened in their family vacation to Europe, why their dog's been getting sick lately, and how come no one likes Uncle Fred, and other things. There's no greater joy than the joy of learning everything about random people. I feel like some CIA--no, Mossad agent. Look carefully at the attache on this person, AgentGT! Family background, work history, preferences, everything. All the best in your mission! Here's a glass that will let you see through clothes-- we stole it from Dhirendra Shah before he died.
It's the people I am NOT friends with whose albums I enjoy. Hmm, 4 common friends you say? Good enough. Lets go at pictures, pictures of xxx. Oh, privacy conscious person? No problem. I usually click on the first few friends of the person, and at least one of them has privacy options that lets me view the original person's pictures. It's not the pictures themselves, it's the sleuthing, and poking and stalking--all the work that goes into gaining access to those precious few photos-- that makes it interesting.
Would I ever meet this person? I hope not. Dude, he's a guy and he's hugging a pink doll. I have nothing personal against the color pink, or dolls, or a guy hugging large dolls, but when someone starts pretending that a doll is his girlfriend, I am freaked out. But I want to see more. Lets see what more this doofus has in store. Oh, KFC? Been there, done that, gotten the diarrhoea. And he rides a big bike. What's that on the keychain? Errgh, I am the creepy stalker here, and I am totally freaked out. Gotta go dude. I need to see some of your prettier friends.
This girl. Six common friends. I vaguely remember N talking about her. He doesn't know who she is either, but he's added her anyway. Maybe I should send her a request too? The profile picture looks good. Maybe not. I should look for other pictures. After half and our of poking around her friends' accounts, I realize the entire gang is pretty suave about privacy options. There's absolutely no way I can see how she looks. Maybe I should add her as a friend after all. If she's gone so far to protect her privacy, there must be something there that needs to be protected. Do I add her. Or do I not. I decide I don't want to add her. Not because I am scared of being a stalker, but I realize that there's an extremely good chance that she's some cousin of mine that I don't know about. There's nothing creepier and crazier than stalking your family, I tell you that. Don't ever stalk your family. Ever.
And then there's this person. 2 mutual friends. I know the family history, quirks, favourites, relationships, and other things that are to know after going through the 800 photos. Oooh laah la! I have more important things to do-- I gotta' type 7000 words, I gotta send lots of mails, I have to read, but everything else comes after this. I muust know how the Prom went, what happened in their family vacation to Europe, why their dog's been getting sick lately, and how come no one likes Uncle Fred, and other things. There's no greater joy than the joy of learning everything about random people. I feel like some CIA--no, Mossad agent. Look carefully at the attache on this person, AgentGT! Family background, work history, preferences, everything. All the best in your mission! Here's a glass that will let you see through clothes-- we stole it from Dhirendra Shah before he died.
Tongue-kissing thirteen people at the same time
The fact that Jutho does not have a specific one-word translation to English amused us to no ends when we were in 9-10. "Nepali is great," Sa would say, searching for all the swear words he could find in BP's diary. I know of many-many long polysyllabic words that do not have a one-word translation(you could argue that it is in fact a single word, but a noun and a verb are never one word. and if you put a hypen between those to words, you come up as ancient) but most of them would be unsuitable here.
I do not understand the difference between eating someone's Jutho and tongue kissing that person, which might sound gross, but once you start really getting into the issue, you realize that if you would take in someone else's saliva, you might as well go the full deal and do tongue kiss. Tongue kiss, tongue kiss, tongue kiss. Such a good word, no? Lovely.
I once more or less tongue kissed 13(that's the lucky number) people at the same time. It was not tiring, did not seem weird at the time, and we totally enjoyed it. You should totally try it out sometime too. Don't complain if you get diseases though, because mouth is just as good an orifice to transmit various diseases as any other orifice in the human body. I did not get sick though, because due to the extreme temperature conditions involved in the tongue kiss, most of the viruses, bacteria, and other naughty tiny creatures that like causing distress in human beings probably froze to death.
We shared an ice-cream. Thirteen of us. It was not a cup-icecream. We shared a cone. Everyone licked at least twice, so there's no chance the first person involved was not actually involved in tongue kissing but more of a saliva donation program. It was totally a fully consensual total saliva-and-other-oral-liquids-exchange-program between almost a dozen high schoolers and a few little kids.
I will not share the details. The individuals involved have reached positions with great public responsibility, and I do not want to spread civil discord created when everyone tries to tongue kiss as many people s/he can because their role models did it. No. But let this be known: to anyone who was keeping count, I paid for it, and I had no intentions of sharing it when I bought it. It was also the most expensive cone available, and I also bought one for that lover boy who thought a certain someone was 'loving him'. You guys owe me one, everyone.
I do not understand the difference between eating someone's Jutho and tongue kissing that person, which might sound gross, but once you start really getting into the issue, you realize that if you would take in someone else's saliva, you might as well go the full deal and do tongue kiss. Tongue kiss, tongue kiss, tongue kiss. Such a good word, no? Lovely.
I once more or less tongue kissed 13(that's the lucky number) people at the same time. It was not tiring, did not seem weird at the time, and we totally enjoyed it. You should totally try it out sometime too. Don't complain if you get diseases though, because mouth is just as good an orifice to transmit various diseases as any other orifice in the human body. I did not get sick though, because due to the extreme temperature conditions involved in the tongue kiss, most of the viruses, bacteria, and other naughty tiny creatures that like causing distress in human beings probably froze to death.
We shared an ice-cream. Thirteen of us. It was not a cup-icecream. We shared a cone. Everyone licked at least twice, so there's no chance the first person involved was not actually involved in tongue kissing but more of a saliva donation program. It was totally a fully consensual total saliva-and-other-oral-liquids-exchange-program between almost a dozen high schoolers and a few little kids.
I will not share the details. The individuals involved have reached positions with great public responsibility, and I do not want to spread civil discord created when everyone tries to tongue kiss as many people s/he can because their role models did it. No. But let this be known: to anyone who was keeping count, I paid for it, and I had no intentions of sharing it when I bought it. It was also the most expensive cone available, and I also bought one for that lover boy who thought a certain someone was 'loving him'. You guys owe me one, everyone.
Pillowfight Kathmandu on the go!
For the next month, I will be busy with organizing Pillowfight Kathmandu 2011, which is a total fun event you should definitely attend. Do you want your children to ask you why you did NOT attend the event? Do YOU?
That's why you should go to Pillowfight Kathmandu 2011, to be held on V-Day. What could be more romantic than hitting people with pillows, and getting hit on....
Join the event at http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=173196936055790
Register for the event at http://www.flashmobkathmandu.org
Take a look at our previous event, Freeze Kathmandu.
https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=476831685412
If you are not attending the event, I will call you and pester you till you ultimately HAVE to attend the darn event. Since you're attending the event already, lets save all the trouble and attend the event from right now.
Also, how does the slogan: Pillowfight Kathmandu: Don't hit on people on V-Day, hit AT them sound?
A million thanks to Richard for helping with everything...
That's why you should go to Pillowfight Kathmandu 2011, to be held on V-Day. What could be more romantic than hitting people with pillows, and getting hit on....
Join the event at http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=173196936055790
Register for the event at http://www.flashmobkathmandu.org
Take a look at our previous event, Freeze Kathmandu.
https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=476831685412
If you are not attending the event, I will call you and pester you till you ultimately HAVE to attend the darn event. Since you're attending the event already, lets save all the trouble and attend the event from right now.
Also, how does the slogan: Pillowfight Kathmandu: Don't hit on people on V-Day, hit AT them sound?
A million thanks to Richard for helping with everything...
Another dirty Nepali joke
I worked for The Kathmandu Post for several months last year. Because Kantipur Television was just next to our building, I used to hang around there often, hoping to run into celebrities to take photos with them. It was one of those times that I mistook an audition room for a studio and ran into an audition.
I am not sure what the audition was for. I knew the director: he's got lots of facial hair, bald, recently joined the maoists, has children in Australia, but I cant get his name right. This guy was there, taking auditions, and apparently audiences were allowed. I sat with one of my fellow stringers from ekantipur. A girl of about 20-22 had just finished; she was tall, too much makeup and looked so plastique that you couldn't even tell if she was pretty or not. And the perfume was absolutely horrible.
"So, is anyone left," the director asked his assistant. The assistant looked at his clipboard and said that a boy of 12 was the last performer. "Bring him in," the director said, with a long sigh. His eyes were droopy, and you could tell he really wanted to go to the canteen for a smoke and have some sandwich, which is cheap and is pretty good. You should try Kantipur Publication's canteen's chicken sandwiches.
This little guy had a Dhaka topi on, was carrying a tiny Nepali flag, wore blue daura and yellow suruwal, and had a lapel of Nepali khukuri on his daura. His parents, who were behind him looked elated. The father shook hands with the director, introduced himself and his wife("Namastey" "Namakar" ...there's an unwritten rule in Nepal that says you should never shake hands of women you have not previously met) and asked him to give his son a chance. The director smiled, and said, "Lets see what happens. I assure you that I will be completely fair, though." The parents took seats at the front row, and the child climbed upto the stage.
The little boy introduced himself and said he had a idea for a tv show that was bound to be popular, and then said other things that he had obviously been taught by his father and pitched the idea for the show.
And kids, that is the story of how Namrata Shrestha Scandal came to existence. The last part involving baby was censored for legal reasons, with the guy replacing the kid.
I almost forgot the punchline. Before they were carried away, the director asked, " Okay, you guys are definitely not getting a program. But tell me, what did you intend on calling it?"
And they answered in unison, with quite a flair of histrionics, "THE SOPHISTICATES"
TADAA!
True story.
