The groom was from a Brahman family and the bride was a Chetri.  Recently, they had tied a lifelong knot in a New Jersey “Maharaja” Indian Restaurant.  It was great to see the families from both the sides rejoicing this wonderful event.  And being analytical thinker, I started looking back and comparing our contemporary Hip- Hop and Pop culture with the times when people enjoyed the movie-“Mother India”.  Something has changed, no as a matter of fact; a lot of things have changed.  These days, as inter-caste and inter-racial marriages have become more common, we seldom dwell on different caste systems that we used to have (and still have in some ways and forms).  It is safe to say that we have been experiencing a revolutionary change in our social thinking towards castes and race.

There used to be a time when there were strict rules and regulations when it came to matrimonial affairs.  The two distinct religious divisions in Newari Society- those who are Buddhists and those who follow Hinduism, were tabooed from marrying among each other.  And even within these two groups, there were still many subgroups that had their own marriage eligibility criteria.  Similar were the stories with other castes in Nepal.  Up until not too long ago, and I am talking decades rather than centuries, this kind of rules governing weddings were strictly followed with serious reprobation if one decided to go against the social norms.  And because of this there were more “arranged” marriages than marriages resulting from “falling in love”.

With the advent of Bollywood and to certain degree Hollywood movies, the notion that the human nature of love, affection and attraction to opposite sex should not be oppressed and should be expressed started taking more firmer hold in our society.  As a result, it became acceptable to have friendly conversation with your classmates even though they were of opposite sex.  I remember my grandmother telling me stories about her youth when she used to get so terrified talking to boys.  She never talked to any males, and in one fine day- she was married to this person she had never seen before and soon she started popping out babies like there was no tomorrow.  At the end of her baby producing career she had popped out eleven of them. 

And it has not been too long ago, since the flooding of satellite channels and MTV, our society has been going through this rapid change of modernization (if you would call it modernization).  I remember the time, and that was only a decade ago, when I used to have miserable time conversing with my female friends on the phone, as my parents would have their third eye open watching my every step.  These days though, it is not uncommon to see boys and girls hanging out together in the Nanglo Restaurant.  Gestures of affection like holding hands between two lovers in public does not draw much attention these days like it used to ten years ago.  Parents have been more acceptable these days of this kind of interaction between boys and girls. 

Going back to the original topic of this article, inter-caste and inter-racial marriages these days have been almost acceptable.  Still I see parents of eligible bachelors who are here in the US, looking for Nepali mates, and they say that caste does not matter; it is better if he or she is a Nepali.  So in a way there is still a preference on Nepali inter-caste bonding than inter-racial one (Nepali with a Non-Nepali).

Having said that, our society has been moving on a fast lane.  In two generations we have been able to change the whole landscape of our caste system.  Prithivi Narayan’s claim of Nepal being a garden of four divisions and thirty six sub divisions of different castes is no longer holding its realistic grounds.  Rather, soon we will be a mix bag of multi-caste society.  This could be a good thing as such situation will help eliminate many cross caste discriminations and prejudices.  In a way, we do have to credit Bollywood and Hollywood for this change.  As we are a society that loves to follow than lead, at least in this case, we are following the right and the only path to better social structure. 

The World we live in is such a small place.  Things we do revolve around this small world.  In our lives we will come across only few hundreds of people and we will care about only few among them.  Our lives rotate around that handful of people we know.  So no matter where we go and what we achieve, the circumference and the radius of the circle of our lives rarely change its parameters.  In that sense, life is both simple and at the same time very complicated.

As we get old, and as our lives become more rigid and brittle, we look for comfort in our social circle.  It has been well over a decade since I graduated from my high school.  And it did not occur until our many reunions that what we look for in our lives are some comfort zones and sometimes those comforting experiences come from the sense of superiority we get in those reunions.  At the same time, such reunions could also be a source of inferiority complex.

