'Monsieur? Monsieur?,' He calls me, as if I were in a french film, and he's the first person to discover me dead. He sounds exactly like Pankaj Kapur from the Indian version of Mind Your Language-- Zaban Sambhaalke, and with some facial he should get good roles in Indian tele-serials.
'Hajur, dai?'
I'd have liked to have said 'Moi?' in my best French accent, but my knowledge of French language (OR the accent) is limited to ridiculing people who have taken years of French class at the AFC. I don't want to embarrass myself.
Do I even look French? If he'd mistaken me for Kashmiri, or Iranian, I'd have understood. Turkish, even. But French? What's the French stereotype? I neither have the cheesiness nor the wining abilities of a French person. By cheesiness, I refer to the wonderful yellow delicacy that the French have given us-- Tiger cheese is okay, all other kinds of cheese suck. And the good cheeses are apparently are made in Switzerland anyway, but look more like light chocolate than dark cheese, and are more expensive than hiring escorts in New York city. Besides, I don't like cheeses in particular. In short, I was not exactly flattered to be mistaken for a Frenchman.
The person who called me--short, thin, pale, with a cap and a loose shirt on-- is now running after a Frenchman who looks like the Transporter guy.
Transporter fact: I watched the latest Transporter film at least four times during the last final exams. Which is why nothing is right anymore. I also watched a lot of other new films, when I should have been studying. There's a lesson in there: if you watch films during your finals instead of studying, you end up like me. You don't want that.
You also don't want to try out the Thamel ko Falafel place-- even though your friends will insist it is good, it is not at all good, and they will charge you too much moolah for ghas-foos that will then litter the insides of your mouth with wounds, and you will have to pay for every wasted bite from your own damn pocket while your friend is trying out a much less experimental and dangerous item and you begin asking yourself questions like why you didn't go to that alu khaaney place in the first place, how the hell did the ancient Hindu philosophers calculate the value of pi correctly to 14 decimal places, maybe you should not have fought with one of your friends in grade six after all, why is the universe is expanding and how come Einstein's theories break down in very small scale, why you like russian folktune so much, why would Akshay Kumar ever play in so many bad movies, why justin beiber is closeted lesbian, who the hell was the guy you talked to for ten minutes in the streets and asked about college and life and offered to go out, why did we never think of electricity before the nineteenth century and oh-god, please why did I ever decide to experiment with something I had previously never heard of?
People in Thamel are like that-- they are always confusing my friends for Kuires-- though never me. Am I not good enough to be mistaken as a Kuire? So you think I am too dark to be mistaken for a kuire, and just because I like spending my time in the Sun tanning myself and don't like wearing shades and shorts in public means that I am not eligible to be confused for a foreigner? It's happened with absolutely everyone, and Ni confuses people so much when he's wearing his shades that he could as well pretend to be a lost tourist from Sans Serriffe whom no one understands, who's willing to pay any amount of Dollars for anyone who speaks or understands either Ki-Flong or Tangoa. Once I was offered a commission for taking a friend to a lodge in Beni. I'd have done it, but we were sharing costs, so I would have had to pay for 'my tourist'(you know who you are) too. Damn the cost sharing.
Does Kuire not sound like a tad too racist a word? It has its roots in the Nepali word Kurilo, meaning Asparagus. The hippies of the fifties and the sixties, foreigners who first came to Nepal, had the peculiar habit of making weed cigarets out of Asparagus, and they came to be known as 'people who use lots of Kurilo', or Kuiro, which later became Kuire because the"ehh" sound is much Nepali than the "oh" sound. When you're talking to someone in Nepali, you say ehh, ehh, ehh and not ohh, ohh, ohh because that would make you sound like an Indian, and Nepali people are scared of becoming-Indian disease more than they are of hell.
Is it right of us that because some white people like a certain vegetable too much, we should name their entire race after the same damn veggie? Isn't it like the Americans calling us Bhaatey haru, or other races calling the Japanese Macccho haru, Machho myaan, Suri Machho, and several different nicknames that get attached to your name because of your close affinity to fishes, or calling the Americans Bhuday haru/ Bargarey Haru/ Alu haru / Pornay haru or calling the Brazilians Sexy Beasts etc, etc?
Five reasons I am not writing here anymore
1) I am empty. Empty empty. Just this morning, i had an idea for a poem that went
Willy wonka
wore a tonga
and nothing beneath
but it was pointless, and I don't even remember the next three lines I wrote. That's because I am empty.
2) I don't have to blog anymore. I did not have a place to vent my crazy ideas previously, and this was the place where they went. Since I don't need to vent my crazy and dumb ideas anymore, there's not much inspiration for writing here.
3) I don't read anymore. Anyone who's even little into writing knows that what goes in must come out. And when garbage goes in only garbage goes out. I've been trying to complete and submit a profile on Lex Limbu (wonderful dude, Perez Hilton of Nepal) for two months now, and nothing's working... I... don't know.. anything anymore...
4) This is the time around which my hormones get all messed up and I become emotionally unstable and stuff, and I am vulnerable to breaking down and being cranky-- you know what I'm talking about...People can usually tell by looking at things in my bag what I am up to, and a lot of them are very understanding about it... Thank you soo much guys.... This period(cough, cough) is very crucial for me...
5) I am too old for this.
6) I can't do freewriting anymore because I am scared of Bu judging me.
Maybe I'll return back. Someday. Maybe even tomorrow. Or maybe not.
Willy wonka
wore a tonga
and nothing beneath
but it was pointless, and I don't even remember the next three lines I wrote. That's because I am empty.
2) I don't have to blog anymore. I did not have a place to vent my crazy ideas previously, and this was the place where they went. Since I don't need to vent my crazy and dumb ideas anymore, there's not much inspiration for writing here.
5) I am too old for this.
6) I can't do freewriting anymore because I am scared of Bu judging me.
Maybe I'll return back. Someday. Maybe even tomorrow. Or maybe not.
Three (fake) love letters
The guys were annoying me the other day by sending fake lover letters anonymously, pretending (rather badly) to write like a girl (dudes, eutaa keti ko 3 ota chitthi ma farak-farak handwriting hudaina, okay?)
I got them in the exact order they are posted here. I ignored them, save for a common gesture displaying a specific human digit to the perceived adversary to the individuals involved....
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