Misplaced drops
of Blood
Everywhere,
Confuse
us all.
Ordering stories
If you've ever read Palpasa Cafe, you should attempt to read these two posts, in the order below:
The unnamed Character
Aftermaths
The unnamed Character
Aftermaths
A loving murderer of an adopted brother and other things that didn't happen to you
So you think things are bad, huh?
Things that didn't happen to me: abusive family or friends or boyfriend girlfriend, being bullied at school, having an adopted brother who was adopted after he was released from prison for mudering is adopting parents, who was super-nice actually, much better than the abusive insolence of your father, and then breaking ties with the family.
Because these things happen only in America? Broken, dysfunctional familes are an American phonomena, aren't they, and by extension, something that happens to only white people who don't believe in the family anymore? Children who send their parents to old-people's homes, and children who throw their parents out of their homes, and parents who let their kids on their own after they are 16 (or is it eighteen?), and siblings who rarely talk to each other, and parents who love their pets more than they love their kids, and children who are more broken by their pet's death than their parents' death, and cheating husbands and cheating wives, and incestous siblings, and families that hardly meet once a year. What is that?
Zo has been trying to help/console her friend whose son was raped by a neighbourhood man over the summer. How old was he: 5, 6,7? She asks me, hopefully, to confirm, "Nepal doesn't have those people right? Those things don't happen there." Yeah. We don't hear, so they don't happen. Right. I'm broken.
Which makes me wonder, is the construct of the unbreakable family unit-- unbreakable no matter how high the costs to the individuals, a victorian construct, or did we always have that? It seems Nepali families before the British influence would often expand to newer places, so there was little convenience of the American transport. Would things have been different if parents had been able to pop over every other week, every other month?
Our morality is the victorian morality, forced upon us by the British, even though we pride on never having been colonised, that's for certain. The actual victorians shed their morality a long time ago, and here we are, stuck with two rigid hierarchies that your facebooks and twitters and the internet will not remove anytime soon-- the caste, and the class divide.
As Prof. Jalal says, the Victorian morality was/has come to be seen as the morality of the better-off. When you are farming, you may have personal freedom, the rules that apply to the bahuns of the cities don't apply to you. And when you get to the city, your daughter may not see the guy she used to as often anymore, she may not act the same way anymore, because you are now city-people, you're the middle class, and now you have new values. Victorian values.
Girls' hostels in Kathmandu are a ridiculous sight-- protected by 10 foot walls with glass shards on them, and a nighttime curfew that begins early and end lates. Because the women should not be running around in the night, fucking whoever the fuck they fucking want to, because that's not right, that's not how a proper prim lady acts. And the parents, yeah.
Funfact: If you are caught in the bed with a woman not related to you, the police will charge you for prostitution. Even though they would never actually raid the places where women are actually forced into it, you know. Because women should be prim and proper, and not be fucking around. Unless they are being forced to do it, and are making lots of money for the sahujis and the inspector saabs. Then it's alright. They may do whatever they please.
There's this vine of the nice-girl-whores of Kathmandu. They're young, 16, 17, 18, 19, and they're pretty, and they're great to talk to. They go to good private schools, and are driven to the school. And when they are free, you know, will have sex with you if you give them enough money. That comes after the homework though-- they have their SLC coming, and SLC is more important than sex or money. Da has funny stories about how he's been with all the nice-pretty-dont-take-such-a-fucking-long-time-dai-please-I-have-to-study-for-send-up-when-I-get-home in Kathmandu. He reports they are really good, and know what they're doing and life's good. I've not talked to him for a long time, I should get the details from him rather than get it secondhand.
B tells me I wouldn't believe if she told me how many of her 15-16-17 year old friends who went to the l33tSchool with her had had been with married men, some with kids. To which, all I could stammer: Where do they find married men? There seems to be a significant demographic of married men in Kathmandu in their twenties and thirties who, being the modern men they are and not the wifebeating assholes their dads were, love their wives, and have a great family life with kids and all. And when they get some free time, they find B's friends. Seriously though, what place do married men go to find girls in their midteens in Kathmandu?
Kathmandu is a cesspool. It doesn't flow. It may grow, it may get richer, it may dress more glitzier, but it will always remain. It won't change. The facade will change, and the malls will pop up everywhere, and the coffee cafes will take over the chiya pasals, but the untouchables will always remain the untouchables. In the last 40 years, the only thing that's changed in Kathmandu is that the ranajis have gotten a lot more people to pal around with, and possibly marry. You either marry into wealth, or into caste. The untouchables run away from Kathmandu -- anywhere they can go, UK, Australia, the Middle East, the Far East, United States.
And then the stories repeat, but with a more...American(shall we say) twist. I'm told of a DV family who lives in Texas that sold every last anna-paisa of land and Nepali currency for dollars and moved here. The son, in his mid-twenties has gotten into more grand theft autos than he can remember, he has broken his parole every time, and he now spends between different courts and prisons and visits his home in between. The 'patron' of the house, in late forties/early fifties, is forever inebriated, sleeping on the sidewalks, on the benches, in the parks, and when he does go home, he's not in the right frame of mind. His wife is in severe state of depression, she looks forever dazed and confused, and she can't figure out what she can do. She can't go back, because there's nothing there anymore. Their stories are our stories.
But is it their American-ness that screwed them over, or is it their Nepali-ness-- they have not been in the United States for very long? Or is it their lack of sophistication-- their pakheness, that causes them to have such a sadlife. Did they have the same life in Nepal? Would they have a similar life in Nepal? I know I'm contradicting myself here-- maybe they wouldn't because of the social security, but that's a different issue entirely which I will write on later someday maybe.
Rinse and repeat.
Now that they got rid of the DV, there should be some interesting dynamics. If the ethnicity issue does not take a major spin, all the asylum seekers are being asked to return back. Which is hil-arious (to me, probably not to them) because I'm told a significant proportion had seen it as a sure-fire way of getting a Visa.
I'm jumping back to the houses in Kathmandu. Real estate is going to take a major hit, it seems-- someone is defaulting on a Rs. 5bn project, and the future of the project is very shaky. What happens to the investment of all the institutions that have invested in it, remains to be seen. Nothing good can come from it though.
I want to bring this up again-- I've written it in some other post too-- when I was about to leave, Pr di joked that she was saddned that all the good men in Kathmandu were leaving or had left. That's not true at all, and may have been influenced strongly by the fact that her boyfriend was abroad too, but the fact remains-- are all the interesting men and women in Kathmandu going to be there anymore? The I/NGO people don't count. Are they? Will they?
Is Nepali a nationality anymore, or a state identity with multiple identities? If Nepal is not an exclusively Nepali nation anymore (I'm not defining the concept of Nepalis as a nation), (which I think is what's happening, and should happen), then does one necessarily need to maintaini physical contact with the motherland to remain a Nepali? If we define ourself by our nationality and not our political boundaries, then we are finally free to be practicing Nepalis, frolicking around. Kathmandu doesn't even have have to be relevant anymore.
The society is breaking apart not because of Westernization, but the sharp contradictions between the hypocrisy of our values and ground reality. A society cannot lie to itself forever and ever and ever.
I thought what would be termed as rape or sexual harrassment would be less common here, between the Nepali students. I've been told a few tales of particular character yes, but it seems his stories got around becase his issue became a public issue because law enforcement had to be avoided. I'm told consent of the woman is still not one of priorities of a lot of majority of Nepali men studying in the United States. Sure, they may not go to your top liberal arts college or your fancy university, they may not be privy to the tens of thousands of dollars of scholarship monies, but they are just as much under the laws as anyone else is. And yet, it goes.
Inspired by this amazing article. Very readable legth too. Read the comments also.
[Also, if I am bored enough, I might turn this piece into multiple more coherent pieces.]
Things that didn't happen to me: abusive family or friends or boyfriend girlfriend, being bullied at school, having an adopted brother who was adopted after he was released from prison for mudering is adopting parents, who was super-nice actually, much better than the abusive insolence of your father, and then breaking ties with the family.
Because these things happen only in America? Broken, dysfunctional familes are an American phonomena, aren't they, and by extension, something that happens to only white people who don't believe in the family anymore? Children who send their parents to old-people's homes, and children who throw their parents out of their homes, and parents who let their kids on their own after they are 16 (or is it eighteen?), and siblings who rarely talk to each other, and parents who love their pets more than they love their kids, and children who are more broken by their pet's death than their parents' death, and cheating husbands and cheating wives, and incestous siblings, and families that hardly meet once a year. What is that?
Zo has been trying to help/console her friend whose son was raped by a neighbourhood man over the summer. How old was he: 5, 6,7? She asks me, hopefully, to confirm, "Nepal doesn't have those people right? Those things don't happen there." Yeah. We don't hear, so they don't happen. Right. I'm broken.
Which makes me wonder, is the construct of the unbreakable family unit-- unbreakable no matter how high the costs to the individuals, a victorian construct, or did we always have that? It seems Nepali families before the British influence would often expand to newer places, so there was little convenience of the American transport. Would things have been different if parents had been able to pop over every other week, every other month?
Our morality is the victorian morality, forced upon us by the British, even though we pride on never having been colonised, that's for certain. The actual victorians shed their morality a long time ago, and here we are, stuck with two rigid hierarchies that your facebooks and twitters and the internet will not remove anytime soon-- the caste, and the class divide.
As Prof. Jalal says, the Victorian morality was/has come to be seen as the morality of the better-off. When you are farming, you may have personal freedom, the rules that apply to the bahuns of the cities don't apply to you. And when you get to the city, your daughter may not see the guy she used to as often anymore, she may not act the same way anymore, because you are now city-people, you're the middle class, and now you have new values. Victorian values.
Girls' hostels in Kathmandu are a ridiculous sight-- protected by 10 foot walls with glass shards on them, and a nighttime curfew that begins early and end lates. Because the women should not be running around in the night, fucking whoever the fuck they fucking want to, because that's not right, that's not how a proper prim lady acts. And the parents, yeah.
Funfact: If you are caught in the bed with a woman not related to you, the police will charge you for prostitution. Even though they would never actually raid the places where women are actually forced into it, you know. Because women should be prim and proper, and not be fucking around. Unless they are being forced to do it, and are making lots of money for the sahujis and the inspector saabs. Then it's alright. They may do whatever they please.
There's this vine of the nice-girl-whores of Kathmandu. They're young, 16, 17, 18, 19, and they're pretty, and they're great to talk to. They go to good private schools, and are driven to the school. And when they are free, you know, will have sex with you if you give them enough money. That comes after the homework though-- they have their SLC coming, and SLC is more important than sex or money. Da has funny stories about how he's been with all the nice-pretty-dont-take-such-a-fucking-long-time-dai-please-I-have-to-study-for-send-up-when-I-get-home in Kathmandu. He reports they are really good, and know what they're doing and life's good. I've not talked to him for a long time, I should get the details from him rather than get it secondhand.
B tells me I wouldn't believe if she told me how many of her 15-16-17 year old friends who went to the l33tSchool with her had had been with married men, some with kids. To which, all I could stammer: Where do they find married men? There seems to be a significant demographic of married men in Kathmandu in their twenties and thirties who, being the modern men they are and not the wifebeating assholes their dads were, love their wives, and have a great family life with kids and all. And when they get some free time, they find B's friends. Seriously though, what place do married men go to find girls in their midteens in Kathmandu?
Kathmandu is a cesspool. It doesn't flow. It may grow, it may get richer, it may dress more glitzier, but it will always remain. It won't change. The facade will change, and the malls will pop up everywhere, and the coffee cafes will take over the chiya pasals, but the untouchables will always remain the untouchables. In the last 40 years, the only thing that's changed in Kathmandu is that the ranajis have gotten a lot more people to pal around with, and possibly marry. You either marry into wealth, or into caste. The untouchables run away from Kathmandu -- anywhere they can go, UK, Australia, the Middle East, the Far East, United States.
And then the stories repeat, but with a more...American(shall we say) twist. I'm told of a DV family who lives in Texas that sold every last anna-paisa of land and Nepali currency for dollars and moved here. The son, in his mid-twenties has gotten into more grand theft autos than he can remember, he has broken his parole every time, and he now spends between different courts and prisons and visits his home in between. The 'patron' of the house, in late forties/early fifties, is forever inebriated, sleeping on the sidewalks, on the benches, in the parks, and when he does go home, he's not in the right frame of mind. His wife is in severe state of depression, she looks forever dazed and confused, and she can't figure out what she can do. She can't go back, because there's nothing there anymore. Their stories are our stories.
But is it their American-ness that screwed them over, or is it their Nepali-ness-- they have not been in the United States for very long? Or is it their lack of sophistication-- their pakheness, that causes them to have such a sadlife. Did they have the same life in Nepal? Would they have a similar life in Nepal? I know I'm contradicting myself here-- maybe they wouldn't because of the social security, but that's a different issue entirely which I will write on later someday maybe.
Rinse and repeat.
Now that they got rid of the DV, there should be some interesting dynamics. If the ethnicity issue does not take a major spin, all the asylum seekers are being asked to return back. Which is hil-arious (to me, probably not to them) because I'm told a significant proportion had seen it as a sure-fire way of getting a Visa.
I'm jumping back to the houses in Kathmandu. Real estate is going to take a major hit, it seems-- someone is defaulting on a Rs. 5bn project, and the future of the project is very shaky. What happens to the investment of all the institutions that have invested in it, remains to be seen. Nothing good can come from it though.
I want to bring this up again-- I've written it in some other post too-- when I was about to leave, Pr di joked that she was saddned that all the good men in Kathmandu were leaving or had left. That's not true at all, and may have been influenced strongly by the fact that her boyfriend was abroad too, but the fact remains-- are all the interesting men and women in Kathmandu going to be there anymore? The I/NGO people don't count. Are they? Will they?
Is Nepali a nationality anymore, or a state identity with multiple identities? If Nepal is not an exclusively Nepali nation anymore (I'm not defining the concept of Nepalis as a nation), (which I think is what's happening, and should happen), then does one necessarily need to maintaini physical contact with the motherland to remain a Nepali? If we define ourself by our nationality and not our political boundaries, then we are finally free to be practicing Nepalis, frolicking around. Kathmandu doesn't even have have to be relevant anymore.
The society is breaking apart not because of Westernization, but the sharp contradictions between the hypocrisy of our values and ground reality. A society cannot lie to itself forever and ever and ever.
I thought what would be termed as rape or sexual harrassment would be less common here, between the Nepali students. I've been told a few tales of particular character yes, but it seems his stories got around becase his issue became a public issue because law enforcement had to be avoided. I'm told consent of the woman is still not one of priorities of a lot of majority of Nepali men studying in the United States. Sure, they may not go to your top liberal arts college or your fancy university, they may not be privy to the tens of thousands of dollars of scholarship monies, but they are just as much under the laws as anyone else is. And yet, it goes.
Inspired by this amazing article. Very readable legth too. Read the comments also.
[Also, if I am bored enough, I might turn this piece into multiple more coherent pieces.]
Greater minds make better leaders? An argument for creating a more empoweing and self-guided education curricula in the Nepali context
It's bedtime, and I stubbornly force myself to bang out a couple hundred words.
Yeah so, what exactly is the source of sovereignty for a modern state? A crude definition of a modern state would be to identify it through its sole and absolute monopolization of power, as organized by Westphalian terms, but in a scenario where Westphalian norms have come under intense scrutiny by historians and political scientists, and identified them as a source of the rigidity of the interpretation of sovereignty in post-colonial states at a time when the colonizing states themselves have come to accept a more broad and nuanced understanding, absolute sovereignty has started being seen as a bane for true devolution of power.
That could be taken to imply that Nepal has hardly ever had sovereignty vested in the people, specially after 2006-- sovereignty has been clasped by the weaponed and the monied elite then, the dadas of Kathmandu who control the state of affairs under the patronage of the true political dadas and dijjus.
