I got off of work at 6:15 pm cursing everything in sight. I had just found out this morning of The Event being held this evening and was robbed of the one chance to meet someone I admire. I already was an hour and fifteen minutes late. As I started walking down the sheer chaos that is the Kathmandu sidewalk, I realized where I was. Then it hit me – something that I’m not a big fan of could come to my rescue. Could I still make it? I mean, if I grabbed a cab, I would get to New Road in what, 15 minutes max? I knew I wasn’t all that late now. My country’s long standing culture was on my side. Ladies and gents, I give you – Nepali Time.

The cabbie was more in a hurry than I was. How I wished the 601 incompetent and shameless individuals who were ordered by the people of Nepal to come up with a Constitution for this country had the same intensity as this cabbie (more on those men and women in the coming days). So in about 8 minutes, I was in front of the NAC building, New Road, Kathmandu Nepal. I ran towards the entrance and barged in huffing and puffing looking like a fool, not for the first time as you will find out soon, and there she was. Thanking well, no one in particular, I took my seat. The book recital event organized by Quixote’s Cove, I think it was, was about to end, as some guy was informing about 30 people there. So for the (n + 1)th time in my life, I was wrong. Turns out, this event, ladies and gents, did not, start on Nepali Time.

What do I do? What do I do? Do I go up to her and start talking to her about Giridhar? I have this picture of Giridhar on my mind – shutting himself up in that stinky room and drinking himself to ruins; about Giridhar going to the party office to draw strategy all wasted; about Giridhar not recognizing a true friend who cared; about this drunkard of a character who didn’t care about much other than his ‘raksi’. I wanted to talk to her about Binita, the widow. The way  Binita is portrayed is as real life a character as I’ve come across when reading a fiction. If you’ve spent time in a “chiya-pasal”, you’ll know what I mean. About Nayan Raj and of course, the tutor himself – Rishi whose independence is something that I was inspired by, despite him being a Communist. So you see people, I had lots to talk about with Ms. Manjushree Thapa about her gem – The Tutor of History: hands down the best novel written by a Nepali in English.

The Tutor of History captures the fabric of our culture and our society like no other. It smells of Nepal. Nothing about The Tutor of History is what you would call blow-you-awayish, by the way. Its simplicity is what Ms. Thapa has used to tell a Nepali story and win over the reader. Ms.Thapa has beautifully crafted a painting for the reader, in the form of words, that paints in colors of genius, the culture, and six-months in the life of the Nepali heartland.

Yes, I did exactly what I’ve always done when faced with a situation where I have to strike up a conversation with people that I admire – I sounded stupid and managed to put my foot in my mouth. I was chatting up with this kuire dude who was the first in this makeshift line that had formed in front of Ms. Thapa. As he is about to go up to her, another dude cuts in and takes his three books for her to sign. People, please, for the love of god, stay in line. Can we do that please? Wait our turn? I mean come on, what hurry was he in? If he was trying to be a show-off, he picked the wrong country! Well, the kuirey turned out to be ‘racisty’ as he hissed that’s what Indians do. Thank God I was meeting Manjushree Thapa shortly.

Do I speak in Nepali or do I speak in English? I want to talk to her in Nepali but I don’t want to stutter, which is unlikely if I use my mother tongue. If I speak in English, well, I really didn’t want to speak in English. Neither did I want to stutter like a fool. Imagine this: “n .. n .. na.. namaste Tha .. Thap .. THAPA ji!”. Goodness!

Me: “Hi Majushree, my name is Nepali and I’m a big fan. It’s great to meet you.”

MT: “Hi Nice meeting you as well.”

Me: “My father’s a poet, he loves to write, he hasn’t published anything, and I don’t know why. Anyway, I bought him Tilled Earth a while ago, and he loved it. So I wanted to buy him The Country Is Yours, plus he’s pretty knowledgeable about Nepali Literature as well. It’d be great if you could autograph this book for him.”

So far so good. I tell her my father’s name. As she begins signing the book, I realize I don’t have much time as I sense a line forming behind me.

Me: “So how were you inspired to write The Tutor of History? It’s an amazing book.”

MT: “Oh I spent some time at that part of the country during election. So a book out of that was a no-brainer. I’m surprised you liked it, most people don’t seem to be able to read the whole book.”

Me: “Yes I know. I’ve met some of them. You gotta grind through it.”

Wait. Stop. What? Grind through the best book ever? What the hell was I saying? And .. grind? What is this, Club Platinum?

MT looks indifferent. The smile from her face stays but not as concretely as it did a while ago. I’m well, me. Stupid!

Me: “I meant .. for them .. grind .. not me. I loved it ..  grind umm .. I mean!”

Me: “So when do we expect another book from you?”

MT: “It’ll be out in May .. right around Constitution time.”

Some guy from behind the line: “You believe that they will write it? Ha!”

Me: “Thanks Manjushree. I greatly appreciate it!”

MT: “Bye!”

And that was it. Made a complete fool out of myself but held composure – at least, I didn’t stutter .. I think. Anyway, I had a damn good present for my father and a hopefully good story to tell you guys and my friends who do not know that this blog exists, about.

As I stepped out of the Nepal-Bharat Library in the NAC building in New Road, I couldn’t help but glance at what she had written for my father. As I turned the page, this is what I saw: