I got into the tuk-tuk excitedly looking forward to banging its tin top with my knuckles at Thapathali; I never got to do so because the tuk-tuk came to an abrupt halt when it neared New Baneshwore. 5pm was quickly approaching and I had gotten off work early. After light showers earlier, the roads – even peeeeech, had turned into a hopeless puddle. The tuk-tuk wouldn’t budge; it seemed as if its odd frame would be engulfed by the heavy traffic all around it at any instant. Shortly, someone stepped into our tuk-tuk and declared there was an impromptu chakka jam imposed – from 5:00 to 5:30pm, in New Baneshwore Chowk … only a few meters away. Hence, the traffic jam … therefore I am? I had to see for myself – the intricacies of this new bandhing trend fast impressing bandhkaaris of all seasons across this load-shedded country.

After paying the tuk-tuk lady RS 15, I headed off towards the Chowk to take in the free show brought to us, in all probability, by Thugs, Inc. A man who looked irritated as if fire-ants were wreaking havoc in his underarms, was blaring his loud face into the microphone:

“THANK YOU FRIENDS .. FOR SUPPORTING OUR CAUSE. THIS CORRUPT GOVERNMENT HAS TO GO. THIS CORRUPT PRIME MINISTER MUST STEP DOWN. RIGHT NOW!”

This man was smack in the middle of New Baneshwore Chowk addressing the countless commuters who were jammed in traffic thanks to him and his entourage of about 8. He was addressing the awed pedestrains who were staring at his audacity in disbelief. He was addressing more than a dozen Armed Police Forces personnel all decked out in riot (curbing) gear with a stern look on their faces. Like the tuk-tuk earlier, they too were not budging – something wasn’t right – - it was like a dog ignoring a tempting piece of bone. He was addressing me. I felt as if my heart had stopped pumping blood and had switched to pumping rage instead – a heavy dose of anger started to sweep through my veins. Him and his cohorts then started to chant slogans against the government.

This was a protest. Ok understood. We all have a fundamental right to do so. Ok, got it. But in this manner? By doing all they can (and whenever they please) to disrupt our lives? What about our fundamental rights to defy such bullshit? They were 8; the APF dudes easily outnumbered them. The commuters, of course, numbered in the hundreds. The APF had formed a barrier on the crosswalk ensuring that no motor could pass through and rain on our thugs parade. Which side were the cops on? I felt I had to do .. something.

I to an APF dude: “Key bhairako yo?”

APF dude: “Chakka jam!”

I: “Yeso garna paincha ra bhaneko? Yo ta atti nai bhayo ni. Tyo manchey ta tyaha cha jahaan traffic police hunu parney ho. Ra jahan traffic police cha, tyahan ta gaadi haru hunu parney ho ni .. hoina ra?”

APF dude:

I: “Tiniharu aath jana cha, tapaiharu chaudha jana .. rokna sakidaina? Yo ta sarai nai bhayo bhaneko. Kei garnus na yaar! Kam sey kam tyaha gayera uslai bhanna ta milcha hola ni ki BRB lai hatauna traffic jam nai garney ho bhaney Baluwatar ma BRB ko dera agadi garnu bhanera ..”

APF dude: “Mann ta cha ni .. order po chaina ta hamilai.”

The APF dude then switched his demeanor back to donning a sterner face; he looked as if he was almost about to fake growl. Those cops sort of reminded me of the barking stray dogs in my tole – barking like there will never be a tomorrow but then that’s all they ever do: bark, without hurting a fly.

So then here we were. The police weren’t doing anything. The thugs were doing whatever they want. The commuters were patient enough to let them run their little show. Had the police not set up body barriers on the crosswalk, the motorists easily would’ve had the upper hand assuming they would’ve pressed their accelerators which would’ve made made one, bad-ass, statement; not to mention running out the thugs, if not running them over. Wishful thinking there because the motorists, of course, didn’t do such thing. They just waited. The pedestrians, for their part, seemed to be thankful for some free entertainment.

I, for one, wanted to confront the yelling chakajamkaari. With such intent I took a step towards him. And immediately took two back as I thought about .. things. Maybe the motorists and the rest of pedestrians alike were also thinking about the same .. things. Maybe the police were also thinking about the same ..things. Wondering how much longer will we be thinking about these .. things, I succumbed to the thuggery and hurried west towards Thapathali – on my own two protesting feet.

A friend, when I’d told her that I’d written on Dance Bar dancers and prostitutes for WAVE had quipped: “You do have a theme, don’t you?” That was a few months ago. Last month WAVE asked me to contribute again; why they keep doing this to themselves, I will not understand. But since requests like these make me want to head out to Sajilo Printers in Purano Baneshwore Chowk and have the little kid who runs the place print business cards that designates me .. a ‘Writer’, I obliged.

The outcome was an apology .. long overdue (outcome also has mentions of a few songs of Nirvana – this post’s title not included). Something I had bundled up inside me for a long time which needed to come out; and thanks to the good editor at WAVE, it did for all the world to read and it also did .. complemented by a brilliant sketch by D. This month’s issue’s been out on the shutters for a few days already so go grab one before the next Nepal Bandh. If you can’t find a copy – and I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t (it’s already mid-August people) – I’ll sell you one in black. Yes. Do leave a comment below if you are interested.

If that doesn’t convince you that you ought to go get a copy of WAVE this very instant, well, this will – one word: GUFFADI. Yes sirs and yes madames .. The GUFFADI is featured along with the ubiquitous Aakar in this month’s issue of WAVE. There’s also another blogger Surath Giri getting some wave .. from WAVE (?). How about bloggers getting some print love from the mainstream? (And WAVE – can we hear from some female bloggers in the next one please? There are quite a few out there, if you take a look around. Thanks.)

Bottom line – get a copy peeps! This issue will make it easier on you to ride out the Dec 21st, 2012 apocalypse. Trust me and you ought to be okay.

So anyway, at Tandoori Chicken Corner in Purano Baneshwore last evening, when I entered to order chana-ko-tarkari to go, the following conversation was taking place:

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “…no no, after Belgium, I went to Norway; I had to complete it, you know? Didn’t take me long though .. 3 years and I was done with my PhD.”

Guy without any whiskey but staring at his friend’s whiskey as if he could do with a sip: “Oh .. oh.”

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “Yeah .. and after that I went to Spain and lived there for a year. That’s where I met my wife – she’s awesome.”

Guy without any whiskey but staring at his friend’s whiskey as if he could do with a sip: “Oh .. oh.”

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “Then I thought .. I’m married now, what’s there to do anymore, you know? And then I did something that I never thought I would. Well .. what do you know? A little *whistles* .. and here we are with not 1, not 2, but 3 .. yeah buddy! 3 kids! Can you believe that? I mean .. WOW!!”

Guy without any whiskey but staring at his friend’s whiskey as if he could do with a sip: “Woot .. woot.”

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “3 kids, foreign land – who knows how they’ll turn out to be, you know? I mean look at me – turned out okay, right? I mean .. and then, I convinced my wifey that where I’m from used to be a Shangrila and to re-Shangrilafy it, my former-Shagrila needed me and her and the kids. Here I am!”

Guy without any whiskey but staring at his friend’s whiskey as if he could do with a sip: “Oh .. oh.”

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “Talking to the wifey turned out to be easy enough. Now that she’s here, she looks at me as if she wants to strangle me right away and looks at the kids as if she wants to protect them from … me. I’m in a tough spot now, buddy. Parents are getting old and they don’t want to be anywhere else. Wifey, of course, doesn’t care.”

Guy without any whiskey but staring at his friend’s whiskey as if he could do with a sip: “Oh .. oh.”

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “So we had a bit of a tussle a while ago, you know? And I wasn’t even drinking! I believe I’ve been kicked out of my apartment … now that Baba and Ama have gone back to the village, my team, my back-up is gone. Even the kids have sided with wifey, I think. They were not so keen about going to ST.XAVIERS from next year. I was thinking of taking them to Budhanilkantha but I think that train has already left the station … not the TIA though … hahahaha … sorry man – just a little buzzed. This whiskey’s a strong one!”

Guy without any whiskey but staring at his friend’s whiskey as if he could do with a sip: “Oh .. oh.”