What I am trying to get at is, see, this is not going to work for Nepal, and as pakistan's history shows, dictators are rarely benevolent, and you certain;y don't want a second Zulfikar. Are we then forever stuck within the fucking grossly incompetent, corrupt, and evil leaders?
I shall discuss in this paper that we are not. In fact, Nepal's incompetent politicians are a direct result of their relative lack of experience in the political arena. However, that is in no way a defense of their corrupt and incompetent, and frequently malevolent actions, but a hope towards a future where leaders have gotten more responsible.
In that context, another interesting factor that will be discussed in detailed in the paper is the education of Nepal, which I posit is directly related to the politically-obsessed and charged environment of the country. While it is conventional understanding that un-employment and under-employment leads to greater political activism that hinders the normal functioning of even a usually-democratic society, my analysis of the available empirical data suggests that high levels of unemployment have not necessarily correlated with greater political activism, and as a corollary, a high employment rate does not always imply a proportional decrease in disruptive political action. Rather than the employment situation, I have reasons to conclude that it is the unempowering education system that makes people take an active (often too much, one can argue) in the political system.
As I see it, and explain in detail in the paper, the Nepali education system does not have strong support for empowering the students in terms of giving them positions of responsibilities, and getting them involved in other positions regarding constant involvement. Thus, where the centers of education fail, centers of politics take over, and provide a platform for the Nepali youth to be empowered and hold positions of responsibilities. In that, I have posited, the Nepali youth does not necessarily see educational and professional achievements as a way to be upwardly mobile but it does see political involvement thusly, and thus the greater involvement in politics.
Thus, it would seem that the preservation of the current educational system would be good for the political parties, and it would let the political dynasties and the mafia continue forever. However, if the country were to get actual able business, social, citizen, and political leadership, the educational system must be designed to empower the youth from a young age. That could involve their compulsory involvement in social service works, their involvement in some kind of hierarchial structure, encouragement to organize different events (perhaps on behalf of the school?) on their own, and the general imparting of leadership skills.
A naive reading of the theory might interpret it as arguing in strong favor of leadership education. While that would certainly be a part of the reform, the greater importance is given to allowing students to explore their education, explore their society on their own, and not necessarily take up 'leadership' positions. I believe by giving a leeway in education, the impinging of the civil society by political elements can be curtailed.
In addition, the paper also argues for the creation of some kind of accountability hierarchy for the aid and non-profit industry in Nepal. My research has shown that the diversion of resources caused by the aid industry is perhaps just about the net benefit it causes, barring the health sector, ......
Yeah so, what exactly is the source of sovereignty for a modern state? A crude definition of a modern state would be to identify it through its sole and absolute monopolization of power, as organized by Westphalian terms, but in a scenario where Westphalian norms have come under intense scrutiny by historians and political scientists, and identified them as a source of the rigidity of the interpretation of sovereignty in post-colonial states at a time when the colonizing states themselves have come to accept a more broad and nuanced understanding, absolute sovereignty has started being seen as a bane for true devolution of power.
That could be taken to imply that Nepal has hardly ever had sovereignty vested in the people, specially after 2006-- sovereignty has been clasped by the weaponed and the monied elite then, the dadas of Kathmandu who control the state of affairs under the patronage of the true political dadas and dijjus.
What I am trying to get at is, see, this is not going to work for Nepal, and as pakistan's history shows, dictators are rarely benevolent, and you certain;y don't want a second Zulfikar. Are we then forever stuck within the fucking grossly incompetent, corrupt, and evil leaders?
I shall discuss in this paper that we are not. In fact, Nepal's incompetent politicians are a direct result of their relative lack of experience in the political arena. However, that is in no way a defense of their corrupt and incompetent, and frequently malevolent actions, but a hope towards a future where leaders have gotten more responsible.
In that context, another interesting factor that will be discussed in detailed in the paper is the education of Nepal, which I posit is directly related to the politically-obsessed and charged environment of the country. While it is conventional understanding that un-employment and under-employment leads to greater political activism that hinders the normal functioning of even a usually-democratic society, my analysis of the available empirical data suggests that high levels of unemployment have not necessarily correlated with greater political activism, and as a corollary, a high employment rate does not always imply a proportional decrease in disruptive political action. Rather than the employment situation, I have reasons to conclude that it is the unempowering education system that makes people take an active (often too much, one can argue) in the political system.
As I see it, and explain in detail in the paper, the Nepali education system does not have strong support for empowering the students in terms of giving them positions of responsibilities, and getting them involved in other positions regarding constant involvement. Thus, where the centers of education fail, centers of politics take over, and provide a platform for the Nepali youth to be empowered and hold positions of responsibilities. In that, I have posited, the Nepali youth does not necessarily see educational and professional achievements as a way to be upwardly mobile but it does see political involvement thusly, and thus the greater involvement in politics.
Thus, it would seem that the preservation of the current educational system would be good for the political parties, and it would let the political dynasties and the mafia continue forever. However, if the country were to get actual able business, social, citizen, and political leadership, the educational system must be designed to empower the youth from a young age. That could involve their compulsory involvement in social service works, their involvement in some kind of hierarchial structure, encouragement to organize different events (perhaps on behalf of the school?) on their own, and the general imparting of leadership skills.
A naive reading of the theory might interpret it as arguing in strong favor of leadership education. While that would certainly be a part of the reform, the greater importance is given to allowing students to explore their education, explore their society on their own, and not necessarily take up 'leadership' positions. I believe by giving a leeway in education, the impinging of the civil society by political elements can be curtailed.
In addition, the paper also argues for the creation of some kind of accountability hierarchy for the aid and non-profit industry in Nepal. My research has shown that the diversion of resources caused by the aid industry is perhaps just about the net benefit it causes, barring the health sector, ......
Ganthanmanthan
Chhaadaapana ko pani hadd hunchha ni. Partybata farkida ma mathi ades lagya chhe, khutta le bhuima tekna na sakera. "Oii, do you see that tall guy, tyo check wala? I fucked him orientation ma ni," bhanera bhanche. "Kamsekam nepali ma ta bol, you don't want everyone hearing you, no,' bhanera samjhauna khojchu. "I don't care k, whoever the fuck hears about whoever the I fuckfuckfuck. Shit. Aba chuplagchu hai. Hya, taile malai thegan nai laaenass, ma drunk bha belama. I trustedd youu," bhanera nautanki garche. Ani ekkai chhinma hwaahwaa runa thalchhe. Sab adhi raat ka adhi mast jantu haru hami tira herdai chhan. Hami dorm farkidai chhaun tiniharu raatibiraati khai kk gardai chhan mora haru.
Ani feri ekkai choti ruwabasi banda huncha. "Malai icecream khanu man lagyo, JPLicks joom," bhanche. Ma sanga paisa chhain. Teslai bhanchu. Pocket chamchhum garche. Tyo sanga ni card-paisa kei chaina. Party janu bhanda agadi jaile pani ready bhaera niskinche, paisa, sacho, debit card kei pani bokya hunna telle. Pailaa pailaa condom ra key card bokthyee, ajkal hami sangai parties jana thalepachi we we return back together, ani tesko pockets usually empty huncha.
"Heaa, ice-cream ni khanu paena," bhanna thalche, taauko hallaudai. Kapal mookh agaadi chha, loose-- dekhne manche le drink gareko chha bhanera dui kosh tadha batai dekchha. "Toh kasto cockblock chhas ni," bhanera randomly bhanche feri. Ma thaki saake, waakka lagisyo. Tei pani bolchu,' Nainai, maile talaai kei garna bata rokey bhane bhannu parthyo ni ta." "Nono, tyo bhanya haina. Ta ma sanga thyees ani everyone thought you were my boyfriend bhanera so they didn't want to dance with me kya, kei bujhdainas."
"Ehh, teso ho bhane ma arko choti dekhi audina ni ta ta sanga. I don't drink a lot anyway," bhanchu. Kaile kai malai achamma lagcha, ma piuuda ni dherai na piuune manche, naachgaan pani dherai nagarne manche, kasari ajkal bhaebhar ko party maa tuplukka pugya hunchu aafailaai thaaha hunna. Twaalla parera euta kunaa ma tusukka parera ubbhiyo, rato cup bokera, kunai nachineko jantoo ko basement maa, garmi khapi nasaknu huncha. Kei piuunu bhanda agadi nai mookh raato bhai sakchha. Euta aucha, chineko kun chai kaile ko class bata, kura garchu halkaa. Ani tyo ni etaa utaa kataa gayab huncha. Ani kun chai jaile pani nachnu parne keti aai pugche. "heyy, why rnt you dancing, lets dance," bhanera chichyauna thaalche. Music ta halukaai chha ta hau, kina chichyaunu paryo. Ani esso nache jasto garchu, ani tyo kun chai jyaango indian sanga nachgan garna janche. Ma feri afno rato cup bokera tolauna thalchu.
Kothaako bichma tyo chichhyaudai hunche, harek choti. Uffridai, chichyaaudai, koi na koi sanga nachdai. "Oiii, kina na nacheko? Nach, nach, nachum, nachum," bhanche, ani feri ufrina thalche. Euta thito cheuma cha, agi tyo nachdai thyee tyo sanga. Tassina khojdai thyo kyaare, ufrina thaali sakichha. Eta uta aru koi keti khaali cha ki bhanera herchha. Koi dekhdaina. Ani ma tira aucha. Hamro chinaajani cha. Freshmen year ma tesko barema sodhthyo malaai. Maile tellaai chinyaa theena tetiibelaa, so khassai help garna sakya thyeena. Pachi tira feri bolaachaali huntyo, eta uta kaile kahin.
"Nono, I don't mean that yaar. Hea, toh sappai kura seriously linchhas k. Kya bore huncha. Seriously na ley na k," bhanche. "Mmhmm, whatevs. Toile nai ta bhnya ho ni I cockblock you bhanera," bhanera aafulai bachauna khojchu.
"Hoho. Hohoho." bhanna thaalche. Tessko ho ho ho suru bhayepachi aru sabai kura banda huncha. " Huss. Ice-cream khana jane ho bhane ma pay gardina. Card liera aije, afno room bata, ani sangai gaidimla," bhanchu.
"Nainainai."
"Haii, ice-cream khane man haraayo ta?"
"Eklai najaane."
"Tetro sidhii hidnu parcha. Feri I'll have to pretty much carry you all the way up and down the stairs"
"So?" bhanche, ani malaai aakha tarche.
"Jaum tero room. Roommate sutii saki holaa. Disturb huncha ki. Natra bhane bholi ice cream khaumla. When you can actually remember eating the icecream, ok?"
Ani feri ekkai choti ruwabasi banda huncha. "Malai icecream khanu man lagyo, JPLicks joom," bhanche. Ma sanga paisa chhain. Teslai bhanchu. Pocket chamchhum garche. Tyo sanga ni card-paisa kei chaina. Party janu bhanda agadi jaile pani ready bhaera niskinche, paisa, sacho, debit card kei pani bokya hunna telle. Pailaa pailaa condom ra key card bokthyee, ajkal hami sangai parties jana thalepachi we we return back together, ani tesko pockets usually empty huncha.
"Heaa, ice-cream ni khanu paena," bhanna thalche, taauko hallaudai. Kapal mookh agaadi chha, loose-- dekhne manche le drink gareko chha bhanera dui kosh tadha batai dekchha. "Toh kasto cockblock chhas ni," bhanera randomly bhanche feri. Ma thaki saake, waakka lagisyo. Tei pani bolchu,' Nainai, maile talaai kei garna bata rokey bhane bhannu parthyo ni ta." "Nono, tyo bhanya haina. Ta ma sanga thyees ani everyone thought you were my boyfriend bhanera so they didn't want to dance with me kya, kei bujhdainas."
"Ehh, teso ho bhane ma arko choti dekhi audina ni ta ta sanga. I don't drink a lot anyway," bhanchu. Kaile kai malai achamma lagcha, ma piuuda ni dherai na piuune manche, naachgaan pani dherai nagarne manche, kasari ajkal bhaebhar ko party maa tuplukka pugya hunchu aafailaai thaaha hunna. Twaalla parera euta kunaa ma tusukka parera ubbhiyo, rato cup bokera, kunai nachineko jantoo ko basement maa, garmi khapi nasaknu huncha. Kei piuunu bhanda agadi nai mookh raato bhai sakchha. Euta aucha, chineko kun chai kaile ko class bata, kura garchu halkaa. Ani tyo ni etaa utaa kataa gayab huncha. Ani kun chai jaile pani nachnu parne keti aai pugche. "heyy, why rnt you dancing, lets dance," bhanera chichyauna thaalche. Music ta halukaai chha ta hau, kina chichyaunu paryo. Ani esso nache jasto garchu, ani tyo kun chai jyaango indian sanga nachgan garna janche. Ma feri afno rato cup bokera tolauna thalchu.
Kothaako bichma tyo chichhyaudai hunche, harek choti. Uffridai, chichyaaudai, koi na koi sanga nachdai. "Oiii, kina na nacheko? Nach, nach, nachum, nachum," bhanche, ani feri ufrina thalche. Euta thito cheuma cha, agi tyo nachdai thyee tyo sanga. Tassina khojdai thyo kyaare, ufrina thaali sakichha. Eta uta aru koi keti khaali cha ki bhanera herchha. Koi dekhdaina. Ani ma tira aucha. Hamro chinaajani cha. Freshmen year ma tesko barema sodhthyo malaai. Maile tellaai chinyaa theena tetiibelaa, so khassai help garna sakya thyeena. Pachi tira feri bolaachaali huntyo, eta uta kaile kahin.
"Nono, I don't mean that yaar. Hea, toh sappai kura seriously linchhas k. Kya bore huncha. Seriously na ley na k," bhanche. "Mmhmm, whatevs. Toile nai ta bhnya ho ni I cockblock you bhanera," bhanera aafulai bachauna khojchu.
"Hoho. Hohoho." bhanna thaalche. Tessko ho ho ho suru bhayepachi aru sabai kura banda huncha. " Huss. Ice-cream khana jane ho bhane ma pay gardina. Card liera aije, afno room bata, ani sangai gaidimla," bhanchu.
"Nainainai."
"Haii, ice-cream khane man haraayo ta?"
"Eklai najaane."
"Tetro sidhii hidnu parcha. Feri I'll have to pretty much carry you all the way up and down the stairs"
"So?" bhanche, ani malaai aakha tarche.
"Jaum tero room. Roommate sutii saki holaa. Disturb huncha ki. Natra bhane bholi ice cream khaumla. When you can actually remember eating the icecream, ok?"
Stream of Consciousness or, what do I really think about when I'm not thinking at all
I am the funny and sexy one, pick me, pick me. Pick me please. i'll do chorsd for you, please pick me.
I am not being sarcastic here, but if you want to work with me, you have to learn to get over it. So I have to figure out what exactly he said, and try to remember not to say any of the words he has already said before. It's true, and we will hide our driver, they gunpowder trains in the tar roof of the splinter.
The falling start will not hit though, my dear ates at the different popis.. so they are going to go for the usual time. We need to get a special math class, and we need to more rishi chharis.
i hove the way they have socialized the internet, and today, anything that anyone says from anywhere in anytime can be casted as true, as long as you can represent the entire event in a series of comic-hating audies.
I am not being sarcastic here, but if you want to work with me, you have to learn to get over it. So I have to figure out what exactly he said, and try to remember not to say any of the words he has already said before. It's true, and we will hide our driver, they gunpowder trains in the tar roof of the splinter.
The falling start will not hit though, my dear ates at the different popis.. so they are going to go for the usual time. We need to get a special math class, and we need to more rishi chharis.
i hove the way they have socialized the internet, and today, anything that anyone says from anywhere in anytime can be casted as true, as long as you can represent the entire event in a series of comic-hating audies.
Black, white, and Brown dogs
"That's Vybz," Seun said. "He's a Boerboel. They were bred by South African farmers to attack blacks, but I'm training him to bite white people instead." He looked down at Vybz, who was licking my hand. "I guess it's not working."- A Wild Week in Lagos (read it. fantastic writing)
What to do, what to do
What to do what to do.
