Bartholomew is the word. Go.
St. Bartholomew Hospital in Northern Scotland is locally known as Bary's and it is one of the most prestigious hospitals in the region. When Sir Elton John wanted a sex-reconfiguration surgery he made Bary's his hospital of choice. King Birendra of Nepal got his second identity as a fishmonger in Berkshire after faking his death through a staged massacre thanks to the ingenuity of the brilliant resident surgeons at Bary's.
The hospital's history goes back to the late one-teeth century when Saxons invading England from West set up a camp to heal their wounded soldiers in the location where it currently stands. It existed as a tiny outpost for treating soldiers and served any soldier seeking treatment without inquiring his allegiance for four hundred years. In the oxidant century, St. Bartholomew of Russia was treated here for cooties, which he contracted while on his way to Ireland. As a gift of his gratitude, he donated ten thousand gold coins to the hospital, with a promise to help whenever the hospital's coffers ran low. It was the formal beginning of the most well-equipped and luxurious hospital that side of the Channel.
The hospital was visited in the nineteenth century by a woman of great stature known in the folktales as ' the lady with the lamp '. According to the local legend, she blessed the hospital to be able to serve all patients that require its services.
It was here that smallpox was first eaten, and diarrhea was first experimented with ( in ways others hadn't imagined could be dome). It is a pioneer in new medical practices, and a trailblazer in setting higher standards for patient treatment.
Today, it is patronized by the Russian President Vladimir Putin and the Italian Mafia Boss Silvio Corleone.
Ginvivitis
Gingivitis is the word. Go.
Ginga was a girl with many passions.
She worked for a newspaper as a reporter, but she edited stories also because she liked doing it. She went to the orphanage every weekend to give away food and used cloths she had collected over the week. She was an astute political satirist, and on several occasions had penned the paper's political cartoon when the resident cartoonist couldn't make it.
Her job began at three in the afternoon. To keep herself occupied in the mornings, she went to a language class and a dance class. She had tried learning Pashtun, but she couldn't get the books, so she was now studying Farsi. She thought that Farsi went particularly well with Salsa, which she was learning. She had originally enrolled into modern dance, but after discovering it was full of middle-aged office managers coaxed into dancing by their nagging wives, she realized she would rather dance with college students.
When Somesh called at three in the morning, she was not particularly worried -- it was the third time in two months. The front page would have to be changed, Somesh said, there had been a breaking news. The paper would go to the press in an hour. She would have to do the edits from home, right away.
This was one of the several occasions when Ginga thought she'd rather have gingivitis than the work at hand. She knew she wouldn't be getting any credit if she got this right, but everything would be on if something--anything at all--went wrong. She sighed, turned her laptop on, and glanced at the leading story.
King Birendra, the Queen, the Princes, Princesses, and 15 other close members of the royal family had been assassinated.
Ginga was a girl with many passions.
She worked for a newspaper as a reporter, but she edited stories also because she liked doing it. She went to the orphanage every weekend to give away food and used cloths she had collected over the week. She was an astute political satirist, and on several occasions had penned the paper's political cartoon when the resident cartoonist couldn't make it.
Her job began at three in the afternoon. To keep herself occupied in the mornings, she went to a language class and a dance class. She had tried learning Pashtun, but she couldn't get the books, so she was now studying Farsi. She thought that Farsi went particularly well with Salsa, which she was learning. She had originally enrolled into modern dance, but after discovering it was full of middle-aged office managers coaxed into dancing by their nagging wives, she realized she would rather dance with college students.
When Somesh called at three in the morning, she was not particularly worried -- it was the third time in two months. The front page would have to be changed, Somesh said, there had been a breaking news. The paper would go to the press in an hour. She would have to do the edits from home, right away.
This was one of the several occasions when Ginga thought she'd rather have gingivitis than the work at hand. She knew she wouldn't be getting any credit if she got this right, but everything would be on if something--anything at all--went wrong. She sighed, turned her laptop on, and glanced at the leading story.
King Birendra, the Queen, the Princes, Princesses, and 15 other close members of the royal family had been assassinated.
Sansanee
Sansanee is the word. Go.
Sansaneee! What was hot yesterday is dead today, and will become a fossil tomorrow. What you think you did yesterday is irrelevant.
Everyone wants the NOW, and the HOW.
Sansaneee! Serve it hot, serve it fast, and serve it to them as often as you can. Serve it to them more than they can handle. Spice it up, heat it, strike it. The strongest of the swords are forged only in the hottest of fires.
Sansanee! When you need to tell them that they NEED to know something. They don't know that they need to know -- you gotta' convince them that they need to know, and they need to know it every moment. Every moment is different, completely different and hotter than it was last moment. It's urgent, it demands their attention right now!
Sansanee! When the world needs to be told of truths it may not be ready to hear. You spice the truth because truth needs to be told, and they don't know it, you should convince them that they NEED to know it RIGHT now.
Sansaneee! Zoom into everything. Dark zoom into everything that gives it an air of gloom and urgency and lets them know how urgent it actually is. Pay special attention to the music. Good music can make it or break it. The music should be urgent, it should be fast, and it should be loud. Don't waste your time on composing scores. Slap some quick urgent ominous tunes together, and you are ready for the run.
Sansaneee! What was hot yesterday is dead today, and will become a fossil tomorrow. What you think you did yesterday is irrelevant.
Everyone wants the NOW, and the HOW.
Sansaneee! Serve it hot, serve it fast, and serve it to them as often as you can. Serve it to them more than they can handle. Spice it up, heat it, strike it. The strongest of the swords are forged only in the hottest of fires.
Sansanee! When you need to tell them that they NEED to know something. They don't know that they need to know -- you gotta' convince them that they need to know, and they need to know it every moment. Every moment is different, completely different and hotter than it was last moment. It's urgent, it demands their attention right now!
Sansanee! When the world needs to be told of truths it may not be ready to hear. You spice the truth because truth needs to be told, and they don't know it, you should convince them that they NEED to know it RIGHT now.
Sansaneee! Zoom into everything. Dark zoom into everything that gives it an air of gloom and urgency and lets them know how urgent it actually is. Pay special attention to the music. Good music can make it or break it. The music should be urgent, it should be fast, and it should be loud. Don't waste your time on composing scores. Slap some quick urgent ominous tunes together, and you are ready for the run.
Confessions of an office
Confession #201:
Dear co-workers, I was the one who stole all the coffee the day big assignment was due. In my defense, they were really good.
Confession #220:
I don't want to point fingers at anyone, but whatever idiot put the big-boobied woman on the printer, NOT cool. I was two seconds away from ratting you out to the management. If you don't stop, things will get bad for you. You know who you are.
Confession #222:
Am I the only one who things Kelly looks really hot in the gray sweater? Come on fellas', this is a safe environment. As long as we're not harassing everyone, anonymous compliments are allowed.
Confession #277:
I left work and got a sauna therapy. I pretended I'd gone to the toilet.
Confession #314:
To the person who said " I don't think people should be allowed to wear super-slutty cloths for Halloween" : I agree. Unless a dude. Then the slutty cheerleader dress should be made COMPULSORY.
Confession #315:
Is this the right platform for posting poems? Guys? I write poems in secret, and it'd be really cool if you guys could give some honest feedback, you know. It's so hard to get honest-to-god feedback in real life from people. Since you don't know my identity, and I don't know yours, we should not be worried about hurting each other.
Confession #367:
Response to poem#7: Brian, you should stop posting those poems here. We know it's you. We can see you typing the poems on your screen. And I don't want to be mean, but your poetry sucks. You're good at doing your everyday job man, you should keep doing it..
Confession #372:
To whoever posted #367: This is Brian. I don't post poems. The poems are not mine. If you have seen my screen, then you also probably know that I'm working on the management's new journal for the department. They're all your poems guys. I'd be more than glad to post them anonymously without your names if you want me to.
Confession #375:
No thanks Brian! We'd rather get our poems published in the journal.
Confession #401:
Is it just me or has the general environment here started getting meaner. I mean, when we first started out, people were all nice to each other, but now with the things people are posting, I'm sorry to say but it sometimes feels like workplace harassment.
Confession #407:
TO the poster who said this confession page feels like harassment: no one's forcing you to look at this page. Besides, no one has had revealing information about them posted here. I'm assuming you're a woman: so if you think this is workplace harassment, you don't know what harassment is at all. You're demeaning the value of the word harassment by using it in unnecessary place. It's because of people like you that actual workplace harassment is not treated seriously.
Confession # 410:
The admins should definitely try to make this more managed. I have started seeing meaner and meaner posts here recently, and I don't feel as comfortable as I used to. I partly agreed to someone who said this was started to feel like harassment: this is getting uncomfortable. Lets stop while we are ahead.
Confession #417:
Anyone know where this year's Christmas party's gonna' happen?
Confession #421:
Guys, this is a CONFESSION page. You are supposed to make CONFESSIONS here, not treat it like a message board. If you want a messageboard, you should email everyone, or use the mailing list. Please don't spoil the fun of a confession page by posting your boring unnecessary useless posts here people. We need to keep this thing alive, for godssake. The admins should be more careful with regards to this.
Confession #422:
So what are you guys getting for the secret Santa. I mean, generally. I'm running out of ideas, and I really wanted this year's secret Santa to be the best ever.
Confession #426:
Someone left a big deuce on the gent's toilet. I have a feeling it has been rotting there for days. Don't the janitors come here everyday.
Confession #429:
Hey guys, this is Shawn. If you have any issues with the workplace environment, please report to me as soon as you can so I can help you at the earliest. I was not aware of the Men's room situation -- I might have been able to solve it earlier had you guys let me know earlier.
Confession #432:
I'm betting $50 that it was Shawn's deuce in the potty.
Confession #434:
Shaun's the man! I think Shawn's hawwt. <3>
Confession #437:
To the poster who thinks Shawn is hot: he may be hot in relative office terms, but he's not very attractive overall. Inside office, he's probably like a nine, but in real world outside he's barely a seven.
Confession #439:
Lets start a poll: Who thinks Shawn should grow beard? Respond to it with #pollShawn.
Confession #440:
I'll start first. #pollShawn. YES! He'll look like David Beckham if he gets some stubble.
Confession #442:
#pollShawn. David Beckham does not have lots of facial hair. At least get your facts right before posting here. I don't even think anyone follows soccer here. So NO. Shawn shouldn't get a beard. #noBeard.
Confession #444:
#pollShawn. I don't care either way, but new is always better. He should probably give it a shot. #meh.
Confession #446:
#pollShawn lol guys should we be doing this? Reply to this with tag #anon69 .
Confession #492:
#missyPrissy #yeahway #bigdig yes, agree. But Obama doesn't really have an option. With the republicans out to get him at any cost, he doesn't have a lot of way for bipartisanship. #crazyKoala
Confession #571:
Yeah, lets all do that. It'll make things so much easier to understand. #easytounderstand #missyPrissy #yeahway #bigdig #johnmyman #replacehastagswithats -@stinkaroo
Confession #611:
@bigdig It already feels like it's july! Gosh I hope we don't get hurricanes like we did last year. #noMoreHurricanes. -@yeahway
Confession #617:
@everyone: who else thinks s/he has figured out who's posting what in this forum? -@juleee
Confession #619:
More or less everyone. I'm thrown off my some random messages though. RT @juleee: "@everyone: who else thinks s/he has figured out who's posting what in this forum? -@juleee" -@missyPrissy
Confession #625:
Whoa. Really you guys? I swear I have no clue at all. There are a lot more handles with female names than there are women in this office.
"More or less everyone. I'm thrown off my some random messages though. RT @juleee: "@everyone: who else thinks s/he has figured out who's posting what in this forum? -@juleee" -@missyPrissy" -@stinkaroo.
Confession #642:
Confession: I gave address of this confession page to my friends outside work. Which is why there are a lot more users here than us.
Confession #646:
Oh my! -@missMarples.
Confession #654:
Not so sure about that. I have been using this forum as several different people, so I guess that makes up for the extra people from outside. RT: "Confession: I gave address of this confession page to my friends outside work. Which is why there are a lot more users here than us."
Confession #670:
Anyone who posts here or visits this page has no life at all. And the admins have absolutely no fking life.You're all losers if you spend all day posting and looking at this page.
Confession #672:
...says the person who probably read half the posts before posting here. RT: "Anyone who posts here or visits this page has no life at all. And the admins have absolutely no fking life.You're all losers if you spend all day posting and looking at this page." -@ johhhs
Dear co-workers, I was the one who stole all the coffee the day big assignment was due. In my defense, they were really good.
Confession #220:
I don't want to point fingers at anyone, but whatever idiot put the big-boobied woman on the printer, NOT cool. I was two seconds away from ratting you out to the management. If you don't stop, things will get bad for you. You know who you are.
Confession #222:
Am I the only one who things Kelly looks really hot in the gray sweater? Come on fellas', this is a safe environment. As long as we're not harassing everyone, anonymous compliments are allowed.
Confession #277:
I left work and got a sauna therapy. I pretended I'd gone to the toilet.
Confession #314:
To the person who said " I don't think people should be allowed to wear super-slutty cloths for Halloween" : I agree. Unless a dude. Then the slutty cheerleader dress should be made COMPULSORY.
Confession #315:
Is this the right platform for posting poems? Guys? I write poems in secret, and it'd be really cool if you guys could give some honest feedback, you know. It's so hard to get honest-to-god feedback in real life from people. Since you don't know my identity, and I don't know yours, we should not be worried about hurting each other.
Confession #367:
Response to poem#7: Brian, you should stop posting those poems here. We know it's you. We can see you typing the poems on your screen. And I don't want to be mean, but your poetry sucks. You're good at doing your everyday job man, you should keep doing it..
Confession #372:
To whoever posted #367: This is Brian. I don't post poems. The poems are not mine. If you have seen my screen, then you also probably know that I'm working on the management's new journal for the department. They're all your poems guys. I'd be more than glad to post them anonymously without your names if you want me to.
Confession #375:
No thanks Brian! We'd rather get our poems published in the journal.
Confession #401:
Is it just me or has the general environment here started getting meaner. I mean, when we first started out, people were all nice to each other, but now with the things people are posting, I'm sorry to say but it sometimes feels like workplace harassment.
Confession #407:
TO the poster who said this confession page feels like harassment: no one's forcing you to look at this page. Besides, no one has had revealing information about them posted here. I'm assuming you're a woman: so if you think this is workplace harassment, you don't know what harassment is at all. You're demeaning the value of the word harassment by using it in unnecessary place. It's because of people like you that actual workplace harassment is not treated seriously.
Confession # 410:
The admins should definitely try to make this more managed. I have started seeing meaner and meaner posts here recently, and I don't feel as comfortable as I used to. I partly agreed to someone who said this was started to feel like harassment: this is getting uncomfortable. Lets stop while we are ahead.
Confession #417:
Anyone know where this year's Christmas party's gonna' happen?
Confession #421:
Guys, this is a CONFESSION page. You are supposed to make CONFESSIONS here, not treat it like a message board. If you want a messageboard, you should email everyone, or use the mailing list. Please don't spoil the fun of a confession page by posting your boring unnecessary useless posts here people. We need to keep this thing alive, for godssake. The admins should be more careful with regards to this.
Confession #422:
So what are you guys getting for the secret Santa. I mean, generally. I'm running out of ideas, and I really wanted this year's secret Santa to be the best ever.
Confession #426:
Someone left a big deuce on the gent's toilet. I have a feeling it has been rotting there for days. Don't the janitors come here everyday.