I am not sure what the audition was for. I knew the director: he's got lots of facial hair, bald, recently joined the maoists, has children in Australia, but I cant get his name right. This guy was there, taking auditions, and apparently audiences were allowed. I sat with one of my fellow stringers from ekantipur. A girl of about 20-22 had just finished; she was tall, too much makeup and looked so plastique that you couldn't even tell if she was pretty or not. And the perfume was absolutely horrible.
"So, is anyone left," the director asked his assistant. The assistant looked at his clipboard and said that a boy of 12 was the last performer. "Bring him in," the director said, with a long sigh. His eyes were droopy, and you could tell he really wanted to go to the canteen for a smoke and have some sandwich, which is cheap and is pretty good. You should try Kantipur Publication's canteen's chicken sandwiches.
This little guy had a Dhaka topi on, was carrying a tiny Nepali flag, wore blue daura and yellow suruwal, and had a lapel of Nepali khukuri on his daura. His parents, who were behind him looked elated. The father shook hands with the director, introduced himself and his wife("Namastey" "Namakar" ...there's an unwritten rule in Nepal that says you should never shake hands of women you have not previously met) and asked him to give his son a chance. The director smiled, and said, "Lets see what happens. I assure you that I will be completely fair, though." The parents took seats at the front row, and the child climbed upto the stage.
The little boy introduced himself and said he had a idea for a tv show that was bound to be popular, and then said other things that he had obviously been taught by his father and pitched the idea for the show.
This is a touching story of a modern Nepali family who lives in Kathmandu. It has elements of humor and drama in it. It is going to be very popular with the new generation of Kathmandu's youth who have grown up watching Nepali channels like KTV. In the beginning of the story, there are the father and the mother. The mother is the head of the family, so she dominates her husband. (The parents climb up the stage before the director can say anything. He just wants to let them on with what they want to do and get done with. Thereon, whatever the kid says is actually happening on the stage)
One day, the unmarried wife gets pregnant and she is very worried because she does not want a child. So she goes to a doctor, who tells her she's not really pregnant and it was just gas really, after testing her for hours. But she's not convinced, and she goes to a lady doctor after a few weeks who tells her she's definitely getting a baby. The woman is concerned, so she goes back to the first doctor, feigning some headache, and grabs some of his hair. She gives his hair to a lab and the tests are conclusive: he's the father of her child. She blackmails him into marrying her, and since she is the daughter of a government minister who is known for her high-handedness with people she does like, that blackmail is more of a threat and the doctor marries her.
Soon the vomitings start. The woman is so disgusted at her husband that she vomits in his mouth (woman vomits in the guys mouth while the little kid is narrating). The guy gets really angry and proposes they have yet another encounter of a nature such that the results may or may not happen to be of reproductive nature,, and the woman consents to his proposal because she is bored, so they disclothe and go on with the activities of the already-mentioned nature. (The two guys do exactly what the little boy is saying.)
However, as the woman is dominant in the relationship, she proposes they conduct activities together that could possibly be illegal under Nepal's strict legal code, but she argues that since it will all be done in the privacy of their residence, no law-enforcement officials will ever be aware of such activities and even if they were somehow informed of such activities, they could never gather enough information to convict the two individuals involved.
He consents and they proceed with such activities (they proceed with such activities on the stage. by now, everyone in the room is too dumbstruck to do anything). And then suddenly, the child is born, because of all the extra contortions imposed upon a pregnant body that is is not designed to tolerate.( the boy goes near the appropriate anatomical region, and pretends to be a newborn) Both the parents are surprised, but since its their baby, they start caring.By now, the audition had almost 100 people in the audience, most of whom had their camera phones out and were filming the audition. Some dumb idiot had apparently invited the police too, and soon the audition was over.
And kids, that is the story of how Namrata Shrestha Scandal came to existence. The last part involving baby was censored for legal reasons, with the guy replacing the kid.
I almost forgot the punchline. Before they were carried away, the director asked, " Okay, you guys are definitely not getting a program. But tell me, what did you intend on calling it?"
And they answered in unison, with quite a flair of histrionics, "THE SOPHISTICATES"
TADAA!
True story.
Friends and other embarrassing things
I miss school. Friends, fun activities, other kinds of fun activities, pointless latenight arguments that would regularly invade breakfast time, Not talking to girls. I miss the last part the most-- the NOT talking to girls part. Good Ole' Days! Heh.
There are innumerable topics people talk about and they can be mainly be divided into two main groups: about girls, and not about girls. Boys talk about girls, girls talk about girls, and other people talk either about guys who talk about girls or girls who talk about girls. The point is: absolutely everyone is quite interested in girls.
Hoi, did you just see the girl with the Orange jacket? Yeah, I did too. She's older. No, but its only two years so that's okay, right.
And then a girl who's a friend pops up. Whatcha guys talking about? There are two possible options. Since no one answered immediately, the answer should be clear.
That's the problem. When we were kids, we could be so judgmental about girls. It was a guys-only party, and except a few well-known snitches who'd give away even the darkest guy-secrets in exchange for a sweet girlie smiles, we could be sure our secret would be safe. Yaah dude, I'm telling yeah, that guy's totally NOT her brother, right? Have you even seen him near her parents, like, ever? I am pretty sure they're hooking up, and they're making it like-- you know. That lucky son of a b--boggart...Did you see her new hairstyle? Is she trying to look like Hermione or what? Err I thought she looked nice. Yeah, you'd think she looked nice even if she shaved her hair. Yeah, I would, she's that hawwt.... Omigod, guys, did you know she's like, three years older than us and she got demoted by three years? And She's hanging out with, like, guys who're ten years older. I heard straight from her sister's friend's brother. I always thought she looked kinda old....Baah, she's got no brains at all--she's just pretending to be smart.... Why do girls have to be such crybabies? I just called her bad names; it's not like I touched her or stuff, like last---....
No, they weren't always pretty. And I didn't always like being a part of it. But it was OUR little world, where political correctness was largely unknown, and we could speak whatever we felt like. We knew we were being judged too ( haha, did you notice Runil had put on SOO much coconut hairoil today?), but it was all okay, because we never came to contact with such and such. The peace was uneasy, but it was peace nevertheless.
Then we suddenly grew up. Talking to girls, being friends with them, hitting on them (instead of AT them, which we did previously) was the IN thing. You were an uninteresting bore if you didn't have girls who were friends. Our seal of secrecy began leaking. Years of untold gossips and rumors and guesses began to be shared.
And then we left the frikkin' school.
People kept in touch. The meetings were just the same--instead of pretending they were meeting for some club meeting or other, people began to meet at friends. Who cared for each other. There was skype, and facebook, email, phone, and whatnot.
Hardly any secret was left untold. The hurtful ones are the juiciest, and sell the fasted. Some of them mattered, like in the case of EP, but most of them didn't: what some dumb fourteen-fifteen-sixteen yearold thought mattered little, when that person had already grown up.
With new possibilities come new problems. Our potential friend-circle has doubled. We couldn't have girls as friends, no matter how awesome we thought they were, and now we can. And we do. But things we talk about remain the same. Either a) about girls or b) not about girls. a) Is the problematic one.
Friends are friends are friends. But still, discussing the state of certain glands of the female human human species that separate mammals from rodents is tricky in front of female friends. With guys, that happens all the time, without reservations, because they do not have to be self-conscious about such topics. With girls--errr. Does any guy really want to discuss with his female friends the level of protrusion seen in the items of clothing worn on the bottom part of the body by men walking on the streets? Oh, I like that... That's interesting, I never thought they could go that way... OMG! What is that?... FAKE... I dont care for such things... Well neither do I, but they can be interesting, you know...Ouch, that must huurt...eww that does NOT look right--or healthy...my god, look at the physical oscillations of that particular specimen, makes you wonder what the time period of the cyclic movement is, dunnit....they should nnot allow people to wear clothing like that...that reminds me of Sylvester Stallone...hey remember that Seinfeld episode where they talk about... bleh, not interesting.... All the time, you're praying this stop right now, because you know in their subconscious they are imagining YOU walking down that street, in your tight speedos.... Being comfortable with your body is one thing, listening to friends discussing it and making comments on it entirely another.And then they *wink* at you. Its not a good idea, really.
It's fun to be judgmental bitches, but most of the 'fun' part runs out when you see that people are going to be judgmental to your face.
But you know how the topic can be changed. "Lets talk about women," you say unsubtly, and then reminisce how that one friend of your had this really nice girlfriend who left him and stuff. "Was she pretty, was she prettier than him," is the first question. These are safe grounds. Yeah, she was very pretty, and he was okay-looking too though you don't really know because you're not gay, but hell yeah, once she had this low-cut sweater on, even though it was technically not allowed, and you cannot Imagine what some guys claimed that day. And that too, we were only in 10. Or 11. But she was not the prettiest. There was this girl who absolutely everyone thought was so pretty in the beginning but--- and the this girl, she had the biggest-- anyone ever saw--and they had Newton's laws on their own...
It's your turn to bitch, and all the restrictions, and the unease disappear. A friend is a friend is a friend, guy or a girl. Maybe you should stop now? Okay, how about now-- I think this is going too far. Then she stops you abruptly. "I gotta go home,"she says and leaves. And you realize you always find out there's a line only after you've crossed it.
There are innumerable topics people talk about and they can be mainly be divided into two main groups: about girls, and not about girls. Boys talk about girls, girls talk about girls, and other people talk either about guys who talk about girls or girls who talk about girls. The point is: absolutely everyone is quite interested in girls.
Hoi, did you just see the girl with the Orange jacket? Yeah, I did too. She's older. No, but its only two years so that's okay, right.
And then a girl who's a friend pops up. Whatcha guys talking about? There are two possible options. Since no one answered immediately, the answer should be clear.
That's the problem. When we were kids, we could be so judgmental about girls. It was a guys-only party, and except a few well-known snitches who'd give away even the darkest guy-secrets in exchange for a sweet girlie smiles, we could be sure our secret would be safe. Yaah dude, I'm telling yeah, that guy's totally NOT her brother, right? Have you even seen him near her parents, like, ever? I am pretty sure they're hooking up, and they're making it like-- you know. That lucky son of a b--boggart...Did you see her new hairstyle? Is she trying to look like Hermione or what? Err I thought she looked nice. Yeah, you'd think she looked nice even if she shaved her hair. Yeah, I would, she's that hawwt.... Omigod, guys, did you know she's like, three years older than us and she got demoted by three years? And She's hanging out with, like, guys who're ten years older. I heard straight from her sister's friend's brother. I always thought she looked kinda old....Baah, she's got no brains at all--she's just pretending to be smart.... Why do girls have to be such crybabies? I just called her bad names; it's not like I touched her or stuff, like last---....
No, they weren't always pretty. And I didn't always like being a part of it. But it was OUR little world, where political correctness was largely unknown, and we could speak whatever we felt like. We knew we were being judged too ( haha, did you notice Runil had put on SOO much coconut hairoil today?), but it was all okay, because we never came to contact with such and such. The peace was uneasy, but it was peace nevertheless.
Then we suddenly grew up. Talking to girls, being friends with them, hitting on them (instead of AT them, which we did previously) was the IN thing. You were an uninteresting bore if you didn't have girls who were friends. Our seal of secrecy began leaking. Years of untold gossips and rumors and guesses began to be shared.
And then we left the frikkin' school.
People kept in touch. The meetings were just the same--instead of pretending they were meeting for some club meeting or other, people began to meet at friends. Who cared for each other. There was skype, and facebook, email, phone, and whatnot.
Hardly any secret was left untold. The hurtful ones are the juiciest, and sell the fasted. Some of them mattered, like in the case of EP, but most of them didn't: what some dumb fourteen-fifteen-sixteen yearold thought mattered little, when that person had already grown up.
With new possibilities come new problems. Our potential friend-circle has doubled. We couldn't have girls as friends, no matter how awesome we thought they were, and now we can. And we do. But things we talk about remain the same. Either a) about girls or b) not about girls. a) Is the problematic one.
Friends are friends are friends. But still, discussing the state of certain glands of the female human human species that separate mammals from rodents is tricky in front of female friends. With guys, that happens all the time, without reservations, because they do not have to be self-conscious about such topics. With girls--errr. Does any guy really want to discuss with his female friends the level of protrusion seen in the items of clothing worn on the bottom part of the body by men walking on the streets? Oh, I like that... That's interesting, I never thought they could go that way... OMG! What is that?... FAKE... I dont care for such things... Well neither do I, but they can be interesting, you know...Ouch, that must huurt...eww that does NOT look right--or healthy...my god, look at the physical oscillations of that particular specimen, makes you wonder what the time period of the cyclic movement is, dunnit....they should nnot allow people to wear clothing like that...that reminds me of Sylvester Stallone...hey remember that Seinfeld episode where they talk about... bleh, not interesting.... All the time, you're praying this stop right now, because you know in their subconscious they are imagining YOU walking down that street, in your tight speedos.... Being comfortable with your body is one thing, listening to friends discussing it and making comments on it entirely another.And then they *wink* at you. Its not a good idea, really.
It's fun to be judgmental bitches, but most of the 'fun' part runs out when you see that people are going to be judgmental to your face.
But you know how the topic can be changed. "Lets talk about women," you say unsubtly, and then reminisce how that one friend of your had this really nice girlfriend who left him and stuff. "Was she pretty, was she prettier than him," is the first question. These are safe grounds. Yeah, she was very pretty, and he was okay-looking too though you don't really know because you're not gay, but hell yeah, once she had this low-cut sweater on, even though it was technically not allowed, and you cannot Imagine what some guys claimed that day. And that too, we were only in 10. Or 11. But she was not the prettiest. There was this girl who absolutely everyone thought was so pretty in the beginning but--- and the this girl, she had the biggest-- anyone ever saw--and they had Newton's laws on their own...
It's your turn to bitch, and all the restrictions, and the unease disappear. A friend is a friend is a friend, guy or a girl. Maybe you should stop now? Okay, how about now-- I think this is going too far. Then she stops you abruptly. "I gotta go home,"she says and leaves. And you realize you always find out there's a line only after you've crossed it.
Jo last tyo Shirish
The girls had just finished their breakfast. A January winter in Budhanilkantha is cruel, so they took their time in the journey between the dining hall and their houses. There was too much Sun too be missed, and there was no need to hurry-- house assemblies are not too difficult to skip, provided you know the optimum girls-to-toilet-stall ratio. Too many people hiding in the same stall and there was bound to be noise, not many girls and someone who had been left out would rat everyone out. S was bored. She needed excitement. She knew exactly where she would get it. 'Jo last tyo Shirish!!!' She shouted. Twenty pairs of fifteen and sixteen year-old feet started running, and three pairs of hands pulled her sweater back, trying to get a lead over her.
Z came the last. She had had too many breads, in addition to the triple eggs she usually had. It was easy to cheat once you were the senior.
It was the fourth time Z had become Shirish that week. Well-- not technically. She was still Z, but the fact that she had come last whenever anyone had called jo last tyo Shirish for FOUR times was not something she was not proud of. She didn't want to be Z. She wanted to be the sparkly Edward, or the kissy Peter Parker from Spiderman, or that new Hindi hero with big... muscles. She knew there was only one way out: She would have to accept her designation as Shirish of the Week. If she went into the crevasse willingly, she knew a lot of girls would not tease her. The fun in teasing was the irritation, and she was going to give people what they were looking for. After the head of house had gone to bed, the girls congregated and she danced to several songs that had Shirish in it. One of them was, notably, about a really pretty girl who looked like Shirish. It was funny. Shirish was apparently an effeminate adjective-- you would never describe a guy as being too Shirish, but being told that she had face like Shirish's was a really big compliment to a girl. Anyway, she accepted her position as Shirish, and from the following day, she was the de-facto shirish, and Jo Last Tyo Shirish competitions would be held to choose only the temporary Shirish. Well done Z.
My first and last inside joke here. It's okay if you don't get this one; you're not supposed to.
Z came the last. She had had too many breads, in addition to the triple eggs she usually had. It was easy to cheat once you were the senior.
It was the fourth time Z had become Shirish that week. Well-- not technically. She was still Z, but the fact that she had come last whenever anyone had called jo last tyo Shirish for FOUR times was not something she was not proud of. She didn't want to be Z. She wanted to be the sparkly Edward, or the kissy Peter Parker from Spiderman, or that new Hindi hero with big... muscles. She knew there was only one way out: She would have to accept her designation as Shirish of the Week. If she went into the crevasse willingly, she knew a lot of girls would not tease her. The fun in teasing was the irritation, and she was going to give people what they were looking for. After the head of house had gone to bed, the girls congregated and she danced to several songs that had Shirish in it. One of them was, notably, about a really pretty girl who looked like Shirish. It was funny. Shirish was apparently an effeminate adjective-- you would never describe a guy as being too Shirish, but being told that she had face like Shirish's was a really big compliment to a girl. Anyway, she accepted her position as Shirish, and from the following day, she was the de-facto shirish, and Jo Last Tyo Shirish competitions would be held to choose only the temporary Shirish. Well done Z.
My first and last inside joke here. It's okay if you don't get this one; you're not supposed to.
A very dirty Nepali joke
There's not been much joke-writing lately, so here's a new joke for you. It'scalled The Aristocrats.
So, a man walks into an agent's office and says, "I have an act for you. I think you'll like it."
The agent wants see the what the man has to offer, so he says, "Okay, so tell me what you're going to do in the act act.
And the man begins:
The agent is disgusted. He says, "That's disgusting, and there's no way we're carrying that show. But tell me, what do you call an act so--so detestable."
The man open wide his arms and says dramatically, "The Aristocrats"!
TADAA!
So, a man walks into an agent's office and says, "I have an act for you. I think you'll like it."
The agent wants see the what the man has to offer, so he says, "Okay, so tell me what you're going to do in the act act.
And the man begins:
"First, I enter the stage with a Hula hoop around my waist and a sizzling hot Iron on my hands. I do a few hoops with the hula, and then throw the Iron up in the air. Then I open my pants and take a dump on the stage. Then I sleep on my back so that the sizzling hot Iron falls right on my face. I shriek with pain around the stage, my pants still down, and then my wife comes in, with a pail of water. She throws some of the water on my face, and then dips my dirty butt into into the bucket and washes me.
Then our two children, son of eight and daughter of twelve come in, and drink the water like it were Real Juice Guava Flavor before all that scandal happened. They leave some of it, and both of them pee in the dirty water. My wife takes some of the water out of the bucket, and washes her face with it, and then gargles with the water she just washed her face with. Now my daughter, my son and my wife are very sick with diarrhea, so they start vomiting all over the stage.
They open their underpants, and start to take dump right there on the stage. The poo is very liquid-y, kind of like that Juju Dhau curd from Bhaktapur, but only much lighter. It's all green and red and yellowish. After the entire stage is covered with all poo and vomit, I take my shirt of--now I am completely naked-- and start skating in all the slippery stuff.
After doing a few tricks, I sleep in my stomach, and pretend to swim on the slippery floor, sliding from one end to the other on my naked front. Then my wife starts moping the floor with her long hair, using our children's bodies to clean her hair. After the floor's bee cleaned, she gets rid of all her remaining clothes and starts doing all kind of gymnastics right on the stage. Meanwhile, I am licking my children 's bodies, cleaning all the dirt my wife had rubbed on their bodies.
Meanwhile, my wife is done with her gymnastic acts, picks up the children--who are clotheless too-- and starts juggling the kids. She juggles for sometime, and the kids start throwing up because of all the motion, so now its like a fountain: they are moving in circles, and absolutely massive rivers of vomit are coming out of their mouths. I am collecting all the vomit in a bucket, and my wife juggles the children till the bucket is full. Then we dip both the kids completely in the bucket, and bath in the content ourselves. Finally, we empty the bucket on the audience."
The agent is disgusted. He says, "That's disgusting, and there's no way we're carrying that show. But tell me, what do you call an act so--so detestable."
The man open wide his arms and says dramatically, "The Aristocrats"!
TADAA!
Alec Baldwin Loves his daughter very much
Now, that's a clover. Why would Baldwin let the Clover know that he loved it. So I searched around. That symbol on Baldwin's card is actually called shamrock, and is the national symbol for Ireland. And now here's the real deal: Ireland is Baldwin's daughter. Baldwin was saying "I love you Ireland".
Aw.
"romeo, romeo, timi kataa chhau?" "Hyaa, toilet ta ramrari basna deu!"
"Romeo, romeo, timi kataa chhau?"
"Hyaa, toilet ta ramrari jaana deu!"
"Eh, lala. Ramrari gara, j gardai chhau."
"Arrrghhh! Hare bhagwan.... yo kun juni ko paap ko fall bhogdai chhu..."
"BAALAK! YO TERO 3 JANMA AGAADI KO FALL HO! ANI FALL SEMESTER MA APPLY GAREKO FALL HO! SPRING MA KINA NA GAREKO?"
"Hyaa, sabb jaana le sabbai kura kina completely literally linchhan..."
"Romeo, mero maya, timilaai k bhayo? Timi udas chhau, kina?"
"First kura ta, mero pet ko awastha timile garda bha ho... Hijo tyo bottle maa kk thyo, khayau, ani maile ta daaru holaa bhanera khaayeko, pet kharab bhayo. Second, toilet ma ta malai 'udas' huna deu... Jhan testo senti senti bhasa bolera jhanna 'udas' nabanau nah. Ma niskinchhu ani ramrari kura garamra, lah?"
"Lah. Lah!" (Girl goes back to pottery)
(Police Officer) "Hoi, Gurl!!! Did you see some villains jumping and running around?"
"No, no Police jee, I did not!"
"Ok, you are very pretty. Are you married?"
"Nono, I am not at all married. I have to look after my old drunken father by doing pottery, so I cannot marry."
"Eh, okok. I will go now. But I will come to marry you later."
"But... but... I have a BF already. He's soo cute, and even though he acts weird a LOT I love him.." (the police does not hear him)
(romeo) "Ko sanga kuraa gareko? Ko thyo tyo? Patrika wallah ho bhane kurna bhana hai, naya barsa ko kharcha dinu chha"
"haina haina, patrika waalah haina. Khoi ko arkai manchhe raichha. Atti weird kyaa, I mean totally complete-ly weird."
"Eh, lala. Aja khana k chha?"
"Aja mero cousin kahaan jaane bhaneko birseu?"
"Eh, laah. Ma jaana sakdina. Diarrhea."
"Eh, its okay. Maile na bheteko 2 years bhaisakyo, feri aba chhitai nai states farkinchha. Ma gayeen hai!"
(girl thinking to herself: Chyaaa!!! Diarrea re!!! Kasto ghinlaagdo. Aba maile nai tesko laagi luga dhune, toilet safa garnuparne holaa. Kasto useless maanchhe bhanyaa. Esko satta ta I should totally elope with that Handsome and strong policeman who had this really awesome shades.)
(girl goes to the police station. The policewaalah and his men are doing Hudd hudd dabangg danbaagg waallah dance)
"I love youu police ji, lets elope."
(they start singing munni badnam hui. Cuz' the gurl's nickname's Munni, and since she was so easy for him, she's got a bad name in the Police Station. Therefore, 'Munnis got a bad name'.)
"Yes yes, you matkewaali lets"
(they get married)
"Eh, what's your name re? Maile birsen. Ani sorry about your dad!"
"Khoi maile ni biresen! Ani OMG!!! You speak Nepali??? Haha, maile ta timile Nepali boleko kaile
ni suneko thyena. I thought you spoke hindi well, haina?"
"I am Dabangg, Babe! I can do ANYthing"
The End
Newari Post
Chhan Jiguna Thuyaan Nhudayaan Bhintuna!
Jyasa Pasa la juju cha baji Neula, chhan jhyaikunti jhyain jhyain dhau, Hya kucha maakha cha. Chhan yambala yakoob thanawa, chooo poo chha neula? Tawa nama kima asti, mujhe be waisa lagta hai! Mujhe itna hi hindi abaai, twam kima asti, mama hasti.
Jyasa Pasa la juju cha baji Neula, chhan jhyaikunti jhyain jhyain dhau, Hya kucha maakha cha. Chhan yambala yakoob thanawa, chooo poo chha neula? Tawa nama kima asti, mujhe be waisa lagta hai! Mujhe itna hi hindi abaai, twam kima asti, mama hasti.
Machine gun was invented in Nepal?
I've been really interested into weapons, of late.. The Germans made a certain Rifle for Americans, the Israelis copied the design, the South African copied the Israeli design, and Singaporeans perfected the Rifle, and the Indians mixed everything up and came up with Vidhwansak. So, I want to go into weapons design: it sounds so easy-- get a successful weapon, reverse engineer it, add or remove a few parts, and claim that YOU invented it. And give it a kickass name. Like Vidhwansak. Or Raktakaali, which is what I want to name my weapon. Scary-sounding, right?
I was researching weapons in wikipedia, and I came upon this, which seems to imply that Machine Guns were invented in Nepal. Now, I am not patriotic and stuff, but if it were, I want to design guns too. And I could say that its in my blood, my people invented the light machine gun, and stuff. LINK
Update: Okaay, I didn't see the bottom part... But still-- Bira Gun!
I was researching weapons in wikipedia, and I came upon this, which seems to imply that Machine Guns were invented in Nepal. Now, I am not patriotic and stuff, but if it were, I want to design guns too. And I could say that its in my blood, my people invented the light machine gun, and stuff. LINK
Update: Okaay, I didn't see the bottom part... But still-- Bira Gun!
The depressing story of Bill Zeller
I usually don't repost, but this one HAD to go. Bill Zeller was a great fun guy, loved and liked by everyone, a doctoral candidate at Princeton, and extremely promising. Then one day, he posted a suicide note in his facebook, mailed his contacts the note and killed himself.
Gizmodo has the entire note with a quite lengthy discussion on it, and so do other blogs including IvyGate, and I wanted to repost it here because one really can't stress this THERE'S OTHER PEOPLE! At times, the most unlikeliest of people are depressed inside, without showing the slightest hint of it, and other people know only when they try to kill themselves. You should talk to other people if you have problems. Simply talking will solve A LOT of your problems. You really CAN talk to people!
Here's the letter in full, and you might not want to NOT read it if you're not in the mood to think deep. The link to Gizmodo's coverage is here, the link to Metafilter's coverage, where his colleagues and friends talk about him
TO REPEAT PEOPLE: This was Bill Zeller's suicide note.
Gizmodo has the entire note with a quite lengthy discussion on it, and so do other blogs including IvyGate, and I wanted to repost it here because one really can't stress this THERE'S OTHER PEOPLE! At times, the most unlikeliest of people are depressed inside, without showing the slightest hint of it, and other people know only when they try to kill themselves. You should talk to other people if you have problems. Simply talking will solve A LOT of your problems. You really CAN talk to people!
Here's the letter in full, and you might not want to NOT read it if you're not in the mood to think deep. The link to Gizmodo's coverage is here, the link to Metafilter's coverage, where his colleagues and friends talk about him
Bill Zeller
I have the urge to declare my sanity and justify my actions, but I assume I'll never be able to convince anyone that this was the right decision. Maybe it's true that anyone who does this is insane by definition, but I can at least explain my reasoning. I considered not writing any of this because of how personal it is, but I like tying up loose ends and don't want people to wonder why I did this. Since I've never spoken to anyone about what happened to me, people would likely draw the wrong conclusions.
My first memories as a child are of being raped, repeatedly. This has affected every aspect of my life. This darkness, which is the only way I can describe it, has followed me like a fog, but at times intensified and overwhelmed me, usually triggered by a distinct situation. In kindergarten I couldn't use the bathroom and would stand petrified whenever I needed to, which started a trend of awkward and unexplained social behavior. The damage that was done to my body still prevents me from using the bathroom normally, but now it's less of a physical impediment than a daily reminder of what was done to me.
This darkness followed me as I grew up. I remember spending hours playing with legos, having my world consist of me and a box of cold, plastic blocks. Just waiting for everything to end. It's the same thing I do now, but instead of legos it's surfing the web or reading or listening to a baseball game. Most of my life has been spent feeling dead inside, waiting for my body to catch up.
At times growing up I would feel inconsolable rage, but I never connected this to what happened until puberty. I was able to keep the darkness at bay for a few hours at a time by doing things that required intense concentration, but it would always come back. Programming appealed to me for this reason. I was never particularly fond of computers or mathematically inclined, but the temporary peace it would provide was like a drug. But the darkness always returned and built up something like a tolerance, because programming has become less and less of a refuge.
The darkness is with me nearly every time I wake up. I feel like a grime is covering me. I feel like I'm trapped in a contimated body that no amount of washing will clean. Whenever I think about what happened I feel manic and itchy and can't concentrate on anything else. It manifests itself in hours of eating or staying up for days at a time or sleeping for sixteen hours straight or week long programming binges or constantly going to the gym. I'm exhausted from feeling like this every hour of every day.
Three to four nights a week I have nightmares about what happened. It makes me avoid sleep and constantly tired, because sleeping with what feels like hours of nightmares is not restful. I wake up sweaty and furious. I'm reminded every morning of what was done to me and the control it has over my life.