I've not written for a long time. Not that I don't have things to write. Everything seems to drain energy out of me-- and when I'm in by room, at the end of the day, ready to bang out a few hundred words, I'm like, gaahh, why does it matter anymore?
Besides, the way I've thought about writing has been evolving lately. I don't know how though. I just feel it evolving, you know. Like, sometimes, you can feel something bad is going to happen, but you still go to Dolalghat anyway, and on the way you see a large truck carrying cloths from China overturned, and you're like uh-oh-hope-thats-not-me, but you reach Dolalghat safe and sound, and eat the fishes, do the swimming, have the fun, and return in the dangerously driven motorbikes, when, in Koteshwor, you see a dead man on the street, drenched in blood, apparently hit by a Bus before it was abandoned by the staff, and now it's on fire, and at the end of the day, back safe in your house, you've forgotten everything about your hunch about something bad happening and you realize you're so glad to be here, and alive, and not dead, thank god.
Women. Amirite? You're nodding, nodnod. You're right.
I've not written for a long time. Not that I don't have things to write. Everything seems to drain energy out of me-- and when I'm in by room, at the end of the day, ready to bang out a few hundred words, I'm like, gaahh, why does it matter anymore?
Besides, the way I've thought about writing has been evolving lately. I don't know how though. I just feel it evolving, you know. Like, sometimes, you can feel something bad is going to happen, but you still go to Dolalghat anyway, and on the way you see a large truck carrying cloths from China overturned, and you're like uh-oh-hope-thats-not-me, but you reach Dolalghat safe and sound, and eat the fishes, do the swimming, have the fun, and return in the dangerously driven motorbikes, when, in Koteshwor, you see a dead man on the street, drenched in blood, apparently hit by a Bus before it was abandoned by the staff, and now it's on fire, and at the end of the day, back safe in your house, you've forgotten everything about your hunch about something bad happening and you realize you're so glad to be here, and alive, and not dead, thank god.
Women. Amirite? You're nodding, nodnod. You're right.
International 'Try a Guy' day celebrated with full vigor and entusiasm
The annual international 'Try a Guy' day was celebrated all over the globe with full vigor and enthusiasm today. Originally organized as a defiance against homophobia and later modeled to celebrate the proud statement of male homosexuality, the day has today evolved to become this one time of the year when dudes can bang other dudes with absolutely no consequences or judgements.
SteFan Gaylabangos, the head of the coordinating committee for the event said that approximately 22 million males, of all ages, ethnicity, nationality and other interesting descriptions he would not mention because he is not twelve, and puhlease, talking about size is just immature now k, had celebrate the event 'formally'.
"The number we have received, 22 million, is just the official number, which we can definitely confirm. I'm certain there's a lot more madfags who banged each other without considering what would happen if there girlfriend just decided to pop into their friend Sam's apartment, who they should technically be consoling because they told her that his girlfriend broke up with him and he's supersad, but of course she's just gone to Hungary to see her parents, while they are using all mathematically possible permutations of each others' orifices and phallic structures, ramming one into another," Gaylabangos said. "I'm sorry if I got the volume wrong: something seems to be wrong with my ear today, " he added.
The idea of 'Try a Guy' day arose last year after several successful years of celebration of the annual 'Lemme do a Femme' day, that celebrated the fluidity of female sexuality. It had been designated as a day when every woman who had ever said things like ' I wish I had a girlfriend', or ' maybe I should do something with women some day', would be encouraged to 'do' 'something' with women. The organizers had expected mild interest for the event, but the day was remarkable as a significant portion of global business and trade almost came to a halt when women started frequenting their visits to the women's room with other women, even more often they usually do.
SteFan Gaylabangos, the head of the coordinating committee for the event said that approximately 22 million males, of all ages, ethnicity, nationality and other interesting descriptions he would not mention because he is not twelve, and puhlease, talking about size is just immature now k, had celebrate the event 'formally'.
"The number we have received, 22 million, is just the official number, which we can definitely confirm. I'm certain there's a lot more madfags who banged each other without considering what would happen if there girlfriend just decided to pop into their friend Sam's apartment, who they should technically be consoling because they told her that his girlfriend broke up with him and he's supersad, but of course she's just gone to Hungary to see her parents, while they are using all mathematically possible permutations of each others' orifices and phallic structures, ramming one into another," Gaylabangos said. "I'm sorry if I got the volume wrong: something seems to be wrong with my ear today, " he added.
The idea of 'Try a Guy' day arose last year after several successful years of celebration of the annual 'Lemme do a Femme' day, that celebrated the fluidity of female sexuality. It had been designated as a day when every woman who had ever said things like ' I wish I had a girlfriend', or ' maybe I should do something with women some day', would be encouraged to 'do' 'something' with women. The organizers had expected mild interest for the event, but the day was remarkable as a significant portion of global business and trade almost came to a halt when women started frequenting their visits to the women's room with other women, even more often they usually do.
The weak-kneed ones and those that are not
Sh says, she may not be the most attractive person on Earth, ever, but she can look pretty whenever she wants to. To which I'm like um, suure. Water has long gone under the bridge since the PotterGirl and
Heroni days, so it's safe to be sarcastic without being too mean now.
"No, seriously yaar. If I try hard, I can actually be quite attractive ni," she says, and sends me a Halloween photo of herself. The devil that she is, she looks nice. I suspect foul-play.
"Photoshop!" I go for it. I'm trying too hard though though-- she stands next to a professional model-- whom I have had the fortune to see at work, thanks to Sh-- and she looks...not particularly different than her usual self. No foul play here.
But clever as she may be, Sh has forgotten to hide an important, often looked-over, clue. The knees. The weak-knees.
As Sh stands on what appears to be a disappearing floor revealing the underworld beneath, with her Scimitar, daring the camera with her eyes glowing like the eternal fires of the Erebus ( where she is presumably from), cloaked in material apparently designed for the deities of the fiery worlds (I want to talk to the designer who put hoodie caps on fancy party dress), along with someone who bears a striking resemblance to both Cleopatra and Isis, the goddess of Magic and Life, there's only one mistake that can ever reveal her mortality, and the veneer of striking attractiveness : the knees. The weak knees.
For a man, knees are a way prove himself beyond what he may seem to be. Yes, I may be ugly, and fat, and not terribly bright, but look at the strong knees of mine, he says, and it works. A man's knee rarely works against him, and yet can do wonders to make him a hero -- a modern-day knight with the shiny bony knees of his.
On a woman, knees are mostly a liability. Unless a woman is exceptionally good with her physique ( as some people are, ahem) the knees are wobbly, knobby, and do not correspond to the otherwise attractive physique. She may be the most physically attractive person around, and yet the knees will still be knbby wobbling mass of unrestrained meat (not to be confused with the other unrestrained mass of wobbling meat), not important enough to warrant a cosmetic industry for themselves, but significant enough to make one's look considerably different. Anyone with a skirt shorter than knee-length has to have an unusually flattering body image. The knees to a woman are New Jersey to New York, the Bagmati of Kathmandu.
And so Sh is revealed -- her knees reveal it all. The model is a step ahead-- she has a royal gown going way below her knees. You wonder if she's really an immortal-- the manacle and all.
"No, seriously yaar. If I try hard, I can actually be quite attractive ni," she says, and sends me a Halloween photo of herself. The devil that she is, she looks nice. I suspect foul-play.
"Photoshop!" I go for it. I'm trying too hard though though-- she stands next to a professional model-- whom I have had the fortune to see at work, thanks to Sh-- and she looks...not particularly different than her usual self. No foul play here.
But clever as she may be, Sh has forgotten to hide an important, often looked-over, clue. The knees. The weak-knees.
As Sh stands on what appears to be a disappearing floor revealing the underworld beneath, with her Scimitar, daring the camera with her eyes glowing like the eternal fires of the Erebus ( where she is presumably from), cloaked in material apparently designed for the deities of the fiery worlds (I want to talk to the designer who put hoodie caps on fancy party dress), along with someone who bears a striking resemblance to both Cleopatra and Isis, the goddess of Magic and Life, there's only one mistake that can ever reveal her mortality, and the veneer of striking attractiveness : the knees. The weak knees.
For a man, knees are a way prove himself beyond what he may seem to be. Yes, I may be ugly, and fat, and not terribly bright, but look at the strong knees of mine, he says, and it works. A man's knee rarely works against him, and yet can do wonders to make him a hero -- a modern-day knight with the shiny bony knees of his.
On a woman, knees are mostly a liability. Unless a woman is exceptionally good with her physique ( as some people are, ahem) the knees are wobbly, knobby, and do not correspond to the otherwise attractive physique. She may be the most physically attractive person around, and yet the knees will still be knbby wobbling mass of unrestrained meat (not to be confused with the other unrestrained mass of wobbling meat), not important enough to warrant a cosmetic industry for themselves, but significant enough to make one's look considerably different. Anyone with a skirt shorter than knee-length has to have an unusually flattering body image. The knees to a woman are New Jersey to New York, the Bagmati of Kathmandu.
And so Sh is revealed -- her knees reveal it all. The model is a step ahead-- she has a royal gown going way below her knees. You wonder if she's really an immortal-- the manacle and all.
Paranoid reports: Police log watch #34
Log 34:
Checked the local news sites, the local police log, and the keywords of the place of study. Is it too much to call the local hospitals yet? No reports of accidents/unexpected incidents. Yet. And I grow ever more paranoid.
Checked the local news sites, the local police log, and the keywords of the place of study. Is it too much to call the local hospitals yet? No reports of accidents/unexpected incidents. Yet. And I grow ever more paranoid.
Big teeth
"They are too big," he says, in almost a mumble, staring at the carpet, as he rubs his palms.
"What, what happened? " the mother says. The words sound tired, but fatigue had never never stopped her from also being irritable.
"The girl's teeth are too big. She looks like a little girl. Unn, like Marichman. The teeth are too big, yes, " he says, partly convincing himself.
"That will not matter. The girl's is pretty, and she has a good job, and she will work her way up, and you also had things to talk to her with. With a girl like that, what are big teeth going to do? " she says.
"No, no, it will matter. The teeth are too big and she has a very bony face. She looks like a skeleton. She looked like she does diets all the time, and did you see the color of lipstick? That was the ghinlagdo pink. Her face looks so triangular," he says, his growing confidence now showing in his voice.
"Listen, she is an ambitious and educated girl, and she will do well with the NGO's. You won't find anyone like her again. We can keep looking more girls, but they'll all have some fault or other. Maybe someone will be too short for you, or someone could be too tall, or too fat, or too modern. She is a brilliant girl, and she studied in America, so you two will have things to talk about. If you want to go abroad for Masters or Phd, she will definitely get good jobs wherever you are. Things like family, and money they have, and their history, and the looks-- they are all temporary. But this girl has charms, and she is intelligent, and with her you can be stable," the mother explains, patiently, logically, knowing she is right in this one.
"Yes, but her teeth are too big, and they show. She looks like a rabbit, like the small girl who lives next door. What will people think about me? I want to keep looking more girls -- I understand everything you said, but I will compromise later on. She has too big teeth, and I can't live with it," he says. He is breathing faster, and he can feel the hear the thumping of his heart.
"So tell me, what kind of girl do you want? You want an educated girl, she is educated. You want an attractive girl, she is beautiful. She is intelligent. She works hard. She has ambitions about her professional career. What is it then, that you want in a girl? Tell me now, and I'll look for exactly what you ask," the mother says. There's unexpected calmness in the air-- as if things aren't as serious as circumstances would have one believe.
"Thikka ko keti. The girl who is just right. I don't want too hifi girl-- I just want a girl who's studied, and who's attractive, and who has brains, just the right amount k. This girl is really nice, but her teeth are too big. It won't work, please understand. Bujhnu na," he pleads his mother to understand him for the second time.
"So what is the most important thing for you? Is it the looks that matter? Because this girl is very pretty, and smart too, and I don't want to let her go-- I'll talk to Shanta about her son's marriage. He's probably just about her age, but this girl will do great things. We should keep him. So tell me what matters the most to you-- is it brains, or looks, or should she have stayed in the US, or should she be a greencard, what do you want? Explain it to me," she says, with a hint of exhaustion in her voice.
"The girl's teeth are too big. All I want is an educated girl who works, and it would be nice if she could cook. She should be attractive too, but not have teeth like this girl's. Her teeth are like Jacky's,"
he says, his confidence growing.
"I have told you-- if you have such specific choice, you should find a girl for yourself. We have even ignored your grandparent's wishes for the same-girl caste, and you can marry any Nepali girl you want. We just want you to get married by this year, so your cousins can get their turn. Marry whoever you want to, and if you cant find a girl, we'll find one for you, and you have to marry who we tell you to," the mother says, ending the conversation.
And so a very interesting story ends, and a sad one begins.
"What, what happened? " the mother says. The words sound tired, but fatigue had never never stopped her from also being irritable.
"The girl's teeth are too big. She looks like a little girl. Unn, like Marichman. The teeth are too big, yes, " he says, partly convincing himself.
"That will not matter. The girl's is pretty, and she has a good job, and she will work her way up, and you also had things to talk to her with. With a girl like that, what are big teeth going to do? " she says.
"No, no, it will matter. The teeth are too big and she has a very bony face. She looks like a skeleton. She looked like she does diets all the time, and did you see the color of lipstick? That was the ghinlagdo pink. Her face looks so triangular," he says, his growing confidence now showing in his voice.
"Listen, she is an ambitious and educated girl, and she will do well with the NGO's. You won't find anyone like her again. We can keep looking more girls, but they'll all have some fault or other. Maybe someone will be too short for you, or someone could be too tall, or too fat, or too modern. She is a brilliant girl, and she studied in America, so you two will have things to talk about. If you want to go abroad for Masters or Phd, she will definitely get good jobs wherever you are. Things like family, and money they have, and their history, and the looks-- they are all temporary. But this girl has charms, and she is intelligent, and with her you can be stable," the mother explains, patiently, logically, knowing she is right in this one.
"Yes, but her teeth are too big, and they show. She looks like a rabbit, like the small girl who lives next door. What will people think about me? I want to keep looking more girls -- I understand everything you said, but I will compromise later on. She has too big teeth, and I can't live with it," he says. He is breathing faster, and he can feel the hear the thumping of his heart.
"So tell me, what kind of girl do you want? You want an educated girl, she is educated. You want an attractive girl, she is beautiful. She is intelligent. She works hard. She has ambitions about her professional career. What is it then, that you want in a girl? Tell me now, and I'll look for exactly what you ask," the mother says. There's unexpected calmness in the air-- as if things aren't as serious as circumstances would have one believe.
"Thikka ko keti. The girl who is just right. I don't want too hifi girl-- I just want a girl who's studied, and who's attractive, and who has brains, just the right amount k. This girl is really nice, but her teeth are too big. It won't work, please understand. Bujhnu na," he pleads his mother to understand him for the second time.
"So what is the most important thing for you? Is it the looks that matter? Because this girl is very pretty, and smart too, and I don't want to let her go-- I'll talk to Shanta about her son's marriage. He's probably just about her age, but this girl will do great things. We should keep him. So tell me what matters the most to you-- is it brains, or looks, or should she have stayed in the US, or should she be a greencard, what do you want? Explain it to me," she says, with a hint of exhaustion in her voice.
"The girl's teeth are too big. All I want is an educated girl who works, and it would be nice if she could cook. She should be attractive too, but not have teeth like this girl's. Her teeth are like Jacky's,"
he says, his confidence growing.
"I have told you-- if you have such specific choice, you should find a girl for yourself. We have even ignored your grandparent's wishes for the same-girl caste, and you can marry any Nepali girl you want. We just want you to get married by this year, so your cousins can get their turn. Marry whoever you want to, and if you cant find a girl, we'll find one for you, and you have to marry who we tell you to," the mother says, ending the conversation.