It was the morning of our High School reunion, my wife and I got up real early in the morning unlike our usual late Saturday mornings.  My wife, who graduated from the same High School that I graduated from, was very excited about this reunion.  After a thorough shower, a deep facial and new hair design, she was analyzing and re-analyzing about her outfit for the reunion.  Not to be outdone in any form, I also scrubbed my bodily areas with recently purchased, highly scented body soap; shaved hairs from unwanted areas; and applied smooth and gentle yet musky aftershave to highlight my facial structure.  We both wanted to look a lot younger than the usual youth our age represented.  Somehow I wanted to hide my receding hairline and my wife was selectively rooting out all her grey hair.  For a day, we would do anything to look better, or rather look much like what we looked like ten years ago. 

We got to the reunion with a tremendous sense of excitement.  My wife wondered about how Sangita would look like today.  She hated Sangita for some reason when she was in High School.  And I imagined how Umesh Kale would look like today.  Probably fat, pot-belled and bald.  That was a good thought simply because I disliked him so much 10 years ago and I have not seen him after the graduation.  For most part, my wife and I were silent and in deep thoughts while we drove to the hall.

As we entered the hall we saw Ramesh and Usha.  I could tell it was Ramesh because of his unusually big and unique forehead and Usha because of her enormous ear lobes.  They were friends that we had not seen for ages and it was great to see them.  Soon, old memories flooded my head, almost all the graduating class was there.  Everyone looked exactly the same except lot of them put on thousands of pound of extra weight; some were visibly bald; some were pregnant and some were there with their child and children.  Soon the moment of visual inspection subsided and gradually as we picked the glasses of Rum, whisky, Coke, we started conversing about our past 10 years- what we did, where we went and who we dated and who we married.  After about four glasses of Rum and Coke, I started going off on what kind of business I am in and who I have so far impressed and what would be my future prospects and asset.  I did not feel guilty or snobbish at all, one because I was riding way high on the slow and effective waves of alcohol and two because everyone was competing against each other and trying to prove who had achieved the most and who was worth more than anyone else.  There might be some people who might have broken away and took refuse at a corner because they did not want to brag about their janitorial career, but to most part no one was less than no one else.  Meanwhile I lost my wife somewhere.  It was getting pretty late and I wanted to head home after bullshitting so much that I ran out of my imaginary materials.  Finally, I located my wife in a group consisting of highly perfumed women.  Some of them I recognized and some I did not.  I tapped on to my wife’s shoulder to get her attention, but she was busy telling her stories about her life in Boston.  I waited couple of minutes before I demanded her attention.  And finally we got out of that place.  While driving home, we both had tons of updates and stories.  And we talked about this event for weeks to come.

Having said that, I have started noticing that as we get old and achieve whatever dream we pursue, it is very important for us for some reason to use our past life as an index to see where we have reached.  It is like a story of an explorer, no matter what he discovers, it becomes very important for him to go back to his place of origin and tell his homeland folks about what he has found and that because he found something he is more superior to all of them and so they should show him some extra respect.  Reunions are all about trying to level off with old foes, gaining more respect and admirations from old friends and either being miserable or making someone miserable.

Right around this time of the year, we-Nepali have these sudden urges to carve some meat and feast on the most carnivorous diet that one can imagine.  Summer Sun has just relieved us from perspiring through our epithelial layers; there is this “just about right” air temperature palpating through our hair and cilia and all the members of our family are itching for some new materialistic assets.  This is a very important time for a Nepali “Lauree” who has migrated to foreign land still dreaming about preserving the traditional heritage of “Gorkhali” history.  No, I am not talking about “Teej”, but rather very popular and dominant “Dashai”.

As I crossed the state line of Massachusetts and entered into the bold and beautiful New Hampshire, my excitement was jumping up and down like never before.  Ram Ji and Shyam Ji were also equally excited about this special journey.  We have been to New Hampshire many times before, but this particular visit was different.  This was different because we had a very specific purpose for our visit.  As a matter of fact, this was a mission and we named it- Operation Khashi Mar.

Operation Khashi Mar was about dedicated effort as a Nepali to mimic Nepali tradition in North America.  This Operation was about our sincere effort to please Goddess Durga for her triumph over evil.  And our destination was Mr. Jack’s ranch in Durham, New Hampshire.  As we pulled over his ranch, with a welcoming smile he asked whether I was Ramchandra.  I replied “no” with a swing of a nod.  He then burped out few other Gorkhali sounding names.  I told Mr. Jack that I am his new customer and that I was there with Ram Ji and Shyam Ji to get a goat.

He then got up from his chair and said “let’s go”.  Mr. Jack was a white fellow with thick beard all over his face.  “For Da-sha-hy right?” he asked.  We said yes.  We were soon in a big barn with many goats.  “Which one?” he said.  We started to look for a handsome, healthy and sacrifice worthy Goat.  There was a little argument between Ram Ji and Shyam Ji as to which one would be the best for our needs, but finally after good twenty minutes we decided to go with this little aggressive, black goat.

Mr. Jack sprung to action immediately.  With Marlboro held firmly with his lips, he grabbed the “chosen goat” and weighed it in a big scale.  It weighed about 50 pounds.  Nice and adequate size to sacrifice for the Durga Mai and later on for all our friends who were going to attend the big Dashai Party that we were organizing.  Mr. Jack wasted no time in rubbing and slitting a deep “Halal” wound into the animal’s throat and we all said “Jai durga”; that signaled the end our Operation Khashi Mar.

Then he skinned the animal, cut open its gut and said “here you go, do the cleaning if you want to get all the inner organs”.  And that was the start of our next Operation- Operation Shit Cleaning.  It took good three hours for us to clean everything and then chop them into small pieces and put them into plastic bags.  We then waved farewell to Mr. Jack promising him a visit next year and headed home with the Dashai Khashi.  Then followed preparation for Goat Curry, Goat Fry, Goat Bar-B-Q and so on.

Having said that, it is funny how we can not get away from who we are.  It would have been lot less work and effort if we had gone to Mohammad’s Halal Meat Store for our meaty needs, but no we had to instead to drive 40 miles to a ranch, observe animal brutality with our own naked eyes, clean the bodily discards and then head home for a Khashi which weighed 50 pounds before the cut and 25 pounds after.  So please give it up to “Mr. Lauree” with great “Gorkhali” traditions.  One thing is for sure, when I pass away from this world, I will have no regret on not having a Dashai without Khashi.   

For a long time I did not understand the Christian perspective on life; life of a regular human being like ourselves.  Christians will tell you that when you come out of your mother’s womb, you are laden with sins of all kinds.  And to clear all these impurities from your soul, you will need Almighty’s help in every step of your life.  I still do not comprehend most of it, however, with recent news on all the available media of communication, one thing is for darn sure- the world is infested with violence, wars and killings.  If you turn on your TV or radio, you are bound to hear these words many, many times a day- terror, terrorism and terrorist.  After September 11, and thanks to Mr. Bush, those words dominated the present times of Mankind (or Womankind to that matter).  And for a brief second, I often tend to believe what the Christians have been saying for centuries; maybe everyone is sinful and hence the violence and the killings.

Going back to the word “terror”; yes, September 11 was a very terrifying event.  Innocent lives were lost and the ones who loved their loved ones were deeply sorrowed for rest of their lives.  It was a big tragedy.  And no one will forget that event.

Now that I have prefaced my story with an American experience, I will try to tell a story that has a similar magnitude of terrorism involved, but that is not entirely an American story but has lot to do with American experience.  This is a story about an emotional and terrifying experience that falls very short on being in a limelight.  This is a story about Mr. Ramesh Risal and his wife Sama Risal.