Confession #429:
Hey guys, this is Shawn. If you have any issues with the workplace environment, please report to me as soon as you can so I can help you at the earliest. I was not aware of the Men's room situation -- I might have been able to solve it earlier had you guys let me know earlier.
Confession #432:
I'm betting $50 that it was Shawn's deuce in the potty.
Confession #434:
Shaun's the man! I think Shawn's hawwt. <3>
Confession #437:
To the poster who thinks Shawn is hot: he may be hot in relative office terms, but he's not very attractive overall. Inside office, he's probably like a nine, but in real world outside he's barely a seven.
Confession #439:
Lets start a poll: Who thinks Shawn should grow beard? Respond to it with #pollShawn.
Confession #440:
I'll start first. #pollShawn. YES! He'll look like David Beckham if he gets some stubble.
Confession #442:
#pollShawn. David Beckham does not have lots of facial hair. At least get your facts right before posting here. I don't even think anyone follows soccer here. So NO. Shawn shouldn't get a beard. #noBeard.
Confession #444:
#pollShawn. I don't care either way, but new is always better. He should probably give it a shot. #meh.
Confession #446:
#pollShawn lol guys should we be doing this? Reply to this with tag #anon69 .
Confession #492:
#missyPrissy #yeahway #bigdig yes, agree. But Obama doesn't really have an option. With the republicans out to get him at any cost, he doesn't have a lot of way for bipartisanship. #crazyKoala
Confession #571:
Yeah, lets all do that. It'll make things so much easier to understand. #easytounderstand #missyPrissy #yeahway #bigdig #johnmyman #replacehastagswithats -@stinkaroo
Confession #611:
@bigdig It already feels like it's july! Gosh I hope we don't get hurricanes like we did last year. #noMoreHurricanes. -@yeahway
Confession #617:
@everyone: who else thinks s/he has figured out who's posting what in this forum? -@juleee
Confession #619:
More or less everyone. I'm thrown off my some random messages though. RT @juleee: "@everyone: who else thinks s/he has figured out who's posting what in this forum? -@juleee" -@missyPrissy
Confession #625:
Whoa. Really you guys? I swear I have no clue at all. There are a lot more handles with female names than there are women in this office.
"More or less everyone. I'm thrown off my some random messages though. RT @juleee: "@everyone: who else thinks s/he has figured out who's posting what in this forum? -@juleee" -@missyPrissy" -@stinkaroo.
Confession #642:
Confession: I gave address of this confession page to my friends outside work. Which is why there are a lot more users here than us.
Confession #646:
Oh my! -@missMarples.
Confession #654:
Not so sure about that. I have been using this forum as several different people, so I guess that makes up for the extra people from outside. RT: "Confession: I gave address of this confession page to my friends outside work. Which is why there are a lot more users here than us."
Confession #670:
Anyone who posts here or visits this page has no life at all. And the admins have absolutely no fking life.You're all losers if you spend all day posting and looking at this page.
Confession #672:
...says the person who probably read half the posts before posting here. RT: "Anyone who posts here or visits this page has no life at all. And the admins have absolutely no fking life.You're all losers if you spend all day posting and looking at this page." -@ johhhs
So many confessions
I didn't want to breach the topic, but I must write.
Everyone in Nepal seems to have finally figured out what confessions are and think they are incredibly fun. So everyone has a confession group now. Confession group for Class-4 section D, confession group for class 8 section A first row, confession group for Gaurishankar House Cubicle 8. All of them anonymous too.
Dear gc8 guys, I used to steal your toothpaste every day from the locker in the middle. When the toothpaste there finished, I started breaking into the left locker's toothpaste. Was it gc8? What cubicle were you in Su? That room, you know, whatever room Su lived in.
Talking of that, Su and confessions, what made me write this was a confession by someone who 'led a different life' from classes 4-A2, and how he was not who he was and how everyone is surprised he went to the school. Because he is so not the 'type'. Lot of things wrong with that. To start, he should see a therapist if he's not already seeing one-- there's nothing wrong with it. More on that someday when I will talk about the trend of preemptively going to the therapist to prepare yourself for therapy-requiring experiences you might have.
This is to that person: Who are you and who are you? Who is the inside you and who is the outside you? What do you like, and what do you pretend to like? How were you different from everyone else? What makes you think every other self is the same, same, copycat, and you are the only different person, yo?
Sorry-- sorry for rambling and asking rhetorical questions. Here's my point: babu, many gay men and women have passed those gates, those shower stalls and those smelly dormitories, played in those muddy fields and done other decidedly ungay(you might say, because, you know, what defines you is a very specific set of things, yeah?) things. They were lying about the gender of partner they preferred for all those years. And you think you are the hero, huh mister?
Unless you're gay and that's where you're going. In which case, come out of the closet already. Don't make it so suspenseful -- I keep imagining exciting things (I have an interesting idea for an first-person story about how the narrator has a super-normal life until the day--the day when he graduates from college-- he is told that he is not a Homosapien but one of the 'lost' humanoid species that lost out to humans and was brought back by scientists, and it's going to be about how he took control of his fate and redefined what it means to be a person [you don't have to be a human to be a person, etcetc] ) and then am super-disappointed when you reveal your obvious 'secrets' (here's how everyone guesses/finds out: if you keep staring at guys' butts ALL the time, people WILL know you're gay, no matter how much you delude yourself into believe you're fooling everyone else), and I'll be all like, omyfkinggod did i reallly get thatexcited for thisshit?
On a slightly more serious note, our culture seems on a path to being catholicized -- no judgments. We have so many taboos, and try hard as we might, we seem to not overcome them. So we go the catholic way-- we confess, and try to atone for our 'crimes'.
But back to my schools confessions. They're not really confessions. They're hami bhanda ek batch senior daiharu and super-junior kids trying to rekindle their school days. Because that's what you do when you have a tough future ahead. You do things like writing about your school, your friends, and what you did there, and what they do now, like how they're opening up a confessions page, lol.
R out.
PS: You guys should really start commenting here yaar. I can see you and your geolocation in my stats page, so I *know* you're reading this.
PPS: The 'PS:' is, as you will notice, a desperate call for attention. Exactly what the confessions page are doing. Point proven. I'm really out now.
Everyone in Nepal seems to have finally figured out what confessions are and think they are incredibly fun. So everyone has a confession group now. Confession group for Class-4 section D, confession group for class 8 section A first row, confession group for Gaurishankar House Cubicle 8. All of them anonymous too.
Dear gc8 guys, I used to steal your toothpaste every day from the locker in the middle. When the toothpaste there finished, I started breaking into the left locker's toothpaste. Was it gc8? What cubicle were you in Su? That room, you know, whatever room Su lived in.
Talking of that, Su and confessions, what made me write this was a confession by someone who 'led a different life' from classes 4-A2, and how he was not who he was and how everyone is surprised he went to the school. Because he is so not the 'type'. Lot of things wrong with that. To start, he should see a therapist if he's not already seeing one-- there's nothing wrong with it. More on that someday when I will talk about the trend of preemptively going to the therapist to prepare yourself for therapy-requiring experiences you might have.
This is to that person: Who are you and who are you? Who is the inside you and who is the outside you? What do you like, and what do you pretend to like? How were you different from everyone else? What makes you think every other self is the same, same, copycat, and you are the only different person, yo?
Sorry-- sorry for rambling and asking rhetorical questions. Here's my point: babu, many gay men and women have passed those gates, those shower stalls and those smelly dormitories, played in those muddy fields and done other decidedly ungay(you might say, because, you know, what defines you is a very specific set of things, yeah?) things. They were lying about the gender of partner they preferred for all those years. And you think you are the hero, huh mister?