And so a very interesting story ends, and a sad one begins.
Mouth Wide Shut
BRB’s party wants to ‘ban’ Hindi films. Immediately
after I heard it on Twitter, I watched Barfi
online. Beautiful film—and fantastic performance by Ranvir Kapur and Priyanka
Chopra. Now, if the ‘party’ has its say, that wouldn’t be
possible for two reasons: it doesn’t like criticism on twitter, so the news
wouldn’t likely be there because it shows them in a negative light, and secondly,
if they don't like Hindi films in cinemas, they don't want them in
homes either.
Is the idea of Hindi-film censorship smart, technically? China and Iran spend billions of dollars a year
to create porous internet firewalls that barely do what they’re supposed to do.
And of course—surely you must be joking
Mr. Bhattrai – we like our Hindi films more than anything else. That’s
meant only as a compliment to the Indian entertainment industry and not as
self-criticism, as some might assume. We have some serious love of Hindi movies—the
amount of hate I got for publicly stating my opinion of the film Three Idiots, I wouldn’t have gotten for
expressing my uncensored opinions about the party. And that explains precisely why
the party is afraid of them—they are a force much powerful, influential and
uniting than it can ever hope to be.
The PM’s disdain for online criticism and the party’s
disdain for Hindi films are facets of the same mindset. It’s
reasonable—the party doesn’t like what it doesn’t like, so it believes the best
way to get rid of it would be to… well—get rid of it. While that policy -- if you don't like them, they don't stay around- - works
quite well with things—ahem—physical, the Internet or the electronic media is
not something that can be beaten up, tied in a boraa, and thrown into a dirty river, hoping no one notices.
Things BRB should know by now but
apparently doesn’t—no one is indispensable. The easiest way to get dispensed is
to tell people to shut up and then dictate what listen to, and look
at. The party is apparently not comfortable with Hindi films. Considering that
Hindi films have become part of our cultural identity (compare their box-office
gains against Nepali films all over Nepal), the party is unlikely to find a lot
of supporters. It also shows how out of touch the party is with its base—the probable
assumption that Hindi films are for the sukela-mukela
and not its vote-bank is not only faulty but dead-on wrong. Nepal is more
drenched by the Hindi entertainment industry than many Indian states themselves—I
got many blank stares from teenagers in South Indian cities this summer when I
tried striking up conversations about Salman Khan and Hrithik Roshan and
Aishwarya Rai. It’d be quite surprising if city-dwelling teenagers hadn’t
watched their films in Nepal.
The point I’m trying to make is, the party perceives a
fracture between communities—one that watches Hindi movies and one that is more
Nepali and does not; and one that uses Twitter and Facebook and one that is ‘Nepali’
and does not. The PM and his party are slow-thinking behemoths, still stuck in
the years of their war, and fail to understand the dynamics of the rapidly
evolving Nepali society. Perhaps the high-command should go watch Satyajit Ray’s
Hindi film Shatranj Ke Khilari, where
the rulers are so engrossed in their games of chess, they don’t realize the
power has quietly shifted away under them. But of course, that would be illegal.
Why the Nepali education secretary is an idiot
Suresh Man Shrestha, the Nepali secretary of education, is a fool. He is ignorant of the way technology works, education works, young people work, and social dynamics in today's Nepal works. He is setting back the education sector in Nepal. I say that all on one of his comments to this (equally stupid) Himalayan Times article:
Link
Suresh Man Shrestha, secretary, Ministry of Education, also noted that due to the use of electronic gadgets such as mobile phones, dropout rate of school students is increasing. He said that after chatting over mobile phone, some boys and girls in Lamjung district left their studies and ran away from home for marriage recently.
He said, “The use of gadgets such as mobile phone, motorbikes and other things have been increasing school students’ dropout rate therefore it should be banned within schools by preparing directives.”
Link
Changing perceptions?
Is it just me, or is something deeply fucked-up about this quote. It shouts to me: 'dem crazy, 'dem homophobic.
Lets put it the other way around:
About 1,500 spectators cheered as the athletes, waving rainbow coloured flags, marched at the Dasharath Stadium in the heart of Kathmandu in the opening ceremony of the three-day event that showed how attitudes are changing, albeit slowly, in the conservative, Hindu-majority nation.The Telegraph, from the Reuters
Lets put it the other way around:
About 50 spectators cheered as the supporters, waving rainbow colored flags, marched at the Tufts Quad at the heart of Somerville in the opening ceremony of the one-day event that showed how attitudes are changing, albeit slowly, in the conservative, Christian-majority nation, to celebrate the national coming-out day.
My History--2
"Erica, don't go," he sobs, running to her, and hugs her. It's an unsure hug-- he's unsure about his desires, his future, his destiny-- and connected to his personal history, that of his nation.
She hugs him tightly, and kisses him on the lips. His two wives who're watching this from a distance turn awkwardly away.
" You know I don't have a future here. You know it's either me, or everything else, and I know what you should choose, " she tells him, staring straight into his teary eyes. He stares into her blue bag, still sniffling, and takes a long sigh.
" I don't know what's going to happen now, " he tells her, " There is so much happening. I'm worried more about them then I am about myself." His voice is a raspy whisper by now, very different from how it it will sound three years later when he makes the announcement. "You know why they're helping me through this too, and I don't think they're my friends either," he says as he now stares at the gates.
" I know. It's you destiny, and it's all of theirs destiny, and it's all upto you. My work is done, and I must leave." They hug for the last time, and she walks briskly towards the Ford waiting to take her to the airport. And that's the last time Tribhuvan and Erica see each other.
She hugs him tightly, and kisses him on the lips. His two wives who're watching this from a distance turn awkwardly away.
" You know I don't have a future here. You know it's either me, or everything else, and I know what you should choose, " she tells him, staring straight into his teary eyes. He stares into her blue bag, still sniffling, and takes a long sigh.
" I don't know what's going to happen now, " he tells her, " There is so much happening. I'm worried more about them then I am about myself." His voice is a raspy whisper by now, very different from how it it will sound three years later when he makes the announcement. "You know why they're helping me through this too, and I don't think they're my friends either," he says as he now stares at the gates.
" I know. It's you destiny, and it's all of theirs destiny, and it's all upto you. My work is done, and I must leave." They hug for the last time, and she walks briskly towards the Ford waiting to take her to the airport. And that's the last time Tribhuvan and Erica see each other.
My History
Kaji, I love you,
Really,
She tells him,
Knowing fully
one of them doesn't
have a next time.
He stares
blankly at her,
and blinks,
slowly,
thinking,
knowing,
knowing well
he wont be around
for long.
He embraces her
and sobs
on her shoulders,
that brave soldier.
I know I don't understand poems, but this began as a several paragraphs of non-prose, until I realized it was a poem in its soul.
Really,
She tells him,
Knowing fully
one of them doesn't
have a next time.
He stares
blankly at her,
and blinks,
slowly,
thinking,
knowing,
knowing well
he wont be around
for long.
He embraces her
and sobs
on her shoulders,
that brave soldier.
I know I don't understand poems, but this began as a several paragraphs of non-prose, until I realized it was a poem in its soul.
Nervous?
So more than two of my friends are definitely married. whatthehellisgoingonwithmylife!!!ingeneralimean.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.whattodowhattodowhattodo.
Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.whattodowhattodowhattodo.
Diary entry number ran#
I finished work this morning at 1, and then talked to ZZ for a very long timee. I got up several times in the morning, but then went back to bed and finally got out of the bed way after noon.
Then I went for the duck tour with the IO group. Our tour driver was the DiscoDuck guy who claimed that going to college to NorthEastern had worked out really well from him. Met all the freshies from SouthAsia, and had a fun day. The tour was quite different from last year's but fun indeed. We took a 45-minute walk to the 'Eid dinner, and got JPLicks while returning back. Returned with Mk, Sm, and Sd--it was the first time I'd met Sm and Sd, and they're both supercool! Sm has a blog, which was creeped upon, and promises were made to hang out soon and often. Mk is curious about And, and we'll see how things develop.
Worked for 5 hours for the CompSci after getting back, and got the third part almost certainly working. Excited about tomorrow and the future. The future is yet to see. Kayseraaseraa.
Then I went for the duck tour with the IO group. Our tour driver was the DiscoDuck guy who claimed that going to college to NorthEastern had worked out really well from him. Met all the freshies from SouthAsia, and had a fun day. The tour was quite different from last year's but fun indeed. We took a 45-minute walk to the 'Eid dinner, and got JPLicks while returning back. Returned with Mk, Sm, and Sd--it was the first time I'd met Sm and Sd, and they're both supercool! Sm has a blog, which was creeped upon, and promises were made to hang out soon and often. Mk is curious about And, and we'll see how things develop.
Worked for 5 hours for the CompSci after getting back, and got the third part almost certainly working. Excited about tomorrow and the future. The future is yet to see. Kayseraaseraa.
How many momos do Nepalis eat in a year?
There are many things I wonder about (why're they giggling in my direction? is my zip open? how did i get all this blood on my hands?), and the question of how many momos are eaten in a year comes amongst the most-wondered things (right along with, did she smile at me, or the other guy?).
I've been looking at fermi problems lately, and decided to tackle the problem by myself. There's some excellent stuff on fermi problem available on the net-- wonderful collection here , and wiki article here but check this out before anything else. After trying out a few of the problems, I figured I'd be doing humankind a favor with my momo-calculations. Here's the math:
We start with the momo-eating population. I want only the Nepali momos eaten, so I'll ignore that people unrelated to Nepal may like momos too. The Nepali population is a good place to start from-- there are about 3 crore Nepalis, a fourth of whom eat momo regularly. That gives us ~ 80 lakh momo-eating people.
How many momos does one of these momo eaters eat over a year? One plate of momo is 10 momos, and momo's eaten about once every two weeks or so, thus every person has 25 plates of momo over a year, and we get 250 momos a year per person. Multiply that by the number of momo eaters, and we have 2 arab momos a year. Remember, a fermi problem's about getting the magnitude right, so it's close enough if we're off by less than a factor of 10-- meaning it can go over 10 arab, or well below an arab, and we'd still be guessing correctly.
So there it is then-- Nepalis eat 2 billion momos in a year. I don't want to end there though. I want to calculate how many goats and buffaloes and chicken that would be, and other fun things we can do with momos. So we'll keep rounding that number up and down to make calculations easier.
To begin with, I want to calculate the volume of the momos. A momo's usually about 5-6 cm wide, so I'll assume it to be a perfect sphere of 3 cm radius, and I come up with a volume of around 30 cm^3. So there's around 30 of them in a litre. An olympic-sized swimming pool is 2.5 million liters in volume, so it can hold 75 million momos. I'll average around 1.5 billion momos a year for convenience sake. So if you put all the momos Nepalis eat in a year, you'd fill about 20 olympic-sized swimming pools. To be sure, they're all be packed tight so that they end up as a huge-ass olympic-sized momo, like when you bring them back home and they all fuse together into a mega-momo. For your convenience, this is what an olympic swimming pool looks like [wikipedia]:
.jpg)
Now lets calculate the toll that momo consumption takes on Animals. We'll begin by dividing the momos by their types. I know most people prefer buff momos, then chicken momos, then vegetables momos. Lets assume that 40 percent of all momos are buff momos, and another 40 percent are chicken. 15 percent are vegetable momos, and the remaining five percent could be mutton and all the other weird types that sound so-wrong, like paneer, and cheese and egg and so on.
How many momos can you make for a kilo of meat? There's ten momos per plate, and every momo has 30 cm^3 volume, so assuming water-density and that about a third of a momo is meat, you get 10 plate of momos per kilo of meat. I don't even want to think about the profits there.
Now, I don't know how much a raanga weighs, but I'd guess it to be around 150 Kilos(I looked it up online and they probably weigh more, but this is for fun so go along). And a raanga of that size probably gives 60 kilo of usable meat. Assuming ten percent wastage, you get 54*10 = 540 plates of momos per raanga. Lets make that 500 for calculation's sake.
40 percent of 2 billion is 800 million momos. 800 million momos are 80 million plates. 80 million plates divided by 500 plates per raangaa gives us 160,000 raangas. Since momo consumption varies by days of year, we'll just assume that there are 400 days in a year. That means, 400 Raangas are turned to momo every day in Nepal(mostly Kathmandu).
Lets go for the chickens now. I'll assume 70 percent of a chicken is usable for momos. A chicken weighs 2.5 kilos, so we get 1.75 kilos of usable meat. I'll make that 2 kilos, so now we have 20 plates of momo per chicken. Again, there are 80 million plates of chicken momo, and 20 plate per chicken, so that gets us four million chickens a year. That may sound like a lot, but keep in mind that the annual chicken production of Nepal is around 60 million heads a year, and that is nowhere near the demand, and thus the imports from India. Anyway, to take things back momos, Ten thousand chickens are turned to momo every day in Nepal(mostly Kathmandu).
I don't want to go into goats and vegetables because that's not very interesting, and the numbers are not very big. So there you are, the number of momos eaten in a year!
I've been looking at fermi problems lately, and decided to tackle the problem by myself. There's some excellent stuff on fermi problem available on the net-- wonderful collection here , and wiki article here but check this out before anything else. After trying out a few of the problems, I figured I'd be doing humankind a favor with my momo-calculations. Here's the math:
We start with the momo-eating population. I want only the Nepali momos eaten, so I'll ignore that people unrelated to Nepal may like momos too. The Nepali population is a good place to start from-- there are about 3 crore Nepalis, a fourth of whom eat momo regularly. That gives us ~ 80 lakh momo-eating people.
How many momos does one of these momo eaters eat over a year? One plate of momo is 10 momos, and momo's eaten about once every two weeks or so, thus every person has 25 plates of momo over a year, and we get 250 momos a year per person. Multiply that by the number of momo eaters, and we have 2 arab momos a year. Remember, a fermi problem's about getting the magnitude right, so it's close enough if we're off by less than a factor of 10-- meaning it can go over 10 arab, or well below an arab, and we'd still be guessing correctly.
So there it is then-- Nepalis eat 2 billion momos in a year. I don't want to end there though. I want to calculate how many goats and buffaloes and chicken that would be, and other fun things we can do with momos. So we'll keep rounding that number up and down to make calculations easier.
To begin with, I want to calculate the volume of the momos. A momo's usually about 5-6 cm wide, so I'll assume it to be a perfect sphere of 3 cm radius, and I come up with a volume of around 30 cm^3. So there's around 30 of them in a litre. An olympic-sized swimming pool is 2.5 million liters in volume, so it can hold 75 million momos. I'll average around 1.5 billion momos a year for convenience sake. So if you put all the momos Nepalis eat in a year, you'd fill about 20 olympic-sized swimming pools. To be sure, they're all be packed tight so that they end up as a huge-ass olympic-sized momo, like when you bring them back home and they all fuse together into a mega-momo. For your convenience, this is what an olympic swimming pool looks like [wikipedia]:
Now lets calculate the toll that momo consumption takes on Animals. We'll begin by dividing the momos by their types. I know most people prefer buff momos, then chicken momos, then vegetables momos. Lets assume that 40 percent of all momos are buff momos, and another 40 percent are chicken. 15 percent are vegetable momos, and the remaining five percent could be mutton and all the other weird types that sound so-wrong, like paneer, and cheese and egg and so on.
How many momos can you make for a kilo of meat? There's ten momos per plate, and every momo has 30 cm^3 volume, so assuming water-density and that about a third of a momo is meat, you get 10 plate of momos per kilo of meat. I don't even want to think about the profits there.
Now, I don't know how much a raanga weighs, but I'd guess it to be around 150 Kilos(I looked it up online and they probably weigh more, but this is for fun so go along). And a raanga of that size probably gives 60 kilo of usable meat. Assuming ten percent wastage, you get 54*10 = 540 plates of momos per raanga. Lets make that 500 for calculation's sake.