Guy with what looked like a 30ml shot of whiskey: “So what’s going on with you man? Long time … wow! I remember your father used to run a momo place right across the street. I didn’t see it there anymore .. old man must own a 5-star by now eh? Hahaha .. I liked him and aunty. Ani .. you must also be married by now? C’mon fill me in! Wait but not before dai here fills this glass right up to the brim. What say man?
Dai .. ma ra mero saathi lai duita Red label double shot dinu na hai.”

Dai: “Chaina! Tapai ko yo saathi ley sabai sakidiyo agi nai .. pheri budi sita jhagada parecha. Dui bottle ladaisakyo. Aja delivery pani ayena .. k garney hola khoi yo des ma ta!”

not the one to hold herself back
she puts on something dark and paints her lashes black
a flat fake mole is carefully, skillfully positioned
below the symmetric groove of her lips

a black jacket with a बाकस smell
she gives it a thought
she loves the rains
but hates how it makes her work-clothes stick to her skin
thus
over that something dark
she hesitantly puts on her black jacket
yes the one with the बाकस smell
and instantly feels the dull heat grappling and smothering her from within
she’s got no choice – umbrella would be bad for business

hair straight, pants gripping tight everywhere
heeled up at the feet and a luscious red freshly applied on her lips
she slings a black purse laced with shiny metal over her shoulders
with both hands in her jacket’s pockets
she walks out into the galli and almost manages to fool the rain
just like she’s fooled hundreds

her hair is a bit wet yet sustaining
her heels boast of inches versus the barely-over-zero millimeters of light showers
as she reaches the end of Asan
she looks towards the right at the oncoming one-way traffic
and plots to make a clean cross

soaked with rain and enjoying every bit of it
i’m standing on the opposite side
i’m amongst The Others: rain-scared, umbrella gripping masses
looking towards the left i willfully try hard to scam the same one-way traffic
and fail miserably
that’s when our eyes meet –
just as she steps over the curb that borders Rani Pokhari
after effortlessly crossing over
over the deafening honks
over the maddening automobiles
over the blinding headlights
over the suffocating rest: the dog-eat-dog city crowd

she quickly looks away as if she’s never seen me before
i honor the disregard
she hurries towards Bagbazaar – blending into the fast falling dusk
dusk which is slithered from every which way by falling drops of rain
courtesy of a striking July sky

another turn, another untimed take-out
another burn, another unblurred bailout

about this poem now
see it isn’t all that neat
but please
do take a seat .. because:
i’ll scrawl across the sky with your name on it
i’ll drain out the ocean and put you to blame for it
i’ll reshuffle the craters
and i’ll reengineer the equator
o for some more love of the metaphor
i’ll burn a hole to put a mole
a sole solely for the ground
that ought to shut down all the haters
and cause them to make a sound
and get them to come, to come finally around

surround yourself with all the love that you can hoard
trust me – only do so on your own accord
else you may find there’s some that
you just may not be able to afford

keyboard says this is just another play
a pathetic play at words
conscience says this is just another day
a doomsday already spelled
to mark the end of another world
a world in which we belong
which is just as beautiful as is Shillong
we – you and i
interconnected via jarred visions and jaded ideals
all of which will very soon die
only makes me wonder who’ll be the first one to say bye bye

try as i might to take my likes in jest
friends say i really need to take a rest
they say it’s only for my best
test – they tell me
is what i need to put at stake
to not another sad little mistake to make
out of this life
that’s starting to look more and more like
it’s nothing short of a chinese made fake

take what you can from all that is past
see what you believe to be all that doesn’t last
“The Eyes Have It”
titled mr bond
of what was to become
that did never come to be
left you clinging to a path
a path that you could very well see
swirling like a sinner who sinned to be free
prancing like a provider who provided to no degree

agree is a ment that will not cease to dement
hungry is a dent that’s as cruel as cement
i hear my stomach running and rowdy rumble
and it’s causing me to get out and groan and grumble
mumble i do as i listen to the Fighters who fight The Foo
stumble i stumble as i head on over to the loo
(zoo’s the one place i would really hate to make poo poo?)

too, too damn bad it is for i know i will not be no more cooking
regardless of whether or not anyone is anymore looking
hence the take-out and another wordplay done
thus the bailout and another night to be withdrawn