I've never been able to stop thinking about what happened to me and this hampered my social interactions. I would be angry and lost in thought and then be interrupted by someone saying "Hi" or making small talk, unable to understand why I seemed cold and distant. I walked around, viewing the outside world from a distant portal behind my eyes, unable to perform normal human niceties. I wondered what it would be like to take to other people without what happened constantly on my mind, and I wondered if other people had similar experiences that they were better able to mask.
Alcohol was also something that let me escape the darkness. It would always find me later, though, and it was always angry that I managed to escape and it made me pay. Many of the irresponsible things I did were the result of the darkness. Obviously I'm responsible for every decision and action, including this one, but there are reasons why things happen the way they do.
Alcohol and other drugs provided a way to ignore the realities of my situation. It was easy to spend the night drinking and forget that I had no future to look forward to. I never liked what alcohol did to me, but it was better than facing my existence honestly. I haven't touched alcohol or any other drug in over seven months (and no drugs or alcohol will be involved when I do this) and this has forced me to evaluate my life in an honest and clear way. There's no future here. The darkness will always be with me.
I used to think if I solved some problem or achieved some goal, maybe he would leave. It was comforting to identify tangible issues as the source of my problems instead of something that I'll never be able to change. I thought that if I got into to a good college, or a good grad school, or lost weight, or went to the gym nearly every day for a year, or created programs that millions of people used, or spent a summer or California or New York or published papers that I was proud of, then maybe I would feel some peace and not be constantly haunted and unhappy. But nothing I did made a dent in how depressed I was on a daily basis and nothing was in any way fulfilling. I'm not sure why I ever thought that would change anything.
I didn't realize how deep a hold he had on me and my life until my first relationship. I stupidly assumed that no matter how the darkness affected me personally, my romantic relationships would somehow be separated and protected. Growing up I viewed my future relationships as a possible escape from this thing that haunts me every day, but I began to realize how entangled it was with every aspect of my life and how it is never going to release me. Instead of being an escape, relationships and romantic contact with other people only intensified everything about him that I couldn't stand. I will never be able to have a relationship in which he is not the focus, affecting every aspect of my romantic interactions.
Relationships always started out fine and I'd be able to ignore him for a few weeks. But as we got closer emotionally the darkness would return and every night it'd be me, her and the darkness in a black and gruesome threesome. He would surround me and penetrate me and the more we did the more intense it became. It made me hate being touched, because as long as we were separated I could view her like an outsider viewing something good and kind and untainted. Once we touched, the darkness would envelope her too and take her over and the evil inside me would surround her. I always felt like I was infecting anyone I was with.
Relationships didn't work. No one I dated was the right match, and I thought that maybe if I found the right person it would overwhelm him. Part of me knew that finding the right person wouldn't help, so I became interested in girls who obviously had no interest in me. For a while I thought I was gay. I convinced myself that it wasn't the darkness at all, but rather my orientation, because this would give me control over why things didn't feel "right". The fact that the darkness affected sexual matters most intensely made this idea make some sense and I convinced myself of this for a number of years, starting in college after my first relationship ended. I told people I was gay (at Trinity, not at Princeton), even though I wasn't attracted to men and kept finding myself interested in girls. Because if being gay wasn't the answer, then what was? People thought I was avoiding my orientation, but I was actually avoiding the truth, which is that while I'm straight, I will never be content with anyone. I know now that the darkness will never leave.
Last spring I met someone who was unlike anyone else I'd ever met. Someone who showed me just how well two people could get along and how much I could care about another human being. Someone I know I could be with and love for the rest of my life, if I weren't so fucked up. Amazingly, she liked me. She liked the shell of the man the darkness had left behind. But it didn't matter because I couldn't be alone with her. It was never just the two of us, it was always the three of us: her, me and the darkness. The closer we got, the more intensely I'd feel the darkness, like some evil mirror of my emotions. All the closeness we had and I loved was complemented by agony that I couldn't stand, from him. I realized that I would never be able to give her, or anyone, all of me or only me. She could never have me without the darkness and evil inside me. I could never have just her, without the darkness being a part of all of our interactions. I will never be able to be at peace or content or in a healthy relationship. I realized the futility of the romantic part of my life. If I had never met her, I would have realized this as soon as I met someone else who I meshed similarly well with. It's likely that things wouldn't have worked out with her and we would have broken up (with our relationship ending, like the majority of relationships do) even if I didn't have this problem, since we only dated for a short time. But I will face exactly the same problems with the darkness with anyone else. Despite my hopes, love and compatability is not enough. Nothing is enough. There's no way I can fix this or even push the darkness down far enough to make a relationship or any type of intimacy feasible.
So I watched as things fell apart between us. I had put an explicit time limit on our relationship, since I knew it couldn't last because of the darkness and didn't want to hold her back, and this caused a variety of problems. She was put in an unnatural situation that she never should have been a part of. It must have been very hard for her, not knowing what was actually going on with me, but this is not something I've ever been able to talk about with anyone. Losing her was very hard for me as well. Not because of her (I got over our relationship relatively quickly), but because of the realization that I would never have another relationship and because it signified the last true, exclusive personal connection I could ever have. This wasn't apparent to other people, because I could never talk about the real reasons for my sadness. I was very sad in the summer and fall, but it was not because of her, it was because I will never escape the darkness with anyone. She was so loving and kind to me and gave me everything I could have asked for under the circumstances. I'll never forget how much happiness she brought me in those briefs moments when I could ignore the darkness. I had originally planned to kill myself last winter but never got around to it. (Parts of this letter were written over a year ago, other parts days before doing this.) It was wrong of me to involve myself in her life if this were a possibility and I should have just left her alone, even though we only dated for a few months and things ended a long time ago. She's just one more person in a long list of people I've hurt.
I could spend pages talking about the other relationships I've had that were ruined because of my problems and my confusion related to the darkness. I've hurt so many great people because of who I am and my inability to experience what needs to be experienced. All I can say is that I tried to be honest with people about what I thought was true.
I've spent my life hurting people. Today will be the last time.
I've told different people a lot of things, but I've never told anyone about what happened to me, ever, for obvious reasons. It took me a while to realize that no matter how close you are to someone or how much they claim to love you, people simply cannot keep secrets. I learned this a few years ago when I thought I was gay and told people. The more harmful the secret, the juicier the gossip and the more likely you are to be betrayed. People don't care about their word or what they've promised, they just do whatever the fuck they want and justify it later. It feels incredibly lonely to realize you can never share something with someone and have it be between just the two of you. I don't blame anyone in particular, I guess it's just how people are. Even if I felt like this is something I could have shared, I have no interest in being part of a friendship or relationship where the other person views me as the damaged and contaminated person that I am. So even if I were able to trust someone, I probably would not have told them about what happened to me. At this point I simply don't care who knows.
I feel an evil inside me. An evil that makes me want to end life. I need to stop this. I need to make sure I don't kill someone, which is not something that can be easily undone. I don't know if this is related to what happened to me or something different. I recognize the irony of killing myself to prevent myself from killing someone else, but this decision should indicate what I'm capable of.
So I've realized I will never escape the darkness or misery associated with it and I have a responsibility to stop myself from physically harming others.
I'm just a broken, miserable shell of a human being. Being molested has defined me as a person and shaped me as a human being and it has made me the monster I am and there's nothing I can do to escape it. I don't know any other existence. I don't know what life feels like where I'm apart from any of this. I actively despise the person I am. I just feel fundamentally broken, almost non-human. I feel like an animal that woke up one day in a human body, trying to make sense of a foreign world, living among creatures it doesn't understand and can't connect with.
I have accepted that the darkness will never allow me to be in a relationship. I will never go to sleep with someone in my arms, feeling the comfort of their hands around me. I will never know what uncontimated intimacy is like. I will never have an exclusive bond with someone, someone who can be the recipient of all the love I have to give. I will never have children, and I wanted to be a father so badly. I think I would have made a good dad. And even if I had fought through the darkness and married and had children all while being unable to feel intimacy, I could have never done that if suicide were a possibility. I did try to minimize pain, although I know that this decision will hurt many of you. If this hurts you, I hope that you can at least forget about me quickly.
There's no point in identifying who molested me, so I'm just going to leave it at that. I doubt the word of a dead guy with no evidence about something that happened over twenty years ago would have much sway.
You may wonder why I didn't just talk to a professional about this. I've seen a number of doctors since I was a teenager to talk about other issues and I'm positive that another doctor would not have helped. I was never given one piece of actionable advice, ever. More than a few spent a large part of the session reading their notes to remember who I was. And I have no interest in talking about being raped as a child, both because I know it wouldn't help and because I have no confidence it would remain secret. I know the legal and practical limits of doctor/patient confidentiality, growing up in a house where we'd hear stories about the various mental illnesses of famous people, stories that were passed down through generations. All it takes is one doctor who thinks my story is interesting enough to share or a doctor who thinks it's her right or responsibility to contact the authorities and have me identify the molestor (justifying her decision by telling herself that someone else might be in danger). All it takes is a single doctor who violates my trust, just like the "friends" who I told I was gay did, and everything would be made public and I'd be forced to live in a world where people would know how fucked up I am. And yes, I realize this indicates that I have severe trust issues, but they're based on a large number of experiences with people who have shown a profound disrepect for their word and the privacy of others.
People say suicide is selfish. I think it's selfish to ask people to continue living painful and miserable lives, just so you possibly won't feel sad for a week or two. Suicide may be a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but it's also a permanent solution to a ~23 year-old problem that grows more intense and overwhelming every day.
Some people are just dealt bad hands in this life. I know many people have it worse than I do, and maybe I'm just not a strong person, but I really did try to deal with this. I've tried to deal with this every day for the last 23 years and I just can't fucking take it anymore.
I often wonder what life must be like for other people. People who can feel the love from others and give it back unadulterated, people who can experience sex as an intimate and joyous experience, people who can experience the colors and happenings of this world without constant misery. I wonder who I'd be if things had been different or if I were a stronger person. It sounds pretty great.
