The Kathmandudes

Sano Prayash: Soch, Katha ra Sangit

Dear M.

Dear M.

In the morbid bareness of autumn, I finally found, deep inside my heart, a sort of warmth, a fiasco –a friendship, which helped me persevere the brooding lust of death. Leaving behind the beauty of ethereal convictions, I fell upon your knees and you accepted me as I was; marooned by self and vain in nature. As I made strides towards the darkness, essential moments of love and compassion escaped me and primal emotions which sustain life were already numb. Having experienced life, I was disappointed. I wanted to experience death, for in certes I knew it wouldn’t disappoint.

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Books v. Cigarettes

Until recently, I hadn’t quite given thought on the cost of books and cigarettes that I am used to buying nonchalantly. I have quite a possession of books since I began reading voraciously seven years ago when the college threw me out of science department and placed me with students of humanities steam. It was due to lack of any aptitude or attitude from my part which led me to first, being suspended from college and then being reinstated in another stream, of course conditionally. I was one of those rotten tomato which the education system in Nepal detests. I was reticent, observant and a brute at heart; dispatching inquiries of rather derisive nature to the administration, revolting against any sort of authoritative rules and bonking classes whenever I fancied. I was a libertine and the college was my transit to a chaotic vision of teenage glory.

It was truly in college, when I began reading rather voraciously. I had a rather spirited English literature teacher who appeared comical. He was almost five foot and had snubbed nose, puffed cheek and adenoidal voice. For teenage students, he was gold mine for back bench banter. I may have ridiculed him too, back in the days, but I had great respect for a man who had no interest in the banking concept of education.

Since my introduction to literature, reading books has been my favorite pass time. I read everything. From Dostoevsky to Kerouac to Devkota, I read whatever my eyes behold; newspapers, magazines, flyers, political manifestos to Facebook statuses. I even read a lot of phrases which are painted thoughtfully in the rear end of trucks and public buses. I like alphabets and how it reels into words and the words prance around into sentences which in turn become prose, verses, poems, novels and essays. My favorite alphabet is ‘x’ because it looks really cool.

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A Midnight Trail 

Sauntering among the midnight trails

Consumed in its tannine ales,

The vale of Kathmandu city

Its ancient lust and momentary giddy

Throws a fancy down the whim

To seduce the next goddess queen,

As she peeks through the moonlight wide

Her windows ajar for scorn and chide,

Upon the city she does curse

For the empty, callous merchants purse,

Are never enough for her wandering lust

Across the hills and over the mountains

Where her lovers dwell

Seduce her memory.

How her angers swell

Into a stranger, jovial as I

Passing through the dark and the sky.

She permits and I enter

Her garret smells of tobacco and charcoal

Where sorrow and pity dole,

But she’ll sting like a hornet

And dance like a housefly

As we summerset

In the trance of her flesh

Till the last bill is spent

And the soul shall repent,

The morrow and its seclusion.

On The Road

As the countdown to the New Year began, Mukhe, in cultural shock gaped through the crowd as strangers with crispy Sherpa beers and acerbic mocktails, enthralled in this ebony madness, lighted by neon lights led by a trail of warm yellow jumped hither and thither like frogs on acid, for shelter from a storm of unreserved happiness, ready to welcome uncertain times which would bring joys to some and maladies to the rest.

I had finished Kerouac’s On the Road just a day ago and in awe of such post war young Americans, pioneers of the Beat Generation, hippy prototypes, I was feeling quite sprightly already. I remembered of Hemingway who allegedly said ‘The idea is not to get drunk. It is to stay drunk’. In spite of his uptight upbringing, having traveled the orient, Mukhe led the entrouage with a grim countenance throughout the night of drunken revelries and brief encounters with pseudo philosophical battles of wits and other such mumbo jumbos.

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The World Is A Vanity Fair

I used to have sudden, violent urges to be free. I wasn’t at liberty to parade my perspectives and judgments. Let’s say, I was rather inhibited by my social milieu. I met people who were absolutely and relatively free. I, on the other hand was relatively enslaved. I stayed inhibited since my teenage years where I had my share of run-ins with drugs, high life and incoherent family values. These restrictions made me yearn for freedom and I used to imagine that to be free was to be able to say no to family life. I abhorred family life and societal values. I still do to some degree. My family wasn’t a conservative one but when your daughter is doing drugs and hanging out with prodigies for her classmates who in spite of their nomadic life and drug use were destined to succeed in life. I on the other hand had no idea what I was gonna do. I was a fuck up.

Little conviction, even less talent and big dreams was what I had to my name. A day dreamer, a nihilist, an atheist and a rigid moralist. My sense of propriety was so gluten free that once in school I told my teacher that a high mark in one of my papers was erroneous and I had only earned second rate marks. When that Department recalculated my paper, it was true. They gave me a point for my honesty and I gleefully accepted the gift. My friends made a mockery out of me that day. I still feel like an imbecile. In soothe, I was a hair-raising hippy from the 60’s. I don’t like the hippies, but since we human beings tend to brand everything, I was an unreasonable hippy adrift in the purgatory of spiritual cum hedonistic measures.  Anyways, I said fuck to humanity during my adolescence when a girl I had been having an affair left me like she’d left her truly yours. The whole roller-coaster of an affair turned me into a savage. I became a Patriot.

