Wandering

Khoi k bhaa k bhaa k, I am told. I am not told that, actually-- I'm making shit up-- so go along please.

Pate  is bhaari, and so is the heart. It's not the going, no-- it's specifically NOT the going. I know, because I've gone, and I know how departure feels like. It doesn't feel like this. This is something else.

Nine months, we remind ourselves. And everyone giggles. Because, babies. And sex.

Don't go out with Russians, man, and no I don't wanna talk about it, says someone from the place I am going to. Not the kind of advice I need right now, but an advice nonetheless. Never poke a sleeping dragon's nose. That's another advice. You know how these things go.

Trees are green and mellow, your life is very yellow. Jaundice and Anemia, worst condition ever. Six months max, without proper sophisticated medication. Don't go to the states, because you won't be able to afford it. And besides, no one goes to America for medication. They go there for a life, right. Kinabhane that's what everyone does.

SO we giggle and wiggle. It's my first time. Aru manche ko second or third time. Maybe more. Come and go is cool, they say, as long as you don't forget to come. It's difficult to understand that, because once you stop coming, you're not coming and going in the first place. But don't tell it to them. It's rude.

Hatti Bun. I don't know. There are two places in Kathmandu with this name-- one's a mountain, the other's not. Don't ask me if either has Hattis  in it. The conversation will last forever. And it'll be painful for various reasons. Elephant Buns. Because you will be ignored. Duhh.