40 percent of 2 billion is 800 million momos. 800 million momos are 80 million plates. 80 million plates divided by 500 plates per raangaa gives us 160,000 raangas. Since momo consumption varies by days of year, we'll just assume that there are 400 days in a year. That means, 400 Raangas are turned to momo every day in Nepal(mostly Kathmandu).
Lets go for the chickens now. I'll assume 70 percent of a chicken is usable for momos. A chicken weighs 2.5 kilos, so we get 1.75 kilos of usable meat. I'll make that 2 kilos, so now we have 20 plates of momo per chicken. Again, there are 80 million plates of chicken momo, and 20 plate per chicken, so that gets us four million chickens a year. That may sound like a lot, but keep in mind that the annual chicken production of Nepal is around 60 million heads a year, and that is nowhere near the demand, and thus the imports from India. Anyway, to take things back momos, Ten thousand chickens are turned to momo every day in Nepal(mostly Kathmandu).
I don't want to go into goats and vegetables because that's not very interesting, and the numbers are not very big. So there you are, the number of momos eaten in a year!
Things that mess me up
Amongst the many things that mess me up, the two top ones are always:
smell, and
music.
Always. You can fight anything but them. They will beat you, nayy, pound you into submission, and you wont have a fighting change. They will melt you to the ground.
smell, and
music.
Always. You can fight anything but them. They will beat you, nayy, pound you into submission, and you wont have a fighting change. They will melt you to the ground.
Upturning perceptions
Plastic-y. Fake. Glamorized.
The name of the photobook is forgotten. I found it last week in the library when I was looking to procrastinate work with anything that I could get my hands on. I flipped through the pages, and hurried to my class upstairs. I've searched for it several times since, and never found. The name was common-but-catchy enough that it aroused one's interest, but not helpful enough to be found on the internet.
It was on women. It had women from ages four to eighty-six (the New York Socialite who noone told that partying is for only young people lady). It had captions like The popular clique of girls in highschool in xxx; Candy, who's a stripper in Vegas strip bleaches her skirt [in the bathroom] after a spill [she is naked, and so positioned in front of the mirror that you only know that she's not wearing anything]; fashion models touch-up their makeup in a party hosted by [insert big NYC fashion name]. I've rarely seen a book that was so genuine and candid in its portrayal of its subject.
And then it struck me. Fakeness is the portrayal. The tidied-up images from Kathmandu and the North for all those coffee books are all lies, and it's unfair to compare them to something that's not tidied up. Compare oranges to oranges, and fake apples and grapes to fake apples grapes. Then you see that the difference doesn't exist. It's not them, it's you-- you're the one doing all the fakery-jiggery and convincing yourself of things.
The name of the photobook is forgotten. I found it last week in the library when I was looking to procrastinate work with anything that I could get my hands on. I flipped through the pages, and hurried to my class upstairs. I've searched for it several times since, and never found. The name was common-but-catchy enough that it aroused one's interest, but not helpful enough to be found on the internet.
It was on women. It had women from ages four to eighty-six (the New York Socialite who noone told that partying is for only young people lady). It had captions like The popular clique of girls in highschool in xxx; Candy, who's a stripper in Vegas strip bleaches her skirt [in the bathroom] after a spill [she is naked, and so positioned in front of the mirror that you only know that she's not wearing anything]; fashion models touch-up their makeup in a party hosted by [insert big NYC fashion name]. I've rarely seen a book that was so genuine and candid in its portrayal of its subject.
And then it struck me. Fakeness is the portrayal. The tidied-up images from Kathmandu and the North for all those coffee books are all lies, and it's unfair to compare them to something that's not tidied up. Compare oranges to oranges, and fake apples and grapes to fake apples grapes. Then you see that the difference doesn't exist. It's not them, it's you-- you're the one doing all the fakery-jiggery and convincing yourself of things.
Aftermaths
So the asshole artist is dead, and she is dead too. It's all his fault.
His friend has apparently written a book on them. Cristina emailed me about that-- she told me she'd read the story, the story of Palpasa and the asshole artist, and that Palpasa was actually, really, very much dead. Her parents were still hoping to find her -- maybe wandering around in the forests-- after all this time.
We went to college together. I had emailed her before the freshman fall and she had not replied. I assumed then it was our differences-- I was a nepali Nepali, and she was a notverynepali American. She was out in Latin America, Guatemala I think, on some service trip, without computers. Which was why she never received my emails on time. By the end, she was a lot more Nepali than I ever was.
You know me. You have read the story. I am an unnamed character in the story. I am the friend who pulls Palpasa away from the asshole artist the first time they met. I don't claim I knew where this was going and how it would end, but I never liked the likes of him.
His friend has apparently written a book on them. Cristina emailed me about that-- she told me she'd read the story, the story of Palpasa and the asshole artist, and that Palpasa was actually, really, very much dead. Her parents were still hoping to find her -- maybe wandering around in the forests-- after all this time.
We went to college together. I had emailed her before the freshman fall and she had not replied. I assumed then it was our differences-- I was a nepali Nepali, and she was a notverynepali American. She was out in Latin America, Guatemala I think, on some service trip, without computers. Which was why she never received my emails on time. By the end, she was a lot more Nepali than I ever was.
You know me. You have read the story. I am an unnamed character in the story. I am the friend who pulls Palpasa away from the asshole artist the first time they met. I don't claim I knew where this was going and how it would end, but I never liked the likes of him.
Girls be bitchin' cool
Watched the first five episodes of Girls. For some, it may not be what it's supposed to be-- a comedy-- but it is what it is. It's an honest, some might add brutally so, outlook on women's lives in the metropolis. As a friend said, it's like Sex and the City, except it's real. So there's wimmin, and there's the City, and there's sex (oh yeah, lots of very graphic scenes), but it's not glamorous. It's like peeking into the lives of five of your female college roommates three years after they've graduated, and barely employed. There's is-this-or-is-this-not-harrassment, pregnancy scares, meaningless sex ( and not hookups), and relationships that are neither here nor there.
The first question I asked about America to Pra dai back in 2007(8?) when he had just returned from the west coast was if America was like FRIENDS. His reply made a lot of sense-- have you ever wondered how they make money, and sustain their NYC lifestyle? They would not have the lifestyle with their employment etc. And while this was happening, here in the States, the girls of Girls were partying hard at Oberlin-- trying to get published, getting into steady relationships, making sense of what was to come after college. Five years later, I'm safely into college, almost able to identify with them; Pra dai is writer-ing (with the lifestyle the comes along with it) and the girls are barely making it in NYC.
Things were supposed to be improving for women. They were supposed to be able to reach for their dreams by now-- getting equal pay and treatment, greater safety, greater independence and freedom. Things are better, yes, but as Girls portrays so accurately, things haven't really changed in the essentials. The dynamics seem to have remain unchanged, and women are still have to play the defense. Don't harass me, I'm as good as him/her, Sex favors?, shitshitshit amipregnant. Perhaps it's a sign of change that at least women can say that without being judged. But it's nowhere near where things should be, and until then, things will just be... sad. And where there's sadness, there's humor. Once you get past the gloomy cynicism of Girls and accept it as an uncontested reality, you begin realizing that they're quite funny after all. And since the gloominess of the show is the reality, the show's more real and funnier than it's given credit for.
The first question I asked about America to Pra dai back in 2007(8?) when he had just returned from the west coast was if America was like FRIENDS. His reply made a lot of sense-- have you ever wondered how they make money, and sustain their NYC lifestyle? They would not have the lifestyle with their employment etc. And while this was happening, here in the States, the girls of Girls were partying hard at Oberlin-- trying to get published, getting into steady relationships, making sense of what was to come after college. Five years later, I'm safely into college, almost able to identify with them; Pra dai is writer-ing (with the lifestyle the comes along with it) and the girls are barely making it in NYC.
Things were supposed to be improving for women. They were supposed to be able to reach for their dreams by now-- getting equal pay and treatment, greater safety, greater independence and freedom. Things are better, yes, but as Girls portrays so accurately, things haven't really changed in the essentials. The dynamics seem to have remain unchanged, and women are still have to play the defense. Don't harass me, I'm as good as him/her, Sex favors?, shitshitshit amipregnant. Perhaps it's a sign of change that at least women can say that without being judged. But it's nowhere near where things should be, and until then, things will just be... sad. And where there's sadness, there's humor. Once you get past the gloomy cynicism of Girls and accept it as an uncontested reality, you begin realizing that they're quite funny after all. And since the gloominess of the show is the reality, the show's more real and funnier than it's given credit for.
The unnamed character
Imagine a pink flamingo eating a large struggling fish on the lake outside your window. There's a couple over there, in an extended embrace, and you think it's seven O' clock in the morning-- you could be doing other things. But people are always like that, so you put on a white towel, close the curtains and go for a quick shower.
The shower lasts longer than your expectations-- where the fuck is the hot water getting here from anyway, the depths of mount Erebus?-- so you're somewhat pissed at the Universe when you put shorts on and turn to the BBC on tv.
Tires burning, police, women falling, protests, like always. It's seven in the morning, it is not the time for pay-per-view, you remind yourself, as you mindlessly turn channels. When did that stupid cartoon character--was it a duck(?)-- get its own fucking cooking show anyway. It's so weird for an actual-actual cartoon to teach other cartoons to cook. The debutante Indian actress has hit the ceiling with her first release, apparently, and she's not of the sexy persuasion. She must have something in her, or the director/producers wouldn't have slept with her to pick her. Hrithik Roshan's marriage is in the rocks, after he was seen hanging around with an almost-minor struggler. Woh meri behen jaisi hey, I'm offended by the accusations, and I will take all legal actions against the rumormongerers. Yeah, balooney, din mein bhaiya raat mein saiiyaan.
The newspaper has a full-frontpage ad-- real estate; feel like a king, live in your palace, etcetcetc. The AC gets too cold, so you turn it off and open the windows. Cuckoos and crickets and frogs are all resting their vocal chords for the day and the night-- you can hear the flamingos croaking, and splashing into water for fishes.
So she has been hanging around a lot with the asshole artist. She's naive-- the three boyfriends, and whatever you were didn't really teach her a lot-- and he's manipulative. You did try to stop them, down there in Anjuna beach and she seemed smitten. Smitten, yaar, fucking smitten. And you'd think California would've gotten in more sense into her.
Everyone else is at the lounge, getting their coffee, checking emails, comparing bargains, checking people out. It's raining. There's only one thing to do today-- get together in someone's room and play cards all day, and finish the smuggled scotch from London. There's too little time to do anything.
She wants to stay in Kathmandu. At least a couple of years yaar. You guys spent your lives there, maile mero ghar ni hernu payena, hajurama sanga time ni bitaunu paena. And there's s much potential you know, with such a rich culture, so much is unexplored. That's what she keeps saying. If she'd agreed to take the part-time teaching job at the University, she would've made enough money to start her own little indie studio. Listen, hai. There's a lot of people who graduated hamro college bata who don't make thatmuch money full-time. And once you have something going on, and people working for you, you can spend the rest of your time doing whatever the fuckingshit you want to. She isn't the advice-taking kind. She wanted to do it now, and nothing would stop her.
Oii, sunn na, you call the one with the big blue earrings, tyo hijo ko keta ko re, restaurant ko?
Ehh that? Drishya bhanne ho kere. Some kind of artist re... She's got his book.
The shower lasts longer than your expectations-- where the fuck is the hot water getting here from anyway, the depths of mount Erebus?-- so you're somewhat pissed at the Universe when you put shorts on and turn to the BBC on tv.
Tires burning, police, women falling, protests, like always. It's seven in the morning, it is not the time for pay-per-view, you remind yourself, as you mindlessly turn channels. When did that stupid cartoon character--was it a duck(?)-- get its own fucking cooking show anyway. It's so weird for an actual-actual cartoon to teach other cartoons to cook. The debutante Indian actress has hit the ceiling with her first release, apparently, and she's not of the sexy persuasion. She must have something in her, or the director/producers wouldn't have slept with her to pick her. Hrithik Roshan's marriage is in the rocks, after he was seen hanging around with an almost-minor struggler. Woh meri behen jaisi hey, I'm offended by the accusations, and I will take all legal actions against the rumormongerers. Yeah, balooney, din mein bhaiya raat mein saiiyaan.
The newspaper has a full-frontpage ad-- real estate; feel like a king, live in your palace, etcetcetc. The AC gets too cold, so you turn it off and open the windows. Cuckoos and crickets and frogs are all resting their vocal chords for the day and the night-- you can hear the flamingos croaking, and splashing into water for fishes.
So she has been hanging around a lot with the asshole artist. She's naive-- the three boyfriends, and whatever you were didn't really teach her a lot-- and he's manipulative. You did try to stop them, down there in Anjuna beach and she seemed smitten. Smitten, yaar, fucking smitten. And you'd think California would've gotten in more sense into her.
Everyone else is at the lounge, getting their coffee, checking emails, comparing bargains, checking people out. It's raining. There's only one thing to do today-- get together in someone's room and play cards all day, and finish the smuggled scotch from London. There's too little time to do anything.
She wants to stay in Kathmandu. At least a couple of years yaar. You guys spent your lives there, maile mero ghar ni hernu payena, hajurama sanga time ni bitaunu paena. And there's s much potential you know, with such a rich culture, so much is unexplored. That's what she keeps saying. If she'd agreed to take the part-time teaching job at the University, she would've made enough money to start her own little indie studio. Listen, hai. There's a lot of people who graduated hamro college bata who don't make thatmuch money full-time. And once you have something going on, and people working for you, you can spend the rest of your time doing whatever the fuckingshit you want to. She isn't the advice-taking kind. She wanted to do it now, and nothing would stop her.
Oii, sunn na, you call the one with the big blue earrings, tyo hijo ko keta ko re, restaurant ko?
Ehh that? Drishya bhanne ho kere. Some kind of artist re... She's got his book.
Discovery
Greetings everyone. I am David, and I shall be your host for the first part of the conference.
As you are all aware, we are gathered here for one of the biggest revelations of human sexuality, that comes right after the discovery that storks and bees don't a baby make. light laughter. Majority of what we will talk today revolves around work done by Prof. Shoylendra and his team, and the facts they have been uncovering for the last (checks paper) seven years.
As all of us know, Prof. Shoylendra has been working on the field of human sexuality for the last 23 years. I have myself been fortunate to have been able to work with him for the last seven years. In all those years, the lab has researched into the physio-chemical changes that take place in and around the human body during sexual activities.
As one might imagine, this is an extremely difficult topic of study. First, the matter of how to generate truly sexual feelings inside a controlled environment without invoking certain er.. fetishes is a problem in itself. Secondly, we always have teams of interns dealing over morality and ethics issues, as the proper documentation of sexual activity always seems to treading an invisible boundary of ethics. The sad state of science today is such that the entire world can watch people involving in sexual activities for entertainment legally, but it is next to impossible to obtain proper documentation for a couple of researches to view and use sensors to quantify the same sexual activities.nervous laughter from audience. And then there's the question of what counts as sex and what not, which is an entireely different field, BillClinton jokes notwithstanding.
We at the lab had a perfect experiment going on, with expected results and something new coming up once in a while to keep us employed and busy until about eight years ago. We were basically turning sex into a bunch of graphs and numbers-- like a really realllly complicated chemical or physical reaction. The lines we were getting were fine lines and curves and everything was happy and well.
Until eight years ago that is. This one day, an intern at the lab noted an anomaly, and suggested the procedure be repeated with the same controls. As you might imagine, these things things take time and hard work, no pun intended, (waves of undignified laughter), and we finally repeated the procedure four months after the original observation of anomaly. The second time, the anomaly was more pronounced.
Our first guess was that we'd obviously made some systematic experimental error that was disturbing our observations of that kind. So we calibrated and re calibrated our instruments with existing rock-solid data and repeated the procedure. Very similar effects to the second case. The Prof. Shoylendra realized something might be up, and started an unplanned series of tests with this particular control.