As a jingoist, I wasn’t a brilliant one. But I wasn’t bad either. It sounds ridiculous to measure patriotism but everyone measures it anyways.

‘What have you done for your country?’

‘Fuck you, I eat local momos daily to support the local economy’.

For my part, I deliberated a hunger strike to call into attention the misery of my fellow countrymen. It turned out to be miserable for my friends instead. Well, I can proudly say that I once hadn’t eaten for three days and nights straight. There in hunger, my patriotism faded.

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Nepal: Gulab ko Kaada

Big Brother vs Big Bully

“The Pahadi elites have always created the notion of anti-India in Nepal which the people of Nepal needs to understand”. This is the summary of most Indian diplomats and media personals when they infer the recent political situation in Nepal. Or is it?

What Indian commentators should quintessentially understand is that Nepal hasn’t gone anti Indian but with the ghastly realization that Nepalese are ultra-dependent on India for almost everything, the people have chosen to go pro-Nepal. With a big help from the Modi government, which is treating SAARC like his own party, and Nepal as a buffer state of India, things are going really critical for him to handle. Well, at least pervious Indian governments with their own ingenuity and collective political greed of Nepalese politicians had the situation well under control. The Modi government has not only unified the people of this country but to our own amazement, even these so-called democrats, communists and ethnic leaders.

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Lolita by Nabokov

Have you ever condemned a man or even a literary character so much so that you understand him and have sympathy and adulation towards him which in the end commensurates that animosity. Well, Lolita isn’t really about Lo. but Mr. Humbert Humbert’s memory of her; impish, manipulative and destructive. What gaudy adjectives can’t be used to describe his personality. Humbert is a compulsive ego-maniac, hand wringing, etherally guilt ridden and timid inside, yet he is a gentleman. However, it is almost ubiquitous that Humbert is a paedophile and in luck after he reaches the Haze household, rather reluctantly and meets Lo. the light of his life, fire of his loins, his sin, our conscience, his soul, our disgust. One can sense that it’s always going to be Humbert vs I (the reader) from the outset.



ta. Read the rest of this entry »

Making a Temporary Shelter House for Earthquake Survivors (How to)

Upon my visit to Gorkha district with People in Need (PIN), I had an opportunity to work with some of the most honest and diligent people I have ever met. On my last day at Gorkha, I volunteered to join Daniel and Martina to make a model shelter house for the people of Nanglepani. I had absolutely no idea even how to hammer a nail properly, but with their instructions and pragmatic, simple ideas, I managed to pull off the day. At the onset, I had no idea how a shelter house was to be built but, by the end of the day, I had a stream of ideas running through my mind on how to build more shelter houses that can help the people dwell for a time being.

The core idea behind it is to teach the survivors of the earthquake, how to build a temporary shelter house with the resources from their toppled construction. It is meant to encourage the people to build their own shelters instead of waiting for government reliefs and I/NGO aids. Let’s face it, one day they’ve got to rebuild their own homes again, without any external assistance. That’s what it addresses, ‘helping them to help themselves’.

Let’s begin with some rudimental instructions

  1. Clear all the stuffs and clean the designated area.
  2. Level the area if required.
  3. Organize and arrange the available building materials. i.e corrugated irons, bamboos, timbers (into lengths), tarpaulins, plastic coverings etc
  4. Conceive an idea of what to build after observation of the arranged materials.

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I said, Goodbye to Romance

My love! Do you remember the time when you whispered to me, “I would love to give you a blowjob in this moshpit”. I was ecstatic over the idea. But it wasn’t the idea of an erotic setting that set flames to my heart but the chaos and disorder that you would see through to make me happy.

But in sooth, it’s been a while that I don’t feel nourished. It hasn’t been quite the surge of emotions that should have suspended me into oblivion and as I should have liked to dangle to and forth, but it hasn’t been quite so. I like despair and I loathe happiness. It’s all meaningless and if it’s meaningless then I might well be meaningless in my own existence, I have begun to ponder. But with the ugly reality clinging on to my mind, for some time now, I can’t be lost in oblivion. Yes, love has been beautiful to me, such brilliant billow of lifelessness can one be engulfed into. I wonder if I could ever feel despair again. But, I am in despair now. It`s ironic but it`s not complicated. This kind of despair is the despair of love. Read the rest of this entry »

Silence Fest: Jindabad, Divine Influence & Day 1

BHRIKUTI MANDAP. On a rather hot, autumn October, Silence Festival-V has kick started. In the morning Nepal Inked, a tattoo fiesta for those who were interested to ink their skin, took the center stage. In afternoon the annual concert was held.  And thus, Silence has now gained its unabating momentum.

After a notably lengthy, tuning session and paraphernalia decorative, opening act of the Festival, Antyesti, a Kathmandu based Experimental/Technical Death metal band stormed the venue with its shrilling vocals and fast paced tracks.  With their original songs (including Alien Invasion) they also covered Necrophagist and Dying Fetus. When the sun is high and the crowd is languid, Antyesti commenced with a fine performance for other bands to follow. Read the rest of this entry »