Unless you're gay and that's where you're going. In which case, come out of the closet already. Don't make it so suspenseful -- I keep imagining exciting things (I have an interesting idea for an first-person story about how the narrator has a super-normal life until the day--the day when he graduates from college-- he is told that he is not a Homosapien but one of the 'lost' humanoid species that lost out to humans and was brought back by scientists, and it's going to be about how he took control of his fate and redefined what it means to be a person [you don't have to be a human to be a person, etcetc] ) and then am super-disappointed when you reveal your obvious 'secrets' (here's how everyone guesses/finds out: if you keep staring at guys' butts ALL the time, people WILL know you're gay, no matter how much you delude yourself into believe you're fooling everyone else), and I'll be all like, omyfkinggod did i reallly get thatexcited for thisshit?
On a slightly more serious note, our culture seems on a path to being catholicized -- no judgments. We have so many taboos, and try hard as we might, we seem to not overcome them. So we go the catholic way-- we confess, and try to atone for our 'crimes'.
But back to my schools confessions. They're not really confessions. They're hami bhanda ek batch senior daiharu and super-junior kids trying to rekindle their school days. Because that's what you do when you have a tough future ahead. You do things like writing about your school, your friends, and what you did there, and what they do now, like how they're opening up a confessions page, lol.
R out.
PS: You guys should really start commenting here yaar. I can see you and your geolocation in my stats page, so I *know* you're reading this.
PPS: The 'PS:' is, as you will notice, a desperate call for attention. Exactly what the confessions page are doing. Point proven. I'm really out now.
Jibber Jabber
Yo. Raise your hand if you're here, so I know you are here. Haha, jokes, right -- if you're not here you can't raise your hand, but if you're here...[logic failure].
Hmm, what to say what to say. K reminds me of a Nepali film ko nice heroni and every time I tell her she's like, ho ra? That song, Jahaan Teku. A girl from that. I've never been able to say for certain what her name is because it seems to keep changing. Last time I checked, it was probably Nisha-- no wait, that's the other heroine. What's the arko heroine ko naam, who looks broody but is really nice? Is that Nisha? Are there more than one Nishas in Nepali film industry? K ho k ho. So many unanswered questions yaar.
Maile padhne blog haru update atti rarely huna thaalyo, so I've found that the josh and asha and bhawishya ko lagi naya blaab is dying. Not that it was actually there, but you know, saano tiino bache khucheko je je thyo, tyo pani sakyo.
I'm spending the next semester studying in a developing country. And I've decided I'd be really comfortable spending the life of an expat there, even though I can't afford it. Yupp, yupp. That's me. The only people I know who've been there are considerably attractive young white women, so the only thing I know about the place is 'yeahh, they kept on asking for my number, and kept on asking me to marry them-- even mothers would come to me and tell me to marry their sons.'
Which is super unhelpful for me, if you know me at all. Because... huuh, not a lot of mothers have come to me and told me to marry their sons, if you get my gist. I don't think that's suddenly going to change, but whaddya know, lets keep our fingers crossed. Not that I'd agree to, nono, don't mistake that -- I've already written many many posts on that issue so check my archives (hoho, what a line, that one, what a line. 'Yo, how'd you like my aarrrchives. You like it, ya,ya?')-- but it'd just feel nice, you know. Mothers and sons and marriage and arranged and stuck for you life hoho poor bastards.
Talking of bastards, have you guys been following Nepali politics closely? The last time I checked, they apparently got a new Prime Minister I think. And then boring newspaper headlines kept happening so I zoned out. You know.
Oh yeah. Next few months are probably going go be boring if I don't actively do something to make them better, but my plans don't seem to be...gaining traction... so I'm coming up with more and more funstuff to do, and we'll see where things go. Hopefully a good place, but you never know with Momoland.
If you've been keeping track of what I've been upto, in this blog, you've probably seen that I've been posting lots of fun code-stuff here. I'll keep that going, and more fun stuff is to come. However, this is not going to be a 'tech-blog'(circa 2007.) or a codeblog. What it will become is a place for me to experiment, to try out new things and projects, and the shizzles. You know. Same old but kinda' new. Except that now I write lame prose (which, if you keep getting confused like me, means not-poem. It's easy to remember: there's either poem or prose. Z taught me that yesterday) and faux-poetry, and now I'll also start writing lame code. The difference is going to be that you're going to be able to explore on your own through my programs. Which totally sounds like I'm teasing you about 'exploring' with other girls because, please, you're not in Nepal and you're young, and you haven't even tried so how would you know, and Nepal gayepachi esto hudaina, so you should explore all you want right now with girls, and there's no danger to that again k, lajaaunu parne kei chhaina, but please. I'm totally not saying that. That's outrageous. I'm offended you would even suggest that I would have the chutzpah to say that k. Quite offended. Dangerr offended.
Do I sound like an 18 year-old? Because that's quite a progress from the last time I checked, when I sounded like a 16 year-old. I'm growing old yaar, even in my writing.
Hmm, what to say what to say. K reminds me of a Nepali film ko nice heroni and every time I tell her she's like, ho ra? That song, Jahaan Teku. A girl from that. I've never been able to say for certain what her name is because it seems to keep changing. Last time I checked, it was probably Nisha-- no wait, that's the other heroine. What's the arko heroine ko naam, who looks broody but is really nice? Is that Nisha? Are there more than one Nishas in Nepali film industry? K ho k ho. So many unanswered questions yaar.
Maile padhne blog haru update atti rarely huna thaalyo, so I've found that the josh and asha and bhawishya ko lagi naya blaab is dying. Not that it was actually there, but you know, saano tiino bache khucheko je je thyo, tyo pani sakyo.
I'm spending the next semester studying in a developing country. And I've decided I'd be really comfortable spending the life of an expat there, even though I can't afford it. Yupp, yupp. That's me. The only people I know who've been there are considerably attractive young white women, so the only thing I know about the place is 'yeahh, they kept on asking for my number, and kept on asking me to marry them-- even mothers would come to me and tell me to marry their sons.'
Which is super unhelpful for me, if you know me at all. Because... huuh, not a lot of mothers have come to me and told me to marry their sons, if you get my gist. I don't think that's suddenly going to change, but whaddya know, lets keep our fingers crossed. Not that I'd agree to, nono, don't mistake that -- I've already written many many posts on that issue so check my archives (hoho, what a line, that one, what a line. 'Yo, how'd you like my aarrrchives. You like it, ya,ya?')-- but it'd just feel nice, you know. Mothers and sons and marriage and arranged and stuck for you life hoho poor bastards.
Talking of bastards, have you guys been following Nepali politics closely? The last time I checked, they apparently got a new Prime Minister I think. And then boring newspaper headlines kept happening so I zoned out. You know.
Oh yeah. Next few months are probably going go be boring if I don't actively do something to make them better, but my plans don't seem to be...gaining traction... so I'm coming up with more and more funstuff to do, and we'll see where things go. Hopefully a good place, but you never know with Momoland.
If you've been keeping track of what I've been upto, in this blog, you've probably seen that I've been posting lots of fun code-stuff here. I'll keep that going, and more fun stuff is to come. However, this is not going to be a 'tech-blog'(circa 2007.) or a codeblog. What it will become is a place for me to experiment, to try out new things and projects, and the shizzles. You know. Same old but kinda' new. Except that now I write lame prose (which, if you keep getting confused like me, means not-poem. It's easy to remember: there's either poem or prose. Z taught me that yesterday) and faux-poetry, and now I'll also start writing lame code. The difference is going to be that you're going to be able to explore on your own through my programs. Which totally sounds like I'm teasing you about 'exploring' with other girls because, please, you're not in Nepal and you're young, and you haven't even tried so how would you know, and Nepal gayepachi esto hudaina, so you should explore all you want right now with girls, and there's no danger to that again k, lajaaunu parne kei chhaina, but please. I'm totally not saying that. That's outrageous. I'm offended you would even suggest that I would have the chutzpah to say that k. Quite offended. Dangerr offended.
Do I sound like an 18 year-old? Because that's quite a progress from the last time I checked, when I sounded like a 16 year-old. I'm growing old yaar, even in my writing.
As an fyi
As an fyi:
Intelligence and knowledge are so hot. So so so frikkin' hot. So so so hot. With modesty of course, but still. Too much. Way more than physical appearances. Hmm. Maybe I'm really growing old.
Intelligence and knowledge are so hot. So so so frikkin' hot. So so so hot. With modesty of course, but still. Too much. Way more than physical appearances. Hmm. Maybe I'm really growing old.
Sajha dreams
Much has been said and written about the relaunch of the Sajha bus service. I don't have anything intelligent to add to the conversation that's not already been said.
The bus service holds memories for some, but for me --someone who never got on one of those and barely saw any-- it's the sense of nostalgia that matters. The nostalgia for a time when I wasn't here but when people were hopeful. It wasn't the bus-service. It's the song that has kept the bus-service alive in memory.
I don't know what year the song is from. My guess is it's somewhere in the mid-to-late early eighties to early nineties.
You can hear it in Haribansha's voice. You can see it in the actors' (who are all mostly terrible in their job) eyes. You can see it in the cinematography. There's so much hope. Bahudal was around the corner. Markets were going to open. The Sajha bus of prosperity was going to take off-- ironically-- through the private sector. Popular multiparty democracy would lead to accountability, development, better services, greater liberalization, more freedom. No one would have to line up for gas or kerosene. Scarcity would be a thing of the past. The leaders-- incompetent as they were-- could not fess that one up. It was so easy.
And then it wasn't. Things happened, and here we are now, two/two-and-half decades later, unsure if we're really better off today than we were then. But the nostalgia of hope has stayed with us. We are cynical at times, but we want to be hopeful, we want to put our naive trust in institutions that have mostly failed us in the past. We miss those times when we could be hopeful, and we had no solid reasons to be cynical. We knew this was going to happen, that failure was just across the bump, oh yes we knew, but we didn't want to think about it. We wanted to believe that we were wrong, that the sajha-bus future was the good future in store, and things would be just fine.
Sajha bus, the institution, the song, is a consolation. That there were times when we were less distrustful and less cynical. That doesn't mean we have reason to be any less distrustful now, but ...there was a time when we were happy, when we hadn't given up hopes of a better future. We collectively dreamed of peace, prosperity and accountability. We can't dream those dreams anymore. But we can certainly wistfully remember those dreams. Sajha bus, the service and the song, is that memory of the days when we dared to dream of a better future.
Arts
Here's some art I did. You can create your own in the empty space after the images. Move your mouse around and the colors will change. I made this by moving the mouse in circles. Small circles get more interesting colors, I noticed. Click to start drawing, click to stop drawing (saves some of your processor cycles). Or go to the original link, which will save you a little computer power .
Boston, alive
I survived another round of bomb blasts. Terrorists all over seem to be really bad at this one thing-- blowing me into pieces. Observations as someone who was 50m from the blasts:
1) I'm writing this point first because I just read this article on The Atlantic. Those in reddits who're 'hunting' for the bombers online through images are vigilantes like black and white, and using technology to hide their true identities does not make them any less of vigilantes than any other point in time. Some who consider themselves more technologically sophisticated on the internet seem to consider themselves invulnerable gods who are never wrong, the likes of whom the world has never seen. They ignore the lessons from history (RE: bitcoin and those who believe it's a 'totally new thing') and everything else mankind has learned from its follies. This is a rant for a whole post. Here's the gist: technology does not/should not mean the end of democracy and a functioning state.
2) The bombs were not designed to kill. They were designed to hurt, create panic, maybe severe limbs, but not hurt people. To begin with, they were not nearly powerful to create major damages. Second, one of them was placed in a trash can-- which actually deflected most of the impact of the blast upwards. The potential for damage was so much higher than it actually was.
3) Either it's a really, really incompetent and unenthusiastic international terrorist group, or one of those bitter people who's angry at someone for some reason or other. I strongly believe it's the second.
4) The response was amazing. Not only by cops and doctors, but medical volunteers, people younger than I am, who rushed with stretchers and wheelchairs towards the blasts seconds after they happened.
5) This merits a different post too but here's the gist anyway: comparing those blasts to those in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria etc. is completely wrong, so so wrong and misguided, and doesn't get the basic concept of context in political analysis. America spends a LOT more per person for security than they do, and American is KNOWN for its relative security(at least from bombs. the crazies will never let it be safe from guns). I have a lot more to say on this. Maybe later.
6) Marathon runners can be quite attractive.
1) I'm writing this point first because I just read this article on The Atlantic. Those in reddits who're 'hunting' for the bombers online through images are vigilantes like black and white, and using technology to hide their true identities does not make them any less of vigilantes than any other point in time. Some who consider themselves more technologically sophisticated on the internet seem to consider themselves invulnerable gods who are never wrong, the likes of whom the world has never seen. They ignore the lessons from history (RE: bitcoin and those who believe it's a 'totally new thing') and everything else mankind has learned from its follies. This is a rant for a whole post. Here's the gist: technology does not/should not mean the end of democracy and a functioning state.
2) The bombs were not designed to kill. They were designed to hurt, create panic, maybe severe limbs, but not hurt people. To begin with, they were not nearly powerful to create major damages. Second, one of them was placed in a trash can-- which actually deflected most of the impact of the blast upwards. The potential for damage was so much higher than it actually was.
3) Either it's a really, really incompetent and unenthusiastic international terrorist group, or one of those bitter people who's angry at someone for some reason or other. I strongly believe it's the second.
4) The response was amazing. Not only by cops and doctors, but medical volunteers, people younger than I am, who rushed with stretchers and wheelchairs towards the blasts seconds after they happened.
5) This merits a different post too but here's the gist anyway: comparing those blasts to those in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Syria etc. is completely wrong, so so wrong and misguided, and doesn't get the basic concept of context in political analysis. America spends a LOT more per person for security than they do, and American is KNOWN for its relative security(at least from bombs. the crazies will never let it be safe from guns). I have a lot more to say on this. Maybe later.
6) Marathon runners can be quite attractive.
Confessions
The idea of confessions is very catholic. Admit your failure, admit your darkest thoughts, and you'll be absolved. Truth solves everything. This is in reaction to the popular confession page that's been making rounds.
The thing is, confessions are mostly unnecessary, and wherein they create less happiness, even harmful. Nobody really needs to know the hate you spew for people you don't like. We get it-- you have prejudices, you have thoughts 'Dear EC5 girl, I have a crush on you', 'I get angry when I see townies', 'Omg, group of six have free printing?' Is it sad that people are talking lesser to each other and more through a forum that is anonymous enough not to identify them, but personal enough to reach the target, in good ways or bad? This conversation is not new, I understand, but it needs to be had.
And of course there's the Marxist Criticism of Hookups in American Colleges. To which I say -- (insert an In-Soviet-Russia joke).
The thing is, confessions are mostly unnecessary, and wherein they create less happiness, even harmful. Nobody really needs to know the hate you spew for people you don't like. We get it-- you have prejudices, you have thoughts 'Dear EC5 girl, I have a crush on you', 'I get angry when I see townies', 'Omg, group of six have free printing?' Is it sad that people are talking lesser to each other and more through a forum that is anonymous enough not to identify them, but personal enough to reach the target, in good ways or bad? This conversation is not new, I understand, but it needs to be had.
And of course there's the Marxist Criticism of Hookups in American Colleges. To which I say -- (insert an In-Soviet-Russia joke).
langauges, again
New thoughts on Nepali.
1) Even if it DID go extinct, we must remember that it's only a tribal language that turned sophisticated rather quickly.
2) Nepali literature didn't exist before Bhanubhakta. Written Nepali was rare, and lacked proper sentence structure -- it existed mainly in speaking. The centuries between Bhanubhakta and Nepali Bhashanuwad Samiti were the most fruitful for the language, when most of the literature was created.
3) Which means, it's likely our future is better than our past -- if only because our past wasn't particularly bright.
4) I regarded internet as mostly a threat for the language. While it still is, I see a future where more Nepali speakers will communicate in Nepali over the internet, and it becomes the norm. I had to think outside my clique of Nepali-nabolne-bourgeoisie-clique.
5) Devkota is still as great, but for slightly different reasons. He knew exactly where the language was, and worked accordingly. His inventing whole classes of words in one go, words that would actually be adopted in everyday use, definitely made it much more 'genuine' and saved it from hindification and bengalification.
6) There's still a LOT more space to work around/be on the frontiers in Nepali. I haven't really read the casual-conversation-y Nepali -- the new novels try, but I don't really feel them. There's such a potential for a new Nepali for the internet generation.
7) A's dad could be one of the pioneers of the trends from 6). His sense of humor (I find) perfectly Nepali, and it also fits brilliantly for the web. As more people from the older generation come to the public web (I'm looking more in the likes of blogs and twitter, not facebook...because closed systems entropy themselves to death).
8) No one's mentioned the slick animation below this page. I'm hurt.
1) Even if it DID go extinct, we must remember that it's only a tribal language that turned sophisticated rather quickly.
2) Nepali literature didn't exist before Bhanubhakta. Written Nepali was rare, and lacked proper sentence structure -- it existed mainly in speaking. The centuries between Bhanubhakta and Nepali Bhashanuwad Samiti were the most fruitful for the language, when most of the literature was created.
3) Which means, it's likely our future is better than our past -- if only because our past wasn't particularly bright.
4) I regarded internet as mostly a threat for the language. While it still is, I see a future where more Nepali speakers will communicate in Nepali over the internet, and it becomes the norm. I had to think outside my clique of Nepali-nabolne-bourgeoisie-clique.
5) Devkota is still as great, but for slightly different reasons. He knew exactly where the language was, and worked accordingly. His inventing whole classes of words in one go, words that would actually be adopted in everyday use, definitely made it much more 'genuine' and saved it from hindification and bengalification.
6) There's still a LOT more space to work around/be on the frontiers in Nepali. I haven't really read the casual-conversation-y Nepali -- the new novels try, but I don't really feel them. There's such a potential for a new Nepali for the internet generation.
7) A's dad could be one of the pioneers of the trends from 6). His sense of humor (I find) perfectly Nepali, and it also fits brilliantly for the web. As more people from the older generation come to the public web (I'm looking more in the likes of blogs and twitter, not facebook...because closed systems entropy themselves to death).
8) No one's mentioned the slick animation below this page. I'm hurt.
Hawaghar.Blogspot.com
The content here has been deleted because it was causing my computer to shout. Too many recursions are not what computers like, apparently. Pfft. Sissies.
goto: hawaghar.blogspot.com
Pakistan, Politics
With so many things coming out at once, a few comments:
1) Here's something hardliners in Pakistan and the US will instantly agree with each other on: the US needs to stop spending money on Pakistan and let things take their course. The Indians will disagree, of course, but, the argument goes, the US doesn't need to subsidize Indian security anymore.
2) The American government can remotely switch your cellphone on and track you to the meter if you are in Pakistan.
3) Security complications in South Asia arise because of India-Pak-China-Afghan stalemate. US pulls its money out of Pak and several things happen: Indians get nervous, spend more on defense, Pakistanis and Chinese get nervous because of India's better defense and increase their own defense, Afghans get nervous about Pak's strengthening defense, increase ties with India, and encourage border infiltration, Pak gets nervous about Indo-Afghan relations and the border infiltration, resumes undermining Indo-Pak borders... and so on and on. It's the textbook scenario for the security stalemate. It gets even more complex once you realize China's actions themselves are not in isolation and will further affect the behavior of its 19 rather-nervous neighbors. So what the US decides to do in Af-Pak will have direct implications in a much larger region. What a mess they've got themselves into.
4) Only 12-percent of Pakistani population is ok with the US. The only anti-US rhetoric there is stronger Islamic rhetoric. US's unpopularity will lead increased Islamic fundamentalism. The irony of this is that Pak is bff's with Saudi, a close US 'ally'. Actually, this is not really that ironic. US should be glad though that stronger Pak-Iran won't form as long as Pakistan is close to Saudi. Ultimately though, I'd guess they'd rather be friends with Iran than Saudi.
5) The Pak election commission actually enforced, for the first time, religious laws instituted during Zia's time. There's talks of increased fundamentalism. While that may be the case, I'd guess they're more likely creating a dust-storm for the elections. In the end, even if the Army doesn't have any power, they are likely to stay as power-players for some time.
6) Sa is worried about civil war between secularists and fundamentalists and B'desh. Times are scary, that's for sure. But that's unlikely to happen. Indians (Hindus, Muslims, whatever) don't want two religiously fundamentalist nations surrounding them. They can't work in Pakistan, but they can still move the strings in B'Desh, and they will likely do. Besides, I have a feeling most Bangladeshis understand that they didn't fight Jinnah and the Mukti war, just to see decreased Bengali cultural influence. This is likely to be a passing phase.
7) Even in the worst case, Pakistan is likely to become another Columbia rather than another Syria(?)/Yugoslavia/Congo.The wars there seem to be regional/tribal rather than religious. It's only their common enmity against the US that's holding different groups together. But here's the conundrum: the US won't leave till it's satisfied they're destroyed, and they may not break down until the US leaves.
8) Lets say Obama pulls everything out of Pakistan over a month. What would change? I'm guessing Pakistan would sooner or later reach a confrontation with India-Afghanistan over those damn mujaheddin. The US needs to worry more about Afghan drug money in Pakistan training fighters, not the other way round.
9) Greater power devolution in Pakistan would lead to problems with FATA and Baluchistan. And the Pakhtunakhtwa-- that's a given-- but that's such an old story it's not even there anymore. If the eastern provinces realized how much they had to gain through trade with India (without giving a lot to the Center or the Army), there's be stronger demands for better relations.
1) Here's something hardliners in Pakistan and the US will instantly agree with each other on: the US needs to stop spending money on Pakistan and let things take their course. The Indians will disagree, of course, but, the argument goes, the US doesn't need to subsidize Indian security anymore.
2) The American government can remotely switch your cellphone on and track you to the meter if you are in Pakistan.
3) Security complications in South Asia arise because of India-Pak-China-Afghan stalemate. US pulls its money out of Pak and several things happen: Indians get nervous, spend more on defense, Pakistanis and Chinese get nervous because of India's better defense and increase their own defense, Afghans get nervous about Pak's strengthening defense, increase ties with India, and encourage border infiltration, Pak gets nervous about Indo-Afghan relations and the border infiltration, resumes undermining Indo-Pak borders... and so on and on. It's the textbook scenario for the security stalemate. It gets even more complex once you realize China's actions themselves are not in isolation and will further affect the behavior of its 19 rather-nervous neighbors. So what the US decides to do in Af-Pak will have direct implications in a much larger region. What a mess they've got themselves into.
4) Only 12-percent of Pakistani population is ok with the US. The only anti-US rhetoric there is stronger Islamic rhetoric. US's unpopularity will lead increased Islamic fundamentalism. The irony of this is that Pak is bff's with Saudi, a close US 'ally'. Actually, this is not really that ironic. US should be glad though that stronger Pak-Iran won't form as long as Pakistan is close to Saudi. Ultimately though, I'd guess they'd rather be friends with Iran than Saudi.
5) The Pak election commission actually enforced, for the first time, religious laws instituted during Zia's time. There's talks of increased fundamentalism. While that may be the case, I'd guess they're more likely creating a dust-storm for the elections. In the end, even if the Army doesn't have any power, they are likely to stay as power-players for some time.
6) Sa is worried about civil war between secularists and fundamentalists and B'desh. Times are scary, that's for sure. But that's unlikely to happen. Indians (Hindus, Muslims, whatever) don't want two religiously fundamentalist nations surrounding them. They can't work in Pakistan, but they can still move the strings in B'Desh, and they will likely do. Besides, I have a feeling most Bangladeshis understand that they didn't fight Jinnah and the Mukti war, just to see decreased Bengali cultural influence. This is likely to be a passing phase.