As you might have already guessed, there was something quite wrong about it. The numbers we had been getting had never been recorded ever before in the history of science, and we didn't even know what they meant, with the available theory. To reveal the actual experimentation and the results, I would like to invite Prof. Shoylendra himself, the man of the hour!
As you are all aware, we are gathered here for one of the biggest revelations of human sexuality, that comes right after the discovery that storks and bees don't a baby make. light laughter. Majority of what we will talk today revolves around work done by Prof. Shoylendra and his team, and the facts they have been uncovering for the last (checks paper) seven years.
As all of us know, Prof. Shoylendra has been working on the field of human sexuality for the last 23 years. I have myself been fortunate to have been able to work with him for the last seven years. In all those years, the lab has researched into the physio-chemical changes that take place in and around the human body during sexual activities.
As one might imagine, this is an extremely difficult topic of study. First, the matter of how to generate truly sexual feelings inside a controlled environment without invoking certain er.. fetishes is a problem in itself. Secondly, we always have teams of interns dealing over morality and ethics issues, as the proper documentation of sexual activity always seems to treading an invisible boundary of ethics. The sad state of science today is such that the entire world can watch people involving in sexual activities for entertainment legally, but it is next to impossible to obtain proper documentation for a couple of researches to view and use sensors to quantify the same sexual activities.nervous laughter from audience. And then there's the question of what counts as sex and what not, which is an entireely different field, BillClinton jokes notwithstanding.
We at the lab had a perfect experiment going on, with expected results and something new coming up once in a while to keep us employed and busy until about eight years ago. We were basically turning sex into a bunch of graphs and numbers-- like a really realllly complicated chemical or physical reaction. The lines we were getting were fine lines and curves and everything was happy and well.
Until eight years ago that is. This one day, an intern at the lab noted an anomaly, and suggested the procedure be repeated with the same controls. As you might imagine, these things things take time and hard work, no pun intended, (waves of undignified laughter), and we finally repeated the procedure four months after the original observation of anomaly. The second time, the anomaly was more pronounced.
Our first guess was that we'd obviously made some systematic experimental error that was disturbing our observations of that kind. So we calibrated and re calibrated our instruments with existing rock-solid data and repeated the procedure. Very similar effects to the second case. The Prof. Shoylendra realized something might be up, and started an unplanned series of tests with this particular control.
As you might have already guessed, there was something quite wrong about it. The numbers we had been getting had never been recorded ever before in the history of science, and we didn't even know what they meant, with the available theory. To reveal the actual experimentation and the results, I would like to invite Prof. Shoylendra himself, the man of the hour!
Flirt 3
In the end, she knew, and he had always known. Nothing happened, in the long run. In the short run, events transpired, but we're all wasting the short run anyway. The end.
Word of the week
Updated!
Word of the week: Engiologicism(en-jio-loji-cizm). noun. The belief that countries can be NGO'ed into prosperity. The belief was proven the same year Nessie the sea monster was allowed to be cloned and kept as house pet, and fluffy the three-headed dog who sleeps at flute music died in the Singapore museum. Uses:
1. Did you watch The Engiologicist? It's the scariest thing I've watched lately-- the Sachs character is creepily scary-- Heath Ledger couldn't have done it better.
2. So you daughter is engiologicisting in Geneva? I'm so sorry-- I'm sure she'll find something better-- it's just a phase and she's always been smart...
Update:
(Added after HiroHiralal's comment to this post)
3. Hero advised Hiralal, "If you can not be a yuppie, then you'll have to settle being an engiologicist."
Word of the week: Engiologicism(en-jio-loji-cizm). noun. The belief that countries can be NGO'ed into prosperity. The belief was proven the same year Nessie the sea monster was allowed to be cloned and kept as house pet, and fluffy the three-headed dog who sleeps at flute music died in the Singapore museum. Uses:
1. Did you watch The Engiologicist? It's the scariest thing I've watched lately-- the Sachs character is creepily scary-- Heath Ledger couldn't have done it better.
2. So you daughter is engiologicisting in Geneva? I'm so sorry-- I'm sure she'll find something better-- it's just a phase and she's always been smart...
Update:
(Added after HiroHiralal's comment to this post)
3. Hero advised Hiralal, "If you can not be a yuppie, then you'll have to settle being an engiologicist."
Relationship Runil takes your questions
As a former advice columnist (I was the Agony Aunt who advised the girlfriend to smear her bf with dark chocolate and lick him to spice their grade 10 love life, idea was changed into 'talk to him about your feelings' by the supervisor), an aspiring columnist (you like Dan Savage? then you'll absolutely lovee Randy Runil where the r-word is in english), and an awesome human being in general, I am asked relationship questions by people of all ages, races, orientations and levels of attractiveness. So here I'll try to take a few questions. You're free to ask your questions in the comment section, and I'll answer them in later posts. Here it goes.
Dear Runil,
-Girl With The Invisible Unicorn Tattoo
Dear GWTIUT,
-RR
Dear Runil,
-mallock, 14
Dear mallock,
Dear Runil,
How do things work? I mean, I am an otherwise confident, self-assured and stable person, and I have gone out with a couple of people. But there's this guy, who I met the other day, who really-really screws me up-- or rather I wish he did, heheheh. He's single, and it seems ready to mingle, and I want to ask him out, but when I see his social media profiles, he's like this awesome person who gets inside-joke-posts on him couple of times a day by his female friends, and he seems to be doing a lot of stuff. I know he's not too good for me, because damn, frikkin' James Deen is not too good for me, and I could ask that sonaofabitch out anytime I want to, but whenever I think about this guy, my legs start shaking and I never get enough courage to do anything. I feel I'm going to make an idiot out of myself, and he's probably not into relationships anyway, since he's got so many women and stuff... HELP!
-Girl With The Invisible Unicorn Tattoo
Dear GWTIUT,
Do you know what I think when I see young couples getting intimate in a temple? I'm like get a room, you cheapskates.. or get a friend with a big house whose parents are not often around, you shitheads!
Anyway-- wanted to get it out of the system. To get back at your problem. GWITIUT, you should realize that you're an idiot already. So am I, and so is everyone else. Yeah, you're an idiot and a stupid shithead and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. Having established that, there's nothing to lose by asking him out. You're already the person you fear you'll make yourself, so you should go ahead. Don't fear evil, for evil is here already. Quote me on that!
There's two ways you can live your life-- you either make a fool out of yourself and die an idiot, or you don't make a fool out of yourself and die an idiot. He's an idiot too, so make a fool out of yourself and reach to him!
About your James Deen comment, yours truly has a friend-of-a-friend who claims to have spent time with him. She tells interesting things, a lot of which would likely disappoint you. Sometimes, the idols you make out of people are big only in your head, and unless you're looking explicitly for certain things, you should keep them in your head until you're really sure. My unasked two cents.
-RR
Dear Runil,
Is it true that girlslikesextoo?
-mallock, 14
Dear mallock,
Please don't rape anyone.-RR
The subject has been brought to the recent public attention by the book 50 Shades of Grey which apparently describes depraved female fantasy in graphic details. The interesting thing is that it's been selling like hot umm cakes, among women, specially the above-30 crowd. Which makes many a man wonder, how did all the women suddenly become so horny?
I understand your curiosity mallock-- cultural perception of female sexuality is fucked-up here. The other day I read in the papers that women in western Nepal don't complain of vaginal pain until their vagina prolapses and literally comes out of their body because they don't want their men to sleep around with other men. A female friend of mine was very disturbed by an Al-Jazeera video were a disappointed father calls his daughter a randi and shouts other obscenities at her moments after she is born. So under those circumstances, it seems natural for the uninitiated to wonder if women are even people, sexually, or just you know, baby-making extension of the male dick sexually.
It might come as a surprise to you mallock, and other people are to blame for your ignorance, but yes, girlslikesextoo. And I'm made to believe they enjoy it just as much as you or I would. So for all intents and purposes, girls like sex just as much as you do.
And to clarify things, they have just as much right to say yes or no as you or I or any man does. Hope that helps!
Flirt 2
He may not know where he is going, but she knows for sure-- after some serious thinking and prioritization, and so he does too now. Everyone is happy and happily ever after until something comes up. Then things could screw up. But lets be optimistic.
A most amazing day or, How to Catch a Frog-- A lesson for Growing Scientists
This was written four years ago. Only slightly edited. This was when I was in 10(?)-11th grade.
This one day, out of random, I wanted to actually be useful to the society for a change. So I went to my most attractive girl friend, and offered help for her school-day experiment. There's always been this awkward love-hate sexual-platonic tension between princesses and frogs, and it manifested in her experiment -- she was doing an experiment involving frogs, and needed few. I knew what I had to do-- I took the water trough and frog-jar from her and went to the school’s new 'pond-ecosystem' to catch frogs.
On the way, I asked people I knew if they wanted to help me catch frogs. Some refused outright, others were interested but busy then and promised to help later. Few thought it was some kind of sick joke and pretended they didn't know me. I found a found a group of junior girls that had nothing better to do than walk around, and they were excited by the thought of getting to know the frogs. They couldn't control their excited giggling to the pond-- those selfless helpful little women. They realized that they could mention the experience in moral science as 'selfless' help to others.
The only thing you will ever need to know about frogs is that they don't like noise. If you live next to them and play loud music, even on weekends and in early afternoon, they will call the cops on you, and if that doesn't work because duude, wtf are you even talking about, noone does that in Nepal, they will try to overload you electrical system and blow the fuse. So to avoid such situation, we tried keeping quiet at the pond.
When a frog feels it's safe and noone's going to annoy it by talking loudly on the phone or blasting LimpBizkit over the sound system, it comes to the surface, and you have to slowly scoop the water below it using the water trough. You have to be very fast at this stage: if the frogs figure out there's something fishy going around, they dive right back in and stay in there for a long time, resurfacing only when they think it's safe again.
The frogs that came to the surface dived right back in because of the excited squeals of my helpers, which frankly I can't blame the frogs for, because that kind of act is really annoying-- you're trying to do something productive finally and they undo several minutes of your patience by getting excited at the sight of a frog. Get a life! Go to Sauraha and squeal at the Tigers, ok?
The deal with working with young women and getting their help is, if you're working 'with' them, you're already screwed, because you enlisted their help since no one else wanted to do anything with you. You can't let them go, because heyy, at least you're not a lonely weirdo looking for frogs on your own, and letting them stay is such a pain because they just wont stop squealing like a frikkin' Dolphin in the heat. It was fortunately lunch time, and I dug into my hidden stash of expensive candies, gave them more than their 'pay' for the time, and got them on their way. Getting them out of the way made me look crazy, but my catch significantly improved without their squeals that were pretty much emergency sirens for the frogs.
My math teacher, who was passing by, was interested by the commotion, and was offered help. He literally got dirty-- he folded up his sleeves, and got into the game. He then started with his backintheday, and told this story about how he and his friends used to catch frogs backintheday backinthevillage, back when everyone was 10, the panchayat was on, and the King was the villain and the netas were the heroes. Strange times they were, he told us, and we had no reason to suspect his tales-- in the few minutes he helped, he doubled the standing catch from two to four.
He covered the frogs with the trough, and carefully created and opening in the trough and caught the frog that tried to escape lightly with his hands. We then put the frogs the jar. As s rule, when a frog escapes, the trick is to not get nervous, run around in circles and unknowingly crush it but be cool and try to recapture it. If it gets too far away-- it's not worth it. There are other frogs in the pond ecosystem.
By then, a small crowd of onlookers had formed around the us. Since it looked like we were having fun, everyone wanted to help now. They all wanted to walk into the pond, pants folded, and catch the frogs barehanded; someone offered to bring his fishing net so we'd catch all the frogs in the pond in a go. A classmate who was doing an electrical experiment for the school-day offered to bring the portable power pack and run current through the pond to stun the frogs. All the ideas were stupid so I refused them, specially the offers for help from those older than fourteen. The frogs somehow knew instinctively that fourteen-yearolds were the easiest way to escape back to freedom, and would jump to one of them when they could. The crowd was getting bigger, and I shouted many times at everyone to keep their frikkin' mouthholes shut. There were already several people fishing for frogs now, including the school guards who were in regular rounds around the campus and friends who had laughed when I'd asked for help.
After collecting seven frogs, which is enough for any experiment( frog zombification anyone?), we got the trough and the jar together and called the crowd to get a life now, since the drama was over. I took the frogs to the experiment, to the delight of my attractive and intelligent female experimenter friend. She was rather surprised; she had not been expecting so many frogs, and stuttered while trying to thank. (Everything after this is a lie, but it looked good on paper when I first wrote) I explained to her that I rather doing it, and thanked her instead. Took a quick bath—the pond water looked toxic! After the experiment was over, I returned the frogs, and we went to the movies with her. Learnt to catch frogs. The most amusing day of my life.
Flirt
She flirts shamelessly with him until he, the older, experienced, and well into legal adulthood, one, blushes and shushes. She's not sure what she's getting into, he better hope he knows what he may not get into.
How to get into MIT-- A dummy's guide for Nepalis
Here's a question I've heard too often for my comfort recently, exactly in this form: Dude, wow! How did you get into MIT?
The answer to that is, by not asking stupid (and unintentionally demeaning) questions to other people, ok? Good enuff?
The question's not asked at me, obviously.
PS: for those who are here because of my linkbaits, I know 5 people from Nepal who go to MIT right now, and 5 other Nepalis who went to MIT. And 10-15 other random MIT kids. Rs. 1800 per person, and I'll introduce you to them; 3000 for introductions to introductions to the Kuires per person. If you talk to them, they'll probably tell you how you got in, and you can too! Get to me right now
The answer to that is, by not asking
The question's not asked at me, obviously.
PS: for those who are here because of my linkbaits, I know 5 people from Nepal who go to MIT right now, and 5 other Nepalis who went to MIT. And 10-15 other random MIT kids. Rs. 1800 per person, and I'll introduce you to them; 3000 for introductions to introductions to the Kuires per person. If you talk to them, they'll probably tell you how you got in, and you can too! Get to me right now
Maya's Bar/Malati ko bhatti -1
Atti achamma tarika le suru bhayeko thiyo. No, seriously. Hear me through.
The little girl brings the bhatmas-chiura. There are three unsqueezed hemispheres of lemons there-- the sahuni didn't want to take a chance with my toleration of sour.
fiction, fyi.
My favourite physics teacher's sister lived in Taplejung, her husband had an aunt whose son did something in the shipbuilding industry in Vishakhapatnam, and the brother of his wife's maternal uncle's son-in-law was a husband of my third girlfriend's mother -- she had married someone else before him but he was a drunk good-for-nothing; thankfully his daughter, my then-girlfriend, was not.
School sakye dekhi chyang khaana gaa thiyena. Ekloi jaanu man thiyena, ra sangai janey manche sab jana dherai tadhaa gaisakeko thiyo. I never liked chyang so it was not that I wanted it... I wanted to drink some for old time's sake-- like an old friend.
Patan ma Mangalbazar ma Honacha cha, right next to the Durbar Square. Everyone goes there-- it's like a five-star as far as chyang khaane bhattis go. Not the place you would go alone-- you would be the lone weirdo while everyone else is in their groups of fours and fives and tens. There's this tiny bhatti in Mangalbazar, take the road right across the main road from Mangalbazar, and keep going; turn right when you see a tiny door. Stoop in and get in there-- that's the place you would have found me the day I met the Dhankute keti.
Dui jana gori, gaala bhukka pareko, i-phone ma geet sunne keti haru tyaha k gardai thye, I don't know. They had chhoyela-chiura in front of them, and two bronze glasses. The moti sahuni and her lean daughter of not more than 14 were working on the gas, so presumably the place was female-friendly. Besides, even jadyahaasi have better things to do than go to bhatti at three in the afternoon on a wednesday.
Both were rested against the grimy wall with legs on the bench, and had shut their eyes to the music before I got in. I noticed, because once I went in, they shuffled around-- the shirts were pulled up and hairs touched.
I asked for bhatmas-chiura and two glasses of chhyang.
Outside I can hear the usual mangalbazar cacophony of tempos and taxis and rickshaws and hagglers and peddlers and the garrulous mics all competing with one another to form this quiltwork of saandeko sound, if i may. It's not entirely pleasant, but you don't feel at home when it's not around. On the wall next to the gas are the posters of King Birendra and Queen Aishwarya (amusing, I tell myself, royalists midst the original ethnic communists and maoists), now faded and dirty with decades of grime, and beneath them some 'Vaani' by Birendra about education. Girl education probably.
The walls must have been blue when they were painted, but they were now black-brown above the dirty-hand-line and yellow-orange-red, from all the paan and oil and whatnot, beneath it. A little white dog lay cuddled below one of the wooden tables.
The radio is playing a song-request program. The host asks the caller what Imraan Khan's first movie was. He's from Naya Baneshwar, and he gets it right-- his reward is a gift hamper from a recording studio which is trying to unload old CD's and cassettes from its inventory. He will receive 40 cassettes and 4 CD's of unsold Nepali songs. That's his punishment for having the knowledge of such stupid trivia. The radio is now playing some bhojpuri song.
Outside I can hear the usual mangalbazar cacophony of tempos and taxis and rickshaws and hagglers and peddlers and the garrulous mics all competing with one another to form this quiltwork of saandeko sound, if i may. It's not entirely pleasant, but you don't feel at home when it's not around. On the wall next to the gas are the posters of King Birendra and Queen Aishwarya (amusing, I tell myself, royalists midst the original ethnic communists and maoists), now faded and dirty with decades of grime, and beneath them some 'Vaani' by Birendra about education. Girl education probably.
The walls must have been blue when they were painted, but they were now black-brown above the dirty-hand-line and yellow-orange-red, from all the paan and oil and whatnot, beneath it. A little white dog lay cuddled below one of the wooden tables.
The radio is playing a song-request program. The host asks the caller what Imraan Khan's first movie was. He's from Naya Baneshwar, and he gets it right-- his reward is a gift hamper from a recording studio which is trying to unload old CD's and cassettes from its inventory. He will receive 40 cassettes and 4 CD's of unsold Nepali songs. That's his punishment for having the knowledge of such stupid trivia. The radio is now playing some bhojpuri song.
The little girl brings the bhatmas-chiura. There are three unsqueezed hemispheres of lemons there-- the sahuni didn't want to take a chance with my toleration of sour.
fiction, fyi.
NPP ko sausage
The trick with the achaar is to put a little bit of the red one, and to pour the yellow one like dal, mix them and then dip everything into the concoction. Goes well with everything, including fried rice, c-momo, non c-momo, buff sausage, chicken sausage, goat sausage, potatoes, tofu, 'shrooms, chicken chilly, chicken sekura, bara, etc.etc.
Politicks
Insects eat insects eat insects.
A roach on a roach on a roach.
For a wimp, you're a good coach.
Things turn around,
And when they do
they will eat you.
A roach on a roach on a roach.
For a wimp, you're a good coach.
Things turn around,
And when they do
they will eat you.
things and other stuff that shouldn't happen
This was going to be titled 'A Tale of Two Cities' and it had 728 words about two cities, where the cities were euphemism for something else. Then I realized cities be fked, I didn't really care about euphemistic cities and their tales, and cities are organic usually and it's really good if you keep your pesky sh*ty writing away from them and stop writing about them entirely, and stay away from them in general, to everyone's benefit. Thus, euphemistic cities shall never be mentioned again, euphemistically or otherwise.
There was very disturbing news from India today-- a minor girl was pretty-much gang-raped by a mob in Assam out in the open for perceived promiscuity. Someone on twitter wrote this:
The police defended that it was a one-time incident and that's not what Assam is. Things moved to Delhi and the wealthy brats wrote somewhere that the phoren media doesn't like india because Delhi is really a safe place, i swear yaar, look my friend has never been raped yet and we party alll the time, and she doesn't even wear anything if you know what i mean hehehe, but seriously, Delhi is a safe place yaar, if not wouldn't all my friends be raped, they are all ignorant idiots of dehaat, doesn't happen in Delhi, doesn't happen to us, and beside, how do you even define rape, sir ji, because me playfully playing around with the girl who was out the other day was anything but rape, and now you are attacking me because you can't prove your point, so I know all about lafangas like you or i'll call the police or I'll just take out my HK.22 ok.
There was this joke the Indian girls make in college. It goes, if you're a girl, and in Delhi, and you're returning late from a party, sleep on the bar, sleepover at the toilet, or cover a boraa over yourself and sleep on the streets, because if you take a cab, you will be raped. The punchline was, someone asks 'Why don't you take cabs?' to which they answered 'Oh, because we get raped if we do that.' You would laugh if it caught you off-guard and you thought they were not serious.
There was very disturbing news from India today-- a minor girl was pretty-much gang-raped by a mob in Assam out in the open for perceived promiscuity. Someone on twitter wrote this:
"If you hadn't worn the skirt,..." -> "If you hadn't gone to the pub..." -> "If you hadn't gone to co-ed..." -> "If you hadn't been born..."and I agreed. There's a lot to be said about the culture and the guys and India and Nepal and mentality and women and respect but they shall not come up here because the war has been lost. The best women can do today in this region is pray to the fking 330 million deities, a lot of them women, that they be not raped. This is horrible and defeatist and it should change and yadayadayada, but they will hide their daughters and wrap them under layers of clothing and then go out to look for any lesser-clothed women to judge/rape. So it is. Runawayforyourlives yaars, runforyourlives.
The police defended that it was a one-time incident and that's not what Assam is. Things moved to Delhi and the wealthy brats wrote somewhere that the phoren media doesn't like india because Delhi is really a safe place, i swear yaar, look my friend has never been raped yet and we party alll the time, and she doesn't even wear anything if you know what i mean hehehe, but seriously, Delhi is a safe place yaar, if not wouldn't all my friends be raped, they are all ignorant idiots of dehaat, doesn't happen in Delhi, doesn't happen to us, and beside, how do you even define rape, sir ji, because me playfully playing around with the girl who was out the other day was anything but rape, and now you are attacking me because you can't prove your point, so I know all about lafangas like you or i'll call the police or I'll just take out my HK.22 ok.
There was this joke the Indian girls make in college. It goes, if you're a girl, and in Delhi, and you're returning late from a party, sleep on the bar, sleepover at the toilet, or cover a boraa over yourself and sleep on the streets, because if you take a cab, you will be raped. The punchline was, someone asks 'Why don't you take cabs?' to which they answered 'Oh, because we get raped if we do that.' You would laugh if it caught you off-guard and you thought they were not serious.
Unreliable Natraj
"Sir he cheated you, hahaha, that is not gandhi, that's an african man," the shopkeeper tells Jack.
"No, this is Gandhi. Look, tall thin, stick and glasses, bald man, all point to Gandhi. Besides, the guy in the counter told me it was Gandhi," Jack says.
"Haha, no, he saw you were a white man, and he cheated you. 800 for a metal african man is too much sir, you can get same size african man for 600 in the shop next door sir. African man doesn't get to eat, they are starving like gandhi, so they are thin. Look at the face sir, that's not Gandhi's face, that's an African man," the shopkeeper says.
He points at the neighboring shop that sells metal african men.
It is Gandhi, that Jack is sure. African men don't carry stick exactly like Gandhi's and they don't wear Gandhi glasses, and they don't have lungis (or do they) and they don't have the Gandhi cut. Scratch that, actually. Gandhi and African men have exactly the same haircut.
"Sir, my gods are very reasonable. Cheap and small, and perfect gift for anyone. You might think 50 rupees for so small gods is too expensive, but metal is getting very expensive these days sir. 1800 rupees for a kilo, can you belive that, it's very expensive. China is buying all the metal at high prices, so we have to keep with the high prices sir, " he explains as he shows a Bhairab with fantastically large dick. "This one is 800. It's small, but lot of work put into it. Everyone is interested by this one," he says.
Jack wants to buy a big Natraj. The shopkeeper doesn't have it in the size he wants, so we move on.
"No, this is Gandhi. Look, tall thin, stick and glasses, bald man, all point to Gandhi. Besides, the guy in the counter told me it was Gandhi," Jack says.
"Haha, no, he saw you were a white man, and he cheated you. 800 for a metal african man is too much sir, you can get same size african man for 600 in the shop next door sir. African man doesn't get to eat, they are starving like gandhi, so they are thin. Look at the face sir, that's not Gandhi's face, that's an African man," the shopkeeper says.
He points at the neighboring shop that sells metal african men.
It is Gandhi, that Jack is sure. African men don't carry stick exactly like Gandhi's and they don't wear Gandhi glasses, and they don't have lungis (or do they) and they don't have the Gandhi cut. Scratch that, actually. Gandhi and African men have exactly the same haircut.
"Sir, my gods are very reasonable. Cheap and small, and perfect gift for anyone. You might think 50 rupees for so small gods is too expensive, but metal is getting very expensive these days sir. 1800 rupees for a kilo, can you belive that, it's very expensive. China is buying all the metal at high prices, so we have to keep with the high prices sir, " he explains as he shows a Bhairab with fantastically large dick. "This one is 800. It's small, but lot of work put into it. Everyone is interested by this one," he says.
Jack wants to buy a big Natraj. The shopkeeper doesn't have it in the size he wants, so we move on.
My rants
I have been ranting too much about my personal life here on this blog. That stops now. I collected all my recent rants in a single post, so they have greater overall weightage. Peace out.
fuckfuckfuck
Cycle
Heroni's drama
fucking weird
fuckfuckfuck
It happens to everyone-- a misunderstanding, that you can't dare to clear up, because then the never-talking-ever would extend to other lives to. So you are left with never-talking-ever for a lifetime. With people you care about, it hurts, but all you do is shut the fuck up, nod your head, accept your destiny, take a long breath and post posts on you blog noone else but you is likely to understand. It feels good to have people you care for, and then have them never talk to you never again, rather than people who you don't give twoshits about who will promise to never talk to you ever again three times a week, because, screw them. In the end, you sit in front of your computer, and start banging out the words, like Doogie Hooser, hoping things will get back to what they were( or the couldhavebeens)-6/30/12
Cycle
Heroni is forever gone, for me, andlife goes fantastically on. Aftertwo flame-outs -- this time someone who was not very disturbed-- I'm beginning to suspect it's me. I'll philosophize on that later when I am less busier. Zozo remains, and that is all that matters.
One city down, two more to go, and then some. Having the fun of my life, working the hell outta' my life. I learn more and more everyday, and if things go as they are, I wouldn't mind the job being the only life-- given it involved open travel and companions. Headbobs and fake accents are all the rage these days-- and then the hundredpercent exaggerated local lingo that shouldn't be as funny as we find it because everyone actually does that.
Ups and downs will come and go, but the future remains. And dreams. I have ever the bigger plans now, and I long for the day we'll just watch the bollywood flick with my American friends and laugh-- them at the movie, and I at them. Bengaluru was fantastic, but bollywood eluded us-- perhaps Hyderabad shall be better. I found that I'm at my strongest right after when I feel I'm at my weakest, which means I'm a robust dude on average. It's good to be home [for those who understand, irony totally intended] .-6/9/12 1:05 PM
Heroni's drama
Heroni wont listen to the boyfriend or the friend (yours truly) and nobody else because the universe is wrong and she's not. Which is why one will not have a lot to do with heroni's life anymore because it's her own fucking life and she may live as she fucking pleases to and who the fuck is one to give her suggestions, because noone understands her in the whole fucking universe and only she makes her fucking life decisions.-5/15/12 9:58 AM
fucking weird
this is fucking weird. things change around so fast, and the perspectives upturn, that I can't tell where I'm standing anytime anymore. which is probably the universe telling me to start working!-6/30/12 1:23 PM
And finallly, we are back to square one, right where we started. Old connections have reformed, and a few that needed to be won't, but the core remains, and zozo remains. all that matters.
Back on the track
India trip was fantastic, and now it's over. I have content, I have thoughts, I have emotions, and I have the pics I can make lewd commentary upon, so high-quality posts should start appearing again. My contemporaries have stopped writing, but we must do what we must, and that is what I am going to do.
I've become more active on twitter and G+, and deleted my fb account couple of months ago. Never have been so content.
Will be busy as a bee bumbling through the bureaucracy for the next semester, so I'm hoping the productivity's going to go up then. I seem to have lost my snark, and that worries me, but I'm hoping that's leading to serious writings-- there are serious things that need to be said and heard and understood and argued over.
I have no idea, and as Zozo's fav the Weepies say, the world spins madly on.
I've become more active on twitter and G+, and deleted my fb account couple of months ago. Never have been so content.
Will be busy as a bee bumbling through the bureaucracy for the next semester, so I'm hoping the productivity's going to go up then. I seem to have lost my snark, and that worries me, but I'm hoping that's leading to serious writings-- there are serious things that need to be said and heard and understood and argued over.
I have no idea, and as Zozo's fav the Weepies say, the world spins madly on.
Muse. I need my muuuse.
I sounds like I'm making excuses not to write, and that could probably be it, but I realized I write with greater passion when I have a muse to work with. Neede a muse.
The Gharelu type keti
Call her a gharelu type keti and she will beat all those momos out of you. She's that ungharelu. k.
I don't even know her. I became aware of her existence 15 minutes ago-- and it's somewhat likely she may be aware of my existence after this-- but I think she's cool already (be very jealous, ZoZo).
So this is mostly fiction, but the totally-not-gharelu keti's real and she seems cool.
I have some emotional baggage with the word-gharelu, because it evokes painful memories and events -- sometimes disgusting-- that I don't want to talk about, not even when I'm being flippant and telling you lies ( I call them guff, you call them lies, we disagree, and I love you) and then pointing ohmy your tummy has grown yaar, you should probably start doing zumba soomba or go for morning walks, so you're distracted from the guff. Yes, not even then. Some words are that powerful yaar, for no fking good reason.
I like gharelu and not-gharelu despite that though. Nepali words, they're not-- adapted from Hindi, gharwaali, gharelu Bharatiya naari, garelu grihiNi, and all that schtick, you know the deal. And when you have a late teenage or early twenties woman, and she's either a gharelu type keti, or not, or something in between. Like sexuality, it's not a binary choice( I can feel the uncomfortable vibes from my American friends already), so there's an entire scale of ungharelu and gharelu type ketis.
Lets talk about the not-gharelu type keti. Her boyfriend probably plays for the national team. Probably. This by itself would not be anything remarkable, except it tells you that first she has a boyfriend, and second, she's grounded enough to to realize that the national-team-player is another meaningless adjective you can put over a person without intrinsically increasing their actual value, while considerably jacking their perceived value. That girl in the fair&lovely ad is the same girl she was before, except she somehow gets things going with more interesting guys, so whatevs, she could go die, for all you fking care. It's her life yaa.
Cooking and doing dishes. Hm, now this one's interesting. If she's medium ungharelu, she won't do them. If she's totally not gharelu at all, she'll probably know how to do, and do these-- perhaps more often then gharelu types themselves-- she understands that it's a fking life, and no sonofabitch is ever going to dictate what goes where, and that includes her parents, so she will practice everything and do it when she wants to. She's the bomb card. i dont even know what i'm writing anymore. Rooneel out!
I don't even know her. I became aware of her existence 15 minutes ago-- and it's somewhat likely she may be aware of my existence after this-- but I think she's cool already (
So this is mostly fiction, but the totally-not-gharelu keti's real and she seems cool.
I have some emotional baggage with the word-gharelu, because it evokes painful memories and events -- sometimes disgusting-- that I don't want to talk about, not even when I'm being flippant and telling you lies ( I call them guff, you call them lies, we disagree, and I love you) and then pointing ohmy your tummy has grown yaar, you should probably start doing zumba soomba or go for morning walks, so you're distracted from the guff. Yes, not even then. Some words are that powerful yaar, for no fking good reason.