Mr. Ramesh Risal had a hard life in Nepal.  His parents passed away when he was twelve and he was abused by his big brother all his life.  But somehow he managed to get whatever education he could get.  As time went by he got married to Sama and they had two wonderful daughters.  Situation in Nepal was getting worse both economically and politically, and like thousands of young men Mr. Risal also thought he could go overseas and make some money to support his family.  After giving about eight thousand dollars to an agent, he was able to get a tourist visa to the US.  And that is how he entered to this land of opportunity.  He started working in Restaurants, often putting anywhere from 90 hours to 100 hours per week.  He stayed with five other people in a single bedroom apartment and saved some money.  While returning back to New Jersey from Washington DC, he was nabbed by US Immigration Officers and since his visa had expired, they fingerprinted him and also handed him a deportation letter with court date for appeal.  And that was before September 11.  He went back to New Jersey and never thought about this incident with any seriousness.  Meanwhile, he helped his wife in getting her visa.  Their daughters were admitted to a Boarding School in Kalingpung.  For awhile life had gradually started to brighten up for the Risal family.  Both of them worked hard.  They even bought a house and a new car.  But Ramesh hated being in “Out of Status” condition.  He felt suffocated with the inflexibility of being unable to do things like getting better job, or most importantly being unable to visit his daughters in Nepal.  So when the US Immigration offered an Amnesty Program for the “illegal” immigrants-which ultimately meant green card for them, they immediately jumped into that prospect and hired a lawyer who charged them close to ten thousand dollars to file for the amnesty.  Their Amnesty process went very smoothly, and they were given an interview date with an Immigration Officer after few months.  Mr. Ramesh was waiting for this day.  He could not sleep the whole night before the interview.  He was busy planning a trip to Nepal to see their daughters.  And Mr. and Mrs. Risal planned all night.  That faithful interview day, two Immigration Officers were waiting for him and as soon as they appeared in the Immigration building, they handcuffed him and took him to a county jail charging him with the violation of deportation notice from few years back.  They did not take Mrs. Risal to the jail but they gave her no reason why they took her husband away.  Now, Mr. Risal is waiting for his deportation procedure.  Meanwhile, Mrs. Risal has hired yet another lawyer for appeal.  She has used up all her savings already.  No one knows what will happen to Mr. Ramesh Risal.

Ramesh dreads about the scene of him being escorted to Nepal as a deportee.  He says he would be more than happy to leave this country, but requests the US immigration to give him his dignity and let him leave voluntarily.  These days he sits in the county jail in horror and he is terrified with all the things that have happened to his life.

Having said that, I have known Ramesh for only few months.  I believe he is an honest, hard working man who always seeked a simple life.  But now that his life is in a turmoil, he can not imagine a simple life anymore.  The psychological impact of this event is going to be tremendous and I am not sure whether he will be able to recover from such a sudden and painful impact.  His wife is equally shaken up as well.  She has cried so much that her wells of tear have dried out.  Ramesh and Sama are religious people.  Last weekend we went to a temple and offered laddu to Lord Ganesh to help us out with Ramesh’s case.  At this point Ramesh’s life is in the hands of almighty US Immigration and only time will tell his fate.  And all he wanted was a simple life; it seems there is nothing simple about it for now. (Note:  All the names and characters mentioned in this story are fictitious and do not represent anyone in real life.  It would merely be a coincidence if such case does happen.)

Recently, I had an opportunity to watch a very thought provoking and bizarre interview.  It was on Nepal Television and the interviewee was Mr. Hari Prasad Pandey.  Mr.Pandey is a leading industrialist in Nepal and at one time he was also Minister of Industry in the Nepali government.  And he did something that is unheard of in Nepali Politics or politics of any country to that matter; few years back he got some journalists together and announced that he was guilty of offering bribes to enrich his own personal gains and that he would like the Nepali government to file charges against him and punish him according to laws of the land.