7) Even in the worst case, Pakistan is likely to become another Columbia rather than another Syria(?)/Yugoslavia/Congo.The wars there seem to be regional/tribal rather than religious. It's only their common enmity against the US that's holding different groups together. But here's the conundrum: the US won't leave till it's satisfied they're destroyed, and they may not break down until the US leaves.
8) Lets say Obama pulls everything out of Pakistan over a month. What would change? I'm guessing Pakistan would sooner or later reach a confrontation with India-Afghanistan over those damn mujaheddin. The US needs to worry more about Afghan drug money in Pakistan training fighters, not the other way round.
9) Greater power devolution in Pakistan would lead to problems with FATA and Baluchistan. And the Pakhtunakhtwa-- that's a given-- but that's such an old story it's not even there anymore. If the eastern provinces realized how much they had to gain through trade with India (without giving a lot to the Center or the Army), there's be stronger demands for better relations.
Words of the day
Erratic: Ohh baby, you your views on the political views are so hot, they're erratic.
Gormless: Rabin wanted to read the book, but he was scared he might find scary monsters. His parents checked the book, and assured him that the book was gormless.
Tentative: While hikers find tentative sex quite thrilling, it has yet to gain mass appeal.
Exhaustively: Rizak was warned by his mother not to exhaustively use the sugar in the cake.
Underpin: I am so sick of college frat parties. You've not even taken off your coat yet and the frat bros are out to underpin you already.
Salience: When Tunkey wore the pink T-shirt that he thought looked manly, he was teased by his friends for showing overwhelming salience.
Gormless: Rabin wanted to read the book, but he was scared he might find scary monsters. His parents checked the book, and assured him that the book was gormless.
Tentative: While hikers find tentative sex quite thrilling, it has yet to gain mass appeal.
Exhaustively: Rizak was warned by his mother not to exhaustively use the sugar in the cake.
Underpin: I am so sick of college frat parties. You've not even taken off your coat yet and the frat bros are out to underpin you already.
Salience: When Tunkey wore the pink T-shirt that he thought looked manly, he was teased by his friends for showing overwhelming salience.
Birds of feather
Birds of feather dance together. Compose songs together. Eat dinners together. Do plays together. And try to avoid the incestuous drama circles together. But how long can they really. How long, huuh, birds of feather, how long?
Birds of feather think they are sooo smart, and then look up wikipedia for everything, but pretend they don't and birds of feather are allways ready for whatever shits the world may bring them, but yo birds of feather, how are you gonna know if you girlfriend's not cheating, huhh, huhh? Answer me noww, birds ofturd feathers, answer me nowww.
Birds of feather think they are sooo smart, and then look up wikipedia for everything, but pretend they don't and birds of feather are allways ready for whatever shits the world may bring them, but yo birds of feather, how are you gonna know if you girlfriend's not cheating, huhh, huhh? Answer me noww, birds of
A completely wholesome tape: A review
This is a part review part commentary of the tape you know about from context.
I had never been privy to the tape in question. I needed an inspiration, so I went in for research purposes. No, seriously. For research purposes.
In all the discussions that has happened over the years, no one has mentioned how wholesome the tape is. I understand, I understand, he may have been cheating his wife (or maybe not) but hear me through this.
It begins.
At first, they're playing. Really playing. He asks her what she wants him to do, and keeps saying 'please'. She tells him to stop asking for permission and start right away. He tries ordering her to do what he wants her to do -- she orders him back. He backs down-- requests again, but the 'please' -es are more muted now. She laughs. She will do what she wants to -- whether he wants it or not. In this particular scenario, they both seem to want the same set of things.
The parts that follow immediately are not important for our current purposes.
They are interrupted by a telephone call. He talks to someone over the phone, she calls someone (her dad?) and assures them she's fine, yesyes, she's fine. They both sound tired and bored now, so she tells him she has to go. They argue about the other 'always going early', but that quickly turns around into a tease.
"You always do this," she accuses.
"Yes I do, because you always tell me to", he retorts.
She laughs. He laughs.
She's a brave, brave woman. As if the events following have not shown already. She says, in the strongest Newari accent one can expect from her (quite heavy) -- malai chai kaile pani (mumbles). He then suggests they go for another round. She doesn't sound very excited-- in her sleepy voice she goes 'mmm mmm what?'
They seem to be in a post-coital trash-talk phase.
Then the viewer notices he's moaning, and her head is between his legs. That explains her mumbles. Is she doing this because she wants to shut him up, one wonders.
His hands try to wander between her legs. She asks, 'Did you wash your hands?' The viewer almost loses hope in this wife-cheating hero when he laughs at the question. Perhaps he's a controlling douchebag pretending to be a lover. Perhaps this is all a great game to him. Later in the evening, he's going to his friends and brag how his fked the hot actress chick, perhaps? Happily for this particular reviewer, it was not to be so.
He gets ready to go clean his hands -- takes her legs out of him. The viewer's suspicions also seem to have been the heroine's: after he's proven he's not a douchebag, she loosens things. "No, no," she says. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Yeah, yeah, it's okay, it's okay," she replies. They kiss. He doesn't have to wash his hands -- she trusts him.
"Look at my tummy! Kasto pet-oo bhaa chha mo," she says. He starts kissing her tummy. "Seriously..." she says. He is still kissing her tummy.
"You love it or what," she asks. He kisses her upper body harder.
"Eee what happens if I don't pay the bills?" she asks.
"You have to do the cheque," he says.
There is now a moment of either a great emotional connection or vulnerability. It's likely there's a bit of both. She speaks in thickly Newari-accented English. He talks in a very thick Nepali accent himself-- the kind you want to speak only in front of people you deeply trust -- to make them laugh, to make them trust you. You know the accent I'm talking about. They talk about her finances. He tells her he'd reminded her, but she's still forgotten it. "I reminded you no but you still forgot," he says, translating directly from Nepali.
"When did you remind me?" she counters
"Day before yesterday, remember. I told you you have to pay your bills and you said hyaaauhhh" he snaps back, but rather lovingly. The Nepali accent is still going strong.
She interrupts him. She says something. They're both interrupting each other now. The viewer sees her lower legs and shadows of his upper body.
"Aba, aba, aba, I don't want to staart, haii," he says, sounding rather tired. Is he tired of the fights with her, or with his wife?, the viewer wonders.
"So what am I gonna' do, huh?" she says, as he caresses and kisses her thigh. He rests his head on her thigh. 'Hmm?" she asks.
Moments of silence. Her body is at the left of the camera, and his back faces the camera. There appears to be no action.
Moans. His or hers? His, definitely. Is she still in a mood to moan right now? What's happening? The shadows tell us the story: her head's shadow, between the shadow of his legs, on the wall.
He's kissing her legs again. He tries to pry her legs apart and kiss, she 'huhh's him away. His slight moans continue.
We hear dog barks in the background. Kathmandu's neverending traffic. Someone shouting to whoever outside.
The phone rings again. It is ignored now.
He slaps lovingly on her thigh. Then he rolls into her, while she's still onto him, towards the left of the camera. The viewer is left with the view of her lower legs.
No sound, except the static of the microphone. Where are the dogs gone now, those dastardly noisy beasts of Kathmandu nights?
Her legs take an angle. Lapping sounds. You've heard this story before.
He is gasping for more air. A loud car horn. Sounds of children talking on the stairs, returning perhaps from their evenings games or restaurants. The dogs have started barking again.
Her breath is getting heavier and more nasally vocal. He whispers, "Are you there yet?" to her navel. She doesn't reply. Her legs lose their angle. He gasps for more air. He gives up his quest. The viewer starts wondering what she's up to.
She has not given up yet. He is getting louder. He rests his head on her knees, and gets up to pick up the camera.