I like gharelu and not-gharelu despite that though. Nepali words, they're not-- adapted from Hindi, gharwaali, gharelu Bharatiya naari, garelu grihiNi, and all that schtick, you know the deal. And when you have a late teenage or early twenties woman, and she's either a gharelu type keti, or not, or something in between. Like sexuality, it's not a binary choice( I can feel the uncomfortable vibes from my American friends already), so there's an entire scale of ungharelu and gharelu type ketis.
Lets talk about the not-gharelu type keti. Her boyfriend probably plays for the national team. Probably. This by itself would not be anything remarkable, except it tells you that first she has a boyfriend, and second, she's grounded enough to to realize that the national-team-player is another meaningless adjective you can put over a person without intrinsically increasing their actual value, while considerably jacking their perceived value. That girl in the fair&lovely ad is the same girl she was before, except she somehow gets things going with more interesting guys, so whatevs, she could go die, for all you fking care. It's her life yaa.
Cooking and doing dishes. Hm, now this one's interesting. If she's medium ungharelu, she won't do them. If she's totally not gharelu at all, she'll probably know how to do, and do these-- perhaps more often then gharelu types themselves-- she understands that it's a fking life, and no sonofabitch is ever going to dictate what goes where, and that includes her parents, so she will practice everything and do it when she wants to. She's the bomb card. i dont even know what i'm writing anymore. Rooneel out!
Please, Iran is not Saudi, ok, the Saudis are crazy
"Please, Iran is not Saudi, ok, the Saudis are crazy," says a Tehranian female taxi driver to the guy, around 19.00 in the video. All you need is a different perspective.
The Iranians may not all be rich/middle class or liberal, but they know where the buck stops. The video is long, but worth every minute. Watch this:
The Iranians may not all be rich/middle class or liberal, but they know where the buck stops. The video is long, but worth every minute. Watch this:
Fear and insecurity
This month I realized that fear and insecurity in moderation can be good things to oneself under certain circumstances. They make you brave, and force you to take action, and get the complacency out of the the system. Sure, security is good, but it starts making you complacent, and you stop making choices that would be more interesting in the longer run. With insecurity, you learn to take action, to do things, to live the life to the fullest. Moderate insecurity, of course.
Idea: put myself in increasingly insecure situations. Specifically, cross the Khyber pass on assback in the foreseeable future.
Idea: put myself in increasingly insecure situations. Specifically, cross the Khyber pass on assback in the foreseeable future.
id
Interrupt if I've already written this one before. Ohh, I know you wont, so I'll go ahead anyway.
The Greeks tell us of a certain Narcissus. A handsome prince (of course!) who'd never seen his image. Goes to a lake to drink water, sees his reflection, is infatuated with it. Keeps staring at the reflection until he dies of thirst.
There's an alternate interpretation, and it's slightly more disturbing. Narcissus has an identical twin, who he falls in love with. The love is reciprocated. Incest happens, discovery, and then suicide.
We're all like Narcissus in our small ways-- we like looking at ourselves, and thinking about ourselves, and worrying about ourselves. and living for ourselves. They say those who like to write/indulge themselves in the creative arts are even more so-- they're the people who want to make copies and versions of themselves and distribute them around. No, sorry, not distribute--sell-- and sue you if they find you pirating them. You know the shazam.
So one day you wake up, and your concept of self has disappeared. You don't worry about you anymore. Rather your self-perception has changed-- instead of seeing yourself as that tiny and frail human being sleeping in the medical pod, you see yourself as the big-blue creature. Very expensive too. You won't be blue, and you won't have a tail that could be used for highly controversial acts, but you will be someone different from the one who went to bed with you.
It's a good thing, really. Imagine the possibilities.
The Greeks tell us of a certain Narcissus. A handsome prince (of course!) who'd never seen his image. Goes to a lake to drink water, sees his reflection, is infatuated with it. Keeps staring at the reflection until he dies of thirst.
There's an alternate interpretation, and it's slightly more disturbing. Narcissus has an identical twin, who he falls in love with. The love is reciprocated. Incest happens, discovery, and then suicide.
We're all like Narcissus in our small ways-- we like looking at ourselves, and thinking about ourselves, and worrying about ourselves. and living for ourselves. They say those who like to write/indulge themselves in the creative arts are even more so-- they're the people who want to make copies and versions of themselves and distribute them around. No, sorry, not distribute--sell-- and sue you if they find you pirating them. You know the shazam.
So one day you wake up, and your concept of self has disappeared. You don't worry about you anymore. Rather your self-perception has changed-- instead of seeing yourself as that tiny and frail human being sleeping in the medical pod, you see yourself as the big-blue creature. Very expensive too. You won't be blue, and you won't have a tail that could be used for highly controversial acts, but you will be someone different from the one who went to bed with you.
It's a good thing, really. Imagine the possibilities.
Wet dreams of Kathmandu
They say there are different Nepals-- one the Nepal that's Kathmandu, the other one that's urban but not Kathmandu, and there is this Nepal that's backward and rural, where people are dying of diarrhea and malaria and malnutrition, where people walk for days to get to a hospital, where the girl child does not go to school because there are no toilets for girls.
There's no Nepal but one Nepal, and Kathmandu is that Nepal.
Allow me to explain. What represents a nation or a city? What do you think of when you think of the United States-- the crime ridden inner-city Chicago, the dying urban glory that was once Detroit, the 'planned cities' all over that created roads and buildings but destroyed society, or the rising towers of Manhattan, LA and the dream of, as they said, Californication, and the ultimate poster city of American Liberal values and the progress they have lead to-- San Francisco? Tell me about it.
Nepal does not strive to become America. Singapore and HongKong have been doing well as quasi-Americas for the last five decades, Bulgaria has all but succeeded(to the absolute dismay of my Bulgarian friend), and the Gulf States have succeeded, at least for non-Muslims. Nepal knows it does not want to be America. Nepal wants to be Kathmandu-- perhaps a slightly less congested, polluted, and crazy version of Kathmandu, but Kathmandu nonetheless. Our aspirations do not lie in making to meetings on the dot, consuming fast food in dangerous (even though KFC and Pizza Hut openings and the soon-to-open McDonald's may convince you otherwise) quantities, and giving the power of thousands of horses to mid-teenagers on open streets. We may dream of it, but we don't want it. Nepal wants progress, and Kathmandu wants progress, but not in any sense the progress the America has seen. Our model is Kathmandu, and Kathmandu is what one lives for in Nepal.
Heretic, you will say. I hear you. One does not live for Kathmandu in Nepal-- one lives for America, or the Gulf, you will say. And you will be correct. They are our national obsessions, and will remain so for a long time. But they are not the end in themselves-- for the Nepal that's in the Gulf, and the Nepal that's in the East Coast and the West Coast and the Mid-west does not dream of these places-- they all dream of Kathmandu themselves. They dream of a Kathmandu that's very different from what is now, but Kathmandu nonetheless. Kathmandu is the concentric focus of our collective wet dreams.
We are mired deeply in fantastically corrupt and inept leadership and bureaucracy, fairness to a lot of us means definite victory of our side--at any cost, our institutions are powerless, those that may show some semblance of competence are so badly demoralized that it'll take them a long time to recover, and we are going through a serious case of cultural turbulence. They make it seemingly impossible for the Kathmandu of collective dreams, to become the real Kathmandu. The Kathmandu of our dreams will always remain so. Kathmandu, and by implication Nepal, will always remain a collective dream.
More impossible dreams have become real though. Africa is rising rapidly despite the constraints, and India has shown reasonable progress. Bihar has risen by leaps and bound.
After a particularly raucous round of discussions in the parliament last year, a lawmaker complained to the speaker on the record that fellow lawmakers were making everything 'seem like Bihar'. The Indian Ambassador who happened to be in the visitors' stand was heard to have said 'Bihar bhi toh 14 percent growth dikh rahaa hai yaar'
Manjushree Thapa has a fantastic piece on Kathmandu in The Daily Beast. READ IT!
There's no Nepal but one Nepal, and Kathmandu is that Nepal.
Allow me to explain. What represents a nation or a city? What do you think of when you think of the United States-- the crime ridden inner-city Chicago, the dying urban glory that was once Detroit, the 'planned cities' all over that created roads and buildings but destroyed society, or the rising towers of Manhattan, LA and the dream of, as they said, Californication, and the ultimate poster city of American Liberal values and the progress they have lead to-- San Francisco? Tell me about it.
Nepal does not strive to become America. Singapore and HongKong have been doing well as quasi-Americas for the last five decades, Bulgaria has all but succeeded(to the absolute dismay of my Bulgarian friend), and the Gulf States have succeeded, at least for non-Muslims. Nepal knows it does not want to be America. Nepal wants to be Kathmandu-- perhaps a slightly less congested, polluted, and crazy version of Kathmandu, but Kathmandu nonetheless. Our aspirations do not lie in making to meetings on the dot, consuming fast food in dangerous (even though KFC and Pizza Hut openings and the soon-to-open McDonald's may convince you otherwise) quantities, and giving the power of thousands of horses to mid-teenagers on open streets. We may dream of it, but we don't want it. Nepal wants progress, and Kathmandu wants progress, but not in any sense the progress the America has seen. Our model is Kathmandu, and Kathmandu is what one lives for in Nepal.
Heretic, you will say. I hear you. One does not live for Kathmandu in Nepal-- one lives for America, or the Gulf, you will say. And you will be correct. They are our national obsessions, and will remain so for a long time. But they are not the end in themselves-- for the Nepal that's in the Gulf, and the Nepal that's in the East Coast and the West Coast and the Mid-west does not dream of these places-- they all dream of Kathmandu themselves. They dream of a Kathmandu that's very different from what is now, but Kathmandu nonetheless. Kathmandu is the concentric focus of our collective wet dreams.
We are mired deeply in fantastically corrupt and inept leadership and bureaucracy, fairness to a lot of us means definite victory of our side--at any cost, our institutions are powerless, those that may show some semblance of competence are so badly demoralized that it'll take them a long time to recover, and we are going through a serious case of cultural turbulence. They make it seemingly impossible for the Kathmandu of collective dreams, to become the real Kathmandu. The Kathmandu of our dreams will always remain so. Kathmandu, and by implication Nepal, will always remain a collective dream.
More impossible dreams have become real though. Africa is rising rapidly despite the constraints, and India has shown reasonable progress. Bihar has risen by leaps and bound.
After a particularly raucous round of discussions in the parliament last year, a lawmaker complained to the speaker on the record that fellow lawmakers were making everything 'seem like Bihar'. The Indian Ambassador who happened to be in the visitors' stand was heard to have said 'Bihar bhi toh 14 percent growth dikh rahaa hai yaar'
Manjushree Thapa has a fantastic piece on Kathmandu in The Daily Beast. READ IT!
I, Stereotype
I stereotype.
Not my fault though. No, I'm serious. You're judging me yaar, I can see your eyes widening, the veins on your forehead getting thicker. Shit, he's racist slash sexist too, or maybe one of those fking a.holes whose favorite words are sluts and whores you're thinking. I try not to be, saachi, and i compensate for what might be unconscious bias, but let me tell you my part of the story, and we'll talk k. You have really big eyes yaar. So just for a moment-- only a moment-- listen to my story k.
You wake up this fine morning, and the morning is fine, the sun is nice, and you get a good breakfast, hoping the day is going to be fine, and why not, it's a fine little world we live in, with pretty women and all, and it being summer those girls are in flowery dresses, and you think of humanity much better than you would on a rainy day when you just want to bitchfight that bro whose 4x4 splashed water all over your fancy new dress you are wearing for the first time because you know, you don't get to wear that kind of clothes in college a lot, so you might as well make full use of such chances when you get them.
This fine morning, you go to the class and meet the girl who has been discussed once in a public forum-- remember that time you may or may not remember you went to your friend's room when her friend from other college was around too and when you may or may not have cried, but you most certainly did tell them about this girl from this particular class who you think is particularly attractive, and even more importantly, it's not that you like her only because she's pretty but also because you like her as a person, and then the friend asks you if you've ever talked to her and you admit that you don't even know her name, so you start making plans to somehow get to know her, and maybe knowing her name would be a good start, you start making crazy elaborate plans to extract her name somehow, because broduude, it would be so creepy and crazy if you actually asked her name, no? Yes, it would be, so shut the hell up, and go back to making really elaborate plans, you tell yourself, and that is what happens.
The plan is put into action. It works. You're happy. You have finally extracted the information you want. Well done!
And then the realization hits you. The name, brothers, sisters and all the attractive and/or smart women reading this, the name.
Names are interesting creatures, if you'll allow me some drama. If you called Rose something else, said the old bald guy who may or may not have written that, it would totally not smell any less beautiful. Unfortunately, even though you may never admit it to Rose, it probably would. Or more. Definitely not the same though
Names should ideally not evoke emotions. You should not judge a person's character on the fact his parents named herim xxx. But I'm not yet smart enough to realize that. It's unfortunate for me and for the world. Sentilife.
I judged. Hard. I judged the parents, I judged the grandparents, I judged the friends of the parents who might possibly have had a hand in recommending the name for friends' child, the child services officers who let this atrocity happen, the government, which allows parents to commit such appalling acts, and I judged her name.
And then suddenly, the veil of ignorance lifted and I became an enlightened entity.
Not my fault though. No, I'm serious. You're judging me yaar, I can see your eyes widening, the veins on your forehead getting thicker. Shit, he's racist slash sexist too, or maybe one of those fking a.holes whose favorite words are sluts and whores you're thinking. I try not to be, saachi, and i compensate for what might be unconscious bias, but let me tell you my part of the story, and we'll talk k. You have really big eyes yaar. So just for a moment-- only a moment-- listen to my story k.
You wake up this fine morning, and the morning is fine, the sun is nice, and you get a good breakfast, hoping the day is going to be fine, and why not, it's a fine little world we live in, with pretty women and all, and it being summer those girls are in flowery dresses, and you think of humanity much better than you would on a rainy day when you just want to bitchfight that bro whose 4x4 splashed water all over your fancy new dress you are wearing for the first time because you know, you don't get to wear that kind of clothes in college a lot, so you might as well make full use of such chances when you get them.
This fine morning, you go to the class and meet the girl who has been discussed once in a public forum-- remember that time you may or may not remember you went to your friend's room when her friend from other college was around too and when you may or may not have cried, but you most certainly did tell them about this girl from this particular class who you think is particularly attractive, and even more importantly, it's not that you like her only because she's pretty but also because you like her as a person, and then the friend asks you if you've ever talked to her and you admit that you don't even know her name, so you start making plans to somehow get to know her, and maybe knowing her name would be a good start, you start making crazy elaborate plans to extract her name somehow, because broduude, it would be so creepy and crazy if you actually asked her name, no? Yes, it would be, so shut the hell up, and go back to making really elaborate plans, you tell yourself, and that is what happens.
The plan is put into action. It works. You're happy. You have finally extracted the information you want. Well done!
And then the realization hits you. The name, brothers, sisters and all the attractive and/or smart women reading this, the name.
Names are interesting creatures, if you'll allow me some drama. If you called Rose something else, said the old bald guy who may or may not have written that, it would totally not smell any less beautiful. Unfortunately, even though you may never admit it to Rose, it probably would. Or more. Definitely not the same though
Names should ideally not evoke emotions. You should not judge a person's character on the fact his parents named herim xxx. But I'm not yet smart enough to realize that. It's unfortunate for me and for the world. Sentilife.
I judged. Hard. I judged the parents, I judged the grandparents, I judged the friends of the parents who might possibly have had a hand in recommending the name for friends' child, the child services officers who let this atrocity happen, the government, which allows parents to commit such appalling acts, and I judged her name.
And then suddenly, the veil of ignorance lifted and I became an enlightened entity.
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