I'm prepared for death. I'm prepared for the pain and I am ready to no longer exist. Thanks to the strictness of New Jersey gun laws this will probably be much more painful than it needs to be, but what can you do. My only fear at this point is messing something up and surviving.
—-
I'd also like to address my family, if you can call them that. I despise everything they stand for and I truly hate them, in a non-emotional, dispassionate and what I believe is a healthy way. The world will be a better place when they're dead—one with less hatred and intolerance.
If you're unfamiliar with the situation, my parents are fundamentalist Christians who kicked me out of their house and cut me off financially when I was 19 because I refused to attend seven hours of church a week.
They live in a black and white reality they've constructed for themselves. They partition the world into good and evil and survive by hating everything they fear or misunderstand and calling it love. They don't understand that good and decent people exist all around us, "saved" or not, and that evil and cruel people occupy a large percentage of their church. They take advantage of people looking for hope by teaching them to practice the same hatred they practice.
A random example:
"I am personally convinced that if a Muslim truly believes and obeys the Koran, he will be a terrorist." - George Zeller, August 24, 2010.
If you choose to follow a religion where, for example, devout Catholics who are trying to be good people are all going to Hell but child molestors go to Heaven (as long as they were "saved" at some point), that's your choice, but it's fucked up. Maybe a God who operates by those rules does exist. If so, fuck Him.
Their church was always more important than the members of their family and they happily sacrificed whatever necessary in order to satisfy their contrived beliefs about who they should be.
I grew up in a house where love was proxied through a God I could never believe in. A house where the love of music with any sort of a beat was literally beaten out of me. A house full of hatred and intolerance, run by two people who were experts at appearing kind and warm when others were around. Parents who tell an eight year old that his grandmother is going to Hell because she's Catholic. Parents who claim not to be racist but then talk about the horrors of miscegenation. I could list hundreds of other examples, but it's tiring.
Since being kicked out, I've interacted with them in relatively normal ways. I talk to them on the phone like nothing happened. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I like pretending I have a family. Maybe I like having people I can talk to about what's been going on in my life. Whatever the reason, it's not real and it feels like a sham. I should have never allowed this reconnection to happen.
I wrote the above a while ago, and I do feel like that much of the time. At other times, though, I feel less hateful. I know my parents honestly believe the crap they believe in. I know that my mom, at least, loved me very much and tried her best. One reason I put this off for so long is because I know how much pain it will cause her. She has been sad since she found out I wasn't "saved", since she believes I'm going to Hell, which is not a sadness for which I am responsible. That was never going to change, and presumably she believes the state of my physical body is much less important than the state of my soul. Still, I cannot intellectually justify this decision, knowing how much it will hurt her. Maybe my ability to take my own life, knowing how much pain it will cause, shows that I am a monster who doesn't deserve to live. All I know is that I can't deal with this pain any longer and I'm am truly sorry I couldn't wait until my family and everyone I knew died so this could be done without hurting anyone. For years I've wished that I'd be hit by a bus or die while saving a baby from drowning so my death might be more acceptable, but I was never so lucky.
—-
To those of you who have shown me love, thank you for putting up with all my shittiness and moodiness and arbitrariness. I was never the person I wanted to be. Maybe without the darkness I would have been a better person, maybe not. I did try to be a good person, but I realize I never got very far.
I'm sorry for the pain this causes. I really do wish I had another option. I hope this letter explains why I needed to do this. If you can't understand this decision, I hope you can at least forgive me.
Bill Zeller
—-
Please save this letter and repost it if gets deleted. I don't want people to wonder why I did this. I disseminated it more widely than I might have otherwise because I'm worried that my family might try to restrict access to it. I don't mind if this letter is made public. In fact, I'd prefer it be made public to people being unable to read it and drawing their own conclusions.
Feel free to republish this letter, but only if it is reproduced in its entirety.
TO REPEAT PEOPLE: This was Bill Zeller's suicide note.
My name is Anthony Gonzaves. NOT
I want ASCII characters in my name like Ke$ha.
Therefore, I am $h!r!$h from now on. Not really, but wouldn't it be cool if I were?
Photo: Is it only me or is the sign above actually about telling people not to make videos and other media with pornographic/sexually explicit/suggestive content about Buddha? I don't understand why people are so uptight about it though: if Stallone could do it, if Ms. Shrestha could do it, why not Mr Gautam, amirite? You go Sid! You're the man.
Photo: Is it only me or is the sign above actually about telling people not to make videos and other media with pornographic/sexually explicit/suggestive content about Buddha? I don't understand why people are so uptight about it though: if Stallone could do it, if Ms. Shrestha could do it, why not Mr Gautam, amirite? You go Sid! You're the man.
The Party
Message #1 - Friday, 6:14PM: Shirish, Shirish. Shaan. Everyone's here... Lame that you couldn't make it. All I have to say is, sometimes you just have to kick the stupid college right where it hurts, and live your life. Um, anyway, Nisha says hi and that weird new kid from Spain has been asking about you. Oh, and ha! Some old fat-ish dude in Dhaka topi and Daura Suruwal just showed up saying he knows you and—
Message #2 - Friday, 8:02PM: Okay, Shirish? You need to come down here and get Kumar ji or whoever... How do you know this guy? He's, like, forty? Almost bald? He said his name. It sounds Russian to me, but he doesn't look very Russian. Oh, and I can't say "Russian," because I'm drunk. How the heck did he get here? Anyway, he's already spilled drinks on like, half the party, and he's bumming everyone out with his stories. This is Shaan.
Message #3 - Friday, 9:40AM: Hey. Shaan again. I suppose you're studying for the 'big exam' or whatever, but if you get this message tonight, call me back... I'm freaking out. One of Biki's friends. Mahesh or Manish or somebody. He was all drunkenly hitting on Rita. Just drooling all over her and trying to touch her shoulders, right? And she was just trying not to be mean but, like, shooting looks at Ishu and me. Like, "Help!" And then, all of a sudden there were, like, these slinging sounds and this guy with long hair and old 80's clothes… Anand! That's right. The guy's name was Anand. But anyway, the 80's hero Guy just…appeared and, like, made some kind of proclamation which sounded a lot like he was asking for votes. And then he said something about 'saving her privates'. Oh wait, that might have been something else. But I am pretty sure he kind-of said she was his mother, and we should all care about her privates, at one point. Is he a Leftie? And then some other guys from the 80's came and carried him off! Everyone thought it was a prank until they tied him up and tried taking him to the 'camp'. I mean, yeah, that Anand guy was annoying, but what the heck? Rita was pretty upset, but then we did some shots in his honor and— You feel better, right Rita?! She feels better. Oh, and Daura Suruwal guy is puking in every freaking place now. This is some horror movie material.
Message #4 - Friday, 10:36AM: Shaan again. I can't believe you're missing this. Do you remember that guy from high school, Dipesh SJB? You remember, the guy with two watches and gray hair, who tried to smuggle a sword into school once… Well, he was just here! SJB, in the flesh! He just came in uninvited, walked right up to Rita and went into this long speech declaring his love for her. The music stopped and everyone was watching. And she just – I don't know how or why, but she just – wrapped her arms around him and started crying, saying, like, she’d felt the same way about him since the fourth grade and everything. I was just totally blown away. Everyone started clapping. Well, first, it was just that idiot Prajesh Pande. The guy who used to make ten-year old kids wash his socks and underpants? Yeah, clapping all slow and movie-like, as if he was the hero's best-friend in a romantic scene. And then, one by one, everyone else did too, until everyone was Dipesh! Dipesh! I have to admit I was really pretty caught up in it, until I looked over and that Dhaka Guy was doing some kind of freaky Teej-dance off by himself. All shirtless, and, like swaying his hips around. and music was not playing either. People started to notice him and stopped clapping one by one. His grunting was pretty loud. Aaand, moment over! This is the best party EVER.
Message #5 - Friday, 11:17AM: Well, Operation Mess Everything Up is apparently all systems go. Pretty much everyone just bailed, because some girl with glasses decided it was time to pop up out of nowhere and tell everyone that...are you ready? She's pregnant! Yeah, step one: Go to a random party. Check. Step two: "Hello, I am pregnant and I am scared. Oh, and by the way, I don't know anyone here." Even had her medical records and everything, the dumb brat. Then her parents are somehow standing there. Like, what? I mean, when on Earth did someone make a frikking underground railroad for random people leading into my party in Durbarmarg? Right? But anyway, so everyone's all crying and shit. “Natasha, Natasha. I’m so sorry about your ass boyfriend, it'll be okay! My friend once – ” That’s the girl’s name. Natasha. And all I can think is, too bad for Natasha that she's in front of her parents wearing a t-shirt smaller than a handkerchief. Oh…and she’s pregnant! Yeah, then that song I really hate starts playing... Shirish, I have no damn idea who goes around requesting songs in my party, okay? If I sound coherent, that’s only because fear has dried me. I'm deeply, deeply horrified right now… Oh, lord. Dhaka Topi Guy's talking to Rita. I gotta go.
Message #6 - Friday 11:42: Hey, it's me again. So I'm alone in the club, paying for everything's that's been broken. I could start my own club with this kind of money. Anyone still around left after the cops showed up, I guess. Oh, right. Someone shouted 'Police' and everyone started running around and jumping out of windows like they were hookers caught in the act. Oh, and Police, here? It's like, has Durbarmarg somehow become Thamel or what? Hate the poliiiiiccceee!
Message #7 - Saturday, 10:58AM: Hey, Bro'. This is Shaan. Sorry about all those calls last night. Just ignore. Biki texted me, and I guess someone put some weird stuff in my drink. Like, some serious bhang or something? So I guess all that was just a dream or in my head or whatever. I know, right? Well, I gotta' start studying right after I get rid of the hang-over. See you at the exam hall tomorrow.