The viewer is subjected to uninteresting shots of the Nepali female genitalia, and the insecurities of the owner of the aforementioned organs. Somehow between the shots, she must have put on the red jacket.
Things that aren't as interesting in terms of storytelling happen for the next couple of minutes. One could summarize them thus: she appears to be quite dedicated to him. He gets a hickey on upper-legs, but that doesn't really take our story anywhere.
She's tired, and she's very sweaty. Her eyes are tightly shut. There's no technical intercourse going on. She's just wants to sleep. She wants to go home. He is not done yet. At one point, she falls on the bed, and takes a couple of seconds to collect herself, her eyes closed.
"Can you turn it off?" she says to him.
"Really?" he says.
"It's reaallly disturbing..." she says, " I mean the light. The light."
The viewer wonders if she's entirely sober at this point. She looks tired and confused. She has given up on going home by now. She will sleep on any bed, as long as she is let to sleep comfortably. The comforts of home this is not, she knows. One has a hard time not wondering if she ruminated about the future during the encounter.
What place is this? Is it one of the seedy Inns of Thamel? Did she always have that red jacket, or did she go to her closet and change? In which case, why doesn't she look like she's home if this is her home. It's unlikely this is her house: the phone conversation says otherwise. The red jacket could be his, though that would not explain the absence of his wife. What about the flowery pillows and dirty curtains? Do the owners of the Inn(presumably) make money off selling the room as the encounter spot of our hero and heroine? Greater research needs to be done in this field.
The viewer sees a 'V' shaped structure. Her legs, one assumes. The ceiling, it becomes clearer.
The camera switches off. End.
I had never been privy to the tape in question. I needed an inspiration, so I went in for research purposes. No, seriously. For research purposes.
In all the discussions that has happened over the years, no one has mentioned how wholesome the tape is. I understand, I understand, he may have been cheating his wife (or maybe not) but hear me through this.
It begins.
At first, they're playing. Really playing. He asks her what she wants him to do, and keeps saying 'please'. She tells him to stop asking for permission and start right away. He tries ordering her to do what he wants her to do -- she orders him back. He backs down-- requests again, but the 'please' -es are more muted now. She laughs. She will do what she wants to -- whether he wants it or not. In this particular scenario, they both seem to want the same set of things.
The parts that follow immediately are not important for our current purposes.
They are interrupted by a telephone call. He talks to someone over the phone, she calls someone (her dad?) and assures them she's fine, yesyes, she's fine. They both sound tired and bored now, so she tells him she has to go. They argue about the other 'always going early', but that quickly turns around into a tease.
"You always do this," she accuses.
"Yes I do, because you always tell me to", he retorts.
She laughs. He laughs.
She's a brave, brave woman. As if the events following have not shown already. She says, in the strongest Newari accent one can expect from her (quite heavy) -- malai chai kaile pani (mumbles). He then suggests they go for another round. She doesn't sound very excited-- in her sleepy voice she goes 'mmm mmm what?'
They seem to be in a post-coital trash-talk phase.
Then the viewer notices he's moaning, and her head is between his legs. That explains her mumbles. Is she doing this because she wants to shut him up, one wonders.
His hands try to wander between her legs. She asks, 'Did you wash your hands?' The viewer almost loses hope in this wife-cheating hero when he laughs at the question. Perhaps he's a controlling douchebag pretending to be a lover. Perhaps this is all a great game to him. Later in the evening, he's going to his friends and brag how his fked the hot actress chick, perhaps? Happily for this particular reviewer, it was not to be so.
He gets ready to go clean his hands -- takes her legs out of him. The viewer's suspicions also seem to have been the heroine's: after he's proven he's not a douchebag, she loosens things. "No, no," she says. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Yeah, yeah, it's okay, it's okay," she replies. They kiss. He doesn't have to wash his hands -- she trusts him.
"Look at my tummy! Kasto pet-oo bhaa chha mo," she says. He starts kissing her tummy. "Seriously..." she says. He is still kissing her tummy.
"You love it or what," she asks. He kisses her upper body harder.
"Eee what happens if I don't pay the bills?" she asks.
"You have to do the cheque," he says.
There is now a moment of either a great emotional connection or vulnerability. It's likely there's a bit of both. She speaks in thickly Newari-accented English. He talks in a very thick Nepali accent himself-- the kind you want to speak only in front of people you deeply trust -- to make them laugh, to make them trust you. You know the accent I'm talking about. They talk about her finances. He tells her he'd reminded her, but she's still forgotten it. "I reminded you no but you still forgot," he says, translating directly from Nepali.
"When did you remind me?" she counters
"Day before yesterday, remember. I told you you have to pay your bills and you said hyaaauhhh" he snaps back, but rather lovingly. The Nepali accent is still going strong.
She interrupts him. She says something. They're both interrupting each other now. The viewer sees her lower legs and shadows of his upper body.
"Aba, aba, aba, I don't want to staart, haii," he says, sounding rather tired. Is he tired of the fights with her, or with his wife?, the viewer wonders.
"So what am I gonna' do, huh?" she says, as he caresses and kisses her thigh. He rests his head on her thigh. 'Hmm?" she asks.
Moments of silence. Her body is at the left of the camera, and his back faces the camera. There appears to be no action.
Moans. His or hers? His, definitely. Is she still in a mood to moan right now? What's happening? The shadows tell us the story: her head's shadow, between the shadow of his legs, on the wall.
He's kissing her legs again. He tries to pry her legs apart and kiss, she 'huhh's him away. His slight moans continue.
We hear dog barks in the background. Kathmandu's neverending traffic. Someone shouting to whoever outside.
The phone rings again. It is ignored now.
He slaps lovingly on her thigh. Then he rolls into her, while she's still onto him, towards the left of the camera. The viewer is left with the view of her lower legs.
No sound, except the static of the microphone. Where are the dogs gone now, those dastardly noisy beasts of Kathmandu nights?
Her legs take an angle. Lapping sounds. You've heard this story before.
He is gasping for more air. A loud car horn. Sounds of children talking on the stairs, returning perhaps from their evenings games or restaurants. The dogs have started barking again.
Her breath is getting heavier and more nasally vocal. He whispers, "Are you there yet?" to her navel. She doesn't reply. Her legs lose their angle. He gasps for more air. He gives up his quest. The viewer starts wondering what she's up to.
She has not given up yet. He is getting louder. He rests his head on her knees, and gets up to pick up the camera.
The viewer is subjected to uninteresting shots of the Nepali female genitalia, and the insecurities of the owner of the aforementioned organs. Somehow between the shots, she must have put on the red jacket.
Things that aren't as interesting in terms of storytelling happen for the next couple of minutes. One could summarize them thus: she appears to be quite dedicated to him. He gets a hickey on upper-legs, but that doesn't really take our story anywhere.
She's tired, and she's very sweaty. Her eyes are tightly shut. There's no technical intercourse going on. She's just wants to sleep. She wants to go home. He is not done yet. At one point, she falls on the bed, and takes a couple of seconds to collect herself, her eyes closed.
"Can you turn it off?" she says to him.
"Really?" he says.
"It's reaallly disturbing..." she says, " I mean the light. The light."
The viewer wonders if she's entirely sober at this point. She looks tired and confused. She has given up on going home by now. She will sleep on any bed, as long as she is let to sleep comfortably. The comforts of home this is not, she knows. One has a hard time not wondering if she ruminated about the future during the encounter.
What place is this? Is it one of the seedy Inns of Thamel? Did she always have that red jacket, or did she go to her closet and change? In which case, why doesn't she look like she's home if this is her home. It's unlikely this is her house: the phone conversation says otherwise. The red jacket could be his, though that would not explain the absence of his wife. What about the flowery pillows and dirty curtains? Do the owners of the Inn(presumably) make money off selling the room as the encounter spot of our hero and heroine? Greater research needs to be done in this field.
The viewer sees a 'V' shaped structure. Her legs, one assumes. The ceiling, it becomes clearer.
The camera switches off. End.
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