Message #2 - Friday, 8:02PM: Okay, Shirish? You need to come down here and get Kumar ji or whoever... How do you know this guy? He's, like, forty? Almost bald? He said his name. It sounds Russian to me, but he doesn't look very Russian. Oh, and I can't say "Russian," because I'm drunk. How the heck did he get here? Anyway, he's already spilled drinks on like, half the party, and he's bumming everyone out with his stories. This is Shaan.
Message #3 - Friday, 9:40AM: Hey. Shaan again. I suppose you're studying for the 'big exam' or whatever, but if you get this message tonight, call me back... I'm freaking out. One of Biki's friends. Mahesh or Manish or somebody. He was all drunkenly hitting on Rita. Just drooling all over her and trying to touch her shoulders, right? And she was just trying not to be mean but, like, shooting looks at Ishu and me. Like, "Help!" And then, all of a sudden there were, like, these slinging sounds and this guy with long hair and old 80's clothes… Anand! That's right. The guy's name was Anand. But anyway, the 80's hero Guy just…appeared and, like, made some kind of proclamation which sounded a lot like he was asking for votes. And then he said something about 'saving her privates'. Oh wait, that might have been something else. But I am pretty sure he kind-of said she was his mother, and we should all care about her privates, at one point. Is he a Leftie? And then some other guys from the 80's came and carried him off! Everyone thought it was a prank until they tied him up and tried taking him to the 'camp'. I mean, yeah, that Anand guy was annoying, but what the heck? Rita was pretty upset, but then we did some shots in his honor and— You feel better, right Rita?! She feels better. Oh, and Daura Suruwal guy is puking in every freaking place now. This is some horror movie material.Message #4 - Friday, 10:36AM: Shaan again. I can't believe you're missing this. Do you remember that guy from high school, Dipesh SJB? You remember, the guy with two watches and gray hair, who tried to smuggle a sword into school once… Well, he was just here! SJB, in the flesh! He just came in uninvited, walked right up to Rita and went into this long speech declaring his love for her. The music stopped and everyone was watching. And she just – I don't know how or why, but she just – wrapped her arms around him and started crying, saying, like, she’d felt the same way about him since the fourth grade and everything. I was just totally blown away. Everyone started clapping. Well, first, it was just that idiot Prajesh Pande. The guy who used to make ten-year old kids wash his socks and underpants? Yeah, clapping all slow and movie-like, as if he was the hero's best-friend in a romantic scene. And then, one by one, everyone else did too, until everyone was Dipesh! Dipesh! I have to admit I was really pretty caught up in it, until I looked over and that Dhaka Guy was doing some kind of freaky Teej-dance off by himself. All shirtless, and, like swaying his hips around. and music was not playing either. People started to notice him and stopped clapping one by one. His grunting was pretty loud. Aaand, moment over! This is the best party EVER.
Message #5 - Friday, 11:17AM: Well, Operation Mess Everything Up is apparently all systems go. Pretty much everyone just bailed, because some girl with glasses decided it was time to pop up out of nowhere and tell everyone that...are you ready? She's pregnant! Yeah, step one: Go to a random party. Check. Step two: "Hello, I am pregnant and I am scared. Oh, and by the way, I don't know anyone here." Even had her medical records and everything, the dumb brat. Then her parents are somehow standing there. Like, what? I mean, when on Earth did someone make a frikking underground railroad for random people leading into my party in Durbarmarg? Right? But anyway, so everyone's all crying and shit. “Natasha, Natasha. I’m so sorry about your ass boyfriend, it'll be okay! My friend once – ” That’s the girl’s name. Natasha. And all I can think is, too bad for Natasha that she's in front of her parents wearing a t-shirt smaller than a handkerchief. Oh…and she’s pregnant! Yeah, then that song I really hate starts playing... Shirish, I have no damn idea who goes around requesting songs in my party, okay? If I sound coherent, that’s only because fear has dried me. I'm deeply, deeply horrified right now… Oh, lord. Dhaka Topi Guy's talking to Rita. I gotta go.
Message #6 - Friday 11:42: Hey, it's me again. So I'm alone in the club, paying for everything's that's been broken. I could start my own club with this kind of money. Anyone still around left after the cops showed up, I guess. Oh, right. Someone shouted 'Police' and everyone started running around and jumping out of windows like they were hookers caught in the act. Oh, and Police, here? It's like, has Durbarmarg somehow become Thamel or what? Hate the poliiiiiccceee!
Message #7 - Saturday, 10:58AM: Hey, Bro'. This is Shaan. Sorry about all those calls last night. Just ignore. Biki texted me, and I guess someone put some weird stuff in my drink. Like, some serious bhang or something? So I guess all that was just a dream or in my head or whatever. I know, right? Well, I gotta' start studying right after I get rid of the hang-over. See you at the exam hall tomorrow.
Writer's Note: Submitted to two publications. Unpublished. And then I thought, what better place than my own blog, amirite? Oh, and you can see my writing on Page 7 of Today's (Jan 3) Kathmandu Post.
An epic Chinese fairy tale
Once upon a time in -- lets say China-- China, there were lots of Princesses. Being what they were, emotionally unstable and unsatisfied, they need Princes for themselves to complete them, like in all other fairy tales. "A Princess without her Prince is an old unmarried hag in her youth," one Princess said. "No, A Princess without her Prince is like Bella without her Edward -- hopeless, unlikeable, and possibly suicidal," another Princess chimed in. "Come on guys, we are Princesses, we are worth a lot on our own, without our Princes," a Princess tried to defend. "We sure are, but we don't count ourselves in money worth and try to sell ourselves, you slut," all other Princesses said in unison. No one said that Princesses were something without their Princes too thereafter.
But it was the ancient times, and Princes were rare. All the good Princes went to the war and got themselves killed. All the sensible Princes went after only the richest Princess. The remaining Princes went after only the prettiest Princesses or the Princesses with the biggest bosom (if you know what I mean, snicker snicker). So a lot of Princesses were left without their Princes, and they were unsatisfied. Sure, they had the occasional hookup or the fling, but nothing even came close to having a good Prince. "Look what that li'l ho' Cinderella got," they would say, " I mean, come on! If she can get such a wonderful Prince, we'll definitely get someone better. And remember, whoever had gotten Prince Charming? My eyes would pain on seeing her, and yet he fell for her. He. Fell. For. Her. Omigosh! We should be grooming ourselves rather than complaining pointlessly to each other." And then they would go back to their chambers and start combing their hair, and applying mascara, so that they'd be as white as snow white, have hair as good as Rapunzel's and feet as tiny as Cinderella's. "Remember everyone! Small feet get you into the glass shoes. Big shoes make you the ugly stepsisters who nobody likes. We are Princesses, not ugly step-sisters," someone would say, and they would try, hopelessly, to make their feet tinier.
'Black beauty' was only for horses, that they knew from childhood. Had there ever been a good Princess who was anything but fair? Oh, there had been that one, yes, but guys didn't like her because of her face-- it was something else. They were too pure and above the pretension to go to such lengths to increase That. They respected mother Nature too much to do that. Moreover, only men, or women of low birth, did such things. Princesses were daughters/nieces of the King and were going to be be Queens/Queen's cousins some day, after all. Also, the possibility that such a procedure could go wring was extremely high, as shown by the extremely large number of Princess-turned-bartenders in the bars of Land Far, Faraway.
As days went by, our Princesses got more desperate. They would gaze longingly out of their windows, sing sweet songs(like the ones sung in old Disney fairy tales), attempt to get abused from their step-mothers/King's mistresses, eat lots of Apples hoping at lease one was poisoned, and prick themselves with lots of needles. Things a good Princess should do. But the Prince never came. No thunderous hooves were heard, no brave-hearted lad even attempted to save them from the misery, and the seven dwarfs imported from abroad to every palace where a princess lived were becoming a nuisance everywhere.
The dwarfs. Yes. There were only seven of them, but they were causing trouble as if they were 700 Gauls with magic potion troubling Julius Caesar.They would pick fights with the trolls for no reason, attempt to sell gods of highly questionable quality and safety, and instead of caressing the Princess, they would try fondling her. They would show up at the King's Official Court and sing random Dwarvish songs, invite the King's personal guards for a fight, and run away taunting the men whenever they were approached by anyone remotely armed.
Princesses everywhere were being told by their fathers that if they did not get their Prince quick enough, they would be married to the ambitious Vizier. The same young sly Vizier who would later murder the King, make it look like an assassination, eliminate his opponents in the ensuing confusion and become the King himself, only to be killed by his own extremely-loved adopted son when time came. But for now, he could possibly be marrying the Princess, and he could get the throne without having to kill the King, his close family, and all his trusted officers. And then blame it on the son, the Prince, who would die a few days later too. Fun fact: I studied in the same training school as that Prince, and from what I hear, he was not as good a Prince they make out him to be. So there's an extremely good possibility that it had been the Prince who had actually massacred his family. But if we assume that, we don't have a fantastic conspiracy theory, so I am going to go with the Vizier killing the King.
Eww. Marry the Vizier? Of ALL the people? NEVER! They would rather marry the town tramp who had monkey and parrot as pets(as one of the Princesses would do, and would later become famous for doing that). The Vizier was-- w-e-i-r-d. He thought his long and pointy beard looked scary, but it was actually funny as hell. And the way he spoke reminded you of a magician in some countryside game, who would pretend he had a big secret, that he was the Prince of darkness, and talked accordingly, but was really a poor street magician who had to earn money by pretending to have secrets he really didn't have. The Vizier was just like that, but only ten times worse. And most weirdly of all, he had once attempted to hit on one of the Princess' friends. Eww, the Grand Vizier. The King may have liked him(because of an ancient curse, there's this strong affinity amongst Kings for only liking things that are going to get them killed later) but the Princess thought the Vizier was anything but 'Grand'.
They would rather kiss all the frogs in the Kingdom than ma---. Actually, it was a pretty good bet. There were lots of angry witches, and there were lots of mean-spirited Princes (actually, all the Princes were mean-spirited, but you didn't put never put it that way), so there was a good chance that a lot of frogs croaking at night from the Palace pond were really Princes. The hypothesis spread around far. Soon, Princesses, in their fit of desperation of finding a Prince and validating their existence, were kissing any frog they could find. The entertainers would later make a comedies out of the issue, aptly titled How I Met Your Fro(g)ther and Two and a Half Frogs but that was for posterity. The princesses needed to find a frog-turned-Prince faster than any other Princess for now.
It was all in vain. No frog ever turned into a Prince. Though a few did turn into Horses, snakes, dogs, and rather impossibly, Unicorns. There was no rule than witches could get angry with only the Princes, after all. However, the incident did create a fad. After seeing their Princess touch frogs with her mouth, the town girls though that she was eating them, and they tried to do the same, hoping they would be as beautiful and fair as her too. It didn't work out well, but that was how frogs became the usual fare of the Chinese cuisine.
Then the Princesses started with the Snakes, and the town girls followed. And thus Snakes became a part of the Chinese cuisine too. The same story followed with Dogs, Horses, and lots of other animals, until finally there was no animal left unkissed, and consequently, left uneaten. Therefore, the Chinese cuisine has such great variety in terms of meat.
Finally, the Princes returned. They had apparently been invited to a 'SUPER AWESOME Gala on the Occasion of Dashain!!! With Special Dance Performance from 'Jaggi and the Kittens' and Songs by Sonu Nigam!!! One shot of Whiskey/Tequila of your choice FREE!!! and All-You-Can-Eat Buffet Dinner! Don't miss the chance of a Lifetime!!! Only Princes Need Apply!!!' but when they had taken the free shot of whiskey, they had been magically transported to a foreign land where they did all kind of stuff for 40 years. They had been magically transported to their own world on the 40th year, but they had aged, and all the Princes were now forty years older. Did the Princesses still wanna' go out with them?
After some thought (and lots of financial snooping where they discovered that the Princes were still just as powerful, richer than they would otherwise have been because of the wealth brought from the foreign lands, and would become Kings a lot sooner) the Princesses decided that they had loved their Princes for their true selves and not outer appearance, and decided to go with them. Love was blind, after all, it was proven. And then everyone lived happily ever after.
Epilogue: The Princes died a lot earlier than their wives had hoped. Then they cried, and got younger Princes/studs for themselves. Also, George Clooney's clones, but that's for some other time. Now this time, absolutely everyone lived happily ever after. Even the Princesses. And the studs. And George Clooney's clones. Oh, and of course love is not blind! Did you actually believe that? Heh.
PS: Find as many innuendos as you can and collect your PRIZE(of smug satisfaction)!!!
But it was the ancient times, and Princes were rare. All the good Princes went to the war and got themselves killed. All the sensible Princes went after only the richest Princess. The remaining Princes went after only the prettiest Princesses or the Princesses with the biggest bosom (if you know what I mean, snicker snicker). So a lot of Princesses were left without their Princes, and they were unsatisfied. Sure, they had the occasional hookup or the fling, but nothing even came close to having a good Prince. "Look what that li'l ho' Cinderella got," they would say, " I mean, come on! If she can get such a wonderful Prince, we'll definitely get someone better. And remember, whoever had gotten Prince Charming? My eyes would pain on seeing her, and yet he fell for her. He. Fell. For. Her. Omigosh! We should be grooming ourselves rather than complaining pointlessly to each other." And then they would go back to their chambers and start combing their hair, and applying mascara, so that they'd be as white as snow white, have hair as good as Rapunzel's and feet as tiny as Cinderella's. "Remember everyone! Small feet get you into the glass shoes. Big shoes make you the ugly stepsisters who nobody likes. We are Princesses, not ugly step-sisters," someone would say, and they would try, hopelessly, to make their feet tinier.
'Black beauty' was only for horses, that they knew from childhood. Had there ever been a good Princess who was anything but fair? Oh, there had been that one, yes, but guys didn't like her because of her face-- it was something else. They were too pure and above the pretension to go to such lengths to increase That. They respected mother Nature too much to do that. Moreover, only men, or women of low birth, did such things. Princesses were daughters/nieces of the King and were going to be be Queens/Queen's cousins some day, after all. Also, the possibility that such a procedure could go wring was extremely high, as shown by the extremely large number of Princess-turned-bartenders in the bars of Land Far, Faraway.
As days went by, our Princesses got more desperate. They would gaze longingly out of their windows, sing sweet songs(like the ones sung in old Disney fairy tales), attempt to get abused from their step-mothers/King's mistresses, eat lots of Apples hoping at lease one was poisoned, and prick themselves with lots of needles. Things a good Princess should do. But the Prince never came. No thunderous hooves were heard, no brave-hearted lad even attempted to save them from the misery, and the seven dwarfs imported from abroad to every palace where a princess lived were becoming a nuisance everywhere.
The dwarfs. Yes. There were only seven of them, but they were causing trouble as if they were 700 Gauls with magic potion troubling Julius Caesar.They would pick fights with the trolls for no reason, attempt to sell gods of highly questionable quality and safety, and instead of caressing the Princess, they would try fondling her. They would show up at the King's Official Court and sing random Dwarvish songs, invite the King's personal guards for a fight, and run away taunting the men whenever they were approached by anyone remotely armed.
Princesses everywhere were being told by their fathers that if they did not get their Prince quick enough, they would be married to the ambitious Vizier. The same young sly Vizier who would later murder the King, make it look like an assassination, eliminate his opponents in the ensuing confusion and become the King himself, only to be killed by his own extremely-loved adopted son when time came. But for now, he could possibly be marrying the Princess, and he could get the throne without having to kill the King, his close family, and all his trusted officers. And then blame it on the son, the Prince, who would die a few days later too. Fun fact: I studied in the same training school as that Prince, and from what I hear, he was not as good a Prince they make out him to be. So there's an extremely good possibility that it had been the Prince who had actually massacred his family. But if we assume that, we don't have a fantastic conspiracy theory, so I am going to go with the Vizier killing the King.
Eww. Marry the Vizier? Of ALL the people? NEVER! They would rather marry the town tramp who had monkey and parrot as pets(as one of the Princesses would do, and would later become famous for doing that). The Vizier was-- w-e-i-r-d. He thought his long and pointy beard looked scary, but it was actually funny as hell. And the way he spoke reminded you of a magician in some countryside game, who would pretend he had a big secret, that he was the Prince of darkness, and talked accordingly, but was really a poor street magician who had to earn money by pretending to have secrets he really didn't have. The Vizier was just like that, but only ten times worse. And most weirdly of all, he had once attempted to hit on one of the Princess' friends. Eww, the Grand Vizier. The King may have liked him(because of an ancient curse, there's this strong affinity amongst Kings for only liking things that are going to get them killed later) but the Princess thought the Vizier was anything but 'Grand'.
They would rather kiss all the frogs in the Kingdom than ma---. Actually, it was a pretty good bet. There were lots of angry witches, and there were lots of mean-spirited Princes (actually, all the Princes were mean-spirited, but you didn't put never put it that way), so there was a good chance that a lot of frogs croaking at night from the Palace pond were really Princes. The hypothesis spread around far. Soon, Princesses, in their fit of desperation of finding a Prince and validating their existence, were kissing any frog they could find. The entertainers would later make a comedies out of the issue, aptly titled How I Met Your Fro(g)ther and Two and a Half Frogs but that was for posterity. The princesses needed to find a frog-turned-Prince faster than any other Princess for now.
It was all in vain. No frog ever turned into a Prince. Though a few did turn into Horses, snakes, dogs, and rather impossibly, Unicorns. There was no rule than witches could get angry with only the Princes, after all. However, the incident did create a fad. After seeing their Princess touch frogs with her mouth, the town girls though that she was eating them, and they tried to do the same, hoping they would be as beautiful and fair as her too. It didn't work out well, but that was how frogs became the usual fare of the Chinese cuisine.
Then the Princesses started with the Snakes, and the town girls followed. And thus Snakes became a part of the Chinese cuisine too. The same story followed with Dogs, Horses, and lots of other animals, until finally there was no animal left unkissed, and consequently, left uneaten. Therefore, the Chinese cuisine has such great variety in terms of meat.
Finally, the Princes returned. They had apparently been invited to a 'SUPER AWESOME Gala on the Occasion of Dashain!!! With Special Dance Performance from 'Jaggi and the Kittens' and Songs by Sonu Nigam!!! One shot of Whiskey/Tequila of your choice FREE!!! and All-You-Can-Eat Buffet Dinner! Don't miss the chance of a Lifetime!!! Only Princes Need Apply!!!' but when they had taken the free shot of whiskey, they had been magically transported to a foreign land where they did all kind of stuff for 40 years. They had been magically transported to their own world on the 40th year, but they had aged, and all the Princes were now forty years older. Did the Princesses still wanna' go out with them?
After some thought (and lots of financial snooping where they discovered that the Princes were still just as powerful, richer than they would otherwise have been because of the wealth brought from the foreign lands, and would become Kings a lot sooner) the Princesses decided that they had loved their Princes for their true selves and not outer appearance, and decided to go with them. Love was blind, after all, it was proven. And then everyone lived happily ever after.
Epilogue: The Princes died a lot earlier than their wives had hoped. Then they cried, and got younger Princes/studs for themselves. Also, George Clooney's clones, but that's for some other time. Now this time, absolutely everyone lived happily ever after. Even the Princesses. And the studs. And George Clooney's clones. Oh, and of course love is not blind! Did you actually believe that? Heh.
PS: Find as many innuendos as you can and collect your PRIZE(of smug satisfaction)!!!
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