Obviously, in a land where bribery and corruption is not only rampant but also a culture, almost all of the 24 million people were amazed and stunned by this news.  Some thought this was hilarious, some diagnosed Mr. Pandey of having psychological disorder and some, like me, pondered upon the seriousness of the matter in hand.  Upon inaction from the Government of his Majesty, Mr. Pandey decided to inflict self punishment for 3 years; detail of terms and conditions of the punishment can be read in his new book.

Now I do not know how many people bought his (Mr. Pandey’s) book and read the detailed disclosure of self guilt- that is beside the point, but irony is so striking that the whole situation makes you think.  Only Mr. Pandey can judge his sanity or know about the underlying interest in creating such a philosophical dilemma for all the Nepali population.  The deeper question of a society accepting the culture of bribery looms in front of us like a big, old and ugly vine.  Who is more menacing to the society; the one who takes bribe or the one who gives one?  A million dollar question no one seems to answer.  Inaction from Nepali society in General and the government in particular in this case of Mr. Pandey clearly shows that we have embraced this act (bribery) so much in our day to day life that we do not see anything wrong with it.

But hang on; I do not think Nepal is the only nation having this “problem”.  Even in the US, the matter of special interest groups pouring in tons of greens in either Republican or Democratic Party is also a form of “bribery”.  Last time I checked in the dictionary, the meaning of “bribery”, it stated: “to corrupt or influence (one in a position of trust) by favors or gifts”.  Well, campaign contributions can be categorized as Bribes from my perspective.  The question of forming a government through democratic means, by the people and for the people, without any polarization favoring any political agenda is very dubious when you have political campaigns being financially supported by different groups with different interests.

Having said that, being selfish and self centered and indulging oneself in acts that will serve one’s purposes is all natural and human.  So is feeling guilty and asking for forgiveness.  I think Mr. Pandey is trying to come to terms with himself and his guilt and seeking forgiveness in ways that are not commonly seen in any culture.  And that is why this news is so strange and amazing.  I think the situation has demanded all of us to look into our own souls and self-judge and paint honest images of ourselves.  The irony of the situation has been created by the honesty of a man.

New Jersey Turnpike always looked industrial.  Bright sunny days never missed to highlight the hard, metallic industrial look of this otherwise Garden State.  Newark always looked dull and complicated.  And US Route number One crisscrossed through the old and beaten landscape telling stories of different ethnic groups and cultures.  For all its drabness and rusted look, New Jersey still offered something unique to a person like me who had seen enough of Midwest and its hospitality.  I was, in a weird way, happy to have moved from Nebraska to New Jersey.

While driving back to Jersey this weekend, my mind got flooded with flashbacks of old tales- tales that had a good blend of sweetness and bitterness.  It was back in 1996, I moved to New York/ New Jersey area.  The African American lady who was in the Port Authority Information booth was more than happy to show me the hard New York way of hospitality.  As time went by riding the ever crowded subway system of New York underworld, I still remember the initiation of deception and coarse time when I was sold a piece of junk automobile by a Mexican fellow. 

My first roommate was an Indian chap from New Delhi who had a habit of introducing himself to ladies as a British Gentleman.  He could imitate a good British accent.  As a young man ready to explore the big apple, I did my share of bar hopping and Clubbing.  And I came to know lot of Nepali people living in New York City; some were legally admitted to the US and others were in so called “out of Status” situation.  But it never mattered to us, as we were fully engaged in Bar and Booze.  Those were the times when we saw no nights during the weekend.

Moving south to Princeton area, I had a Guatemalan roommate.  I have such a fond memory of that time.  I came to know South America in a very up close and personal way.  My roommate’s girlfriend prepared “tamale” once in a while and I used to love the taste of it.  I did manage to learn some Spanish words and burped out some sentences as well. 

Later on I had a white American roommate.  And that was quite an experience as well.  The level of less personal engagement while we lived together was astounding.  We were both very compromising types I guess.  So neither of us cared to share.  On hindsight it worked out perfectly as we pursued each others’ goals in a very impersonal way.  There were times when we did communicate with each other about family matters, but without putting burden on either side.

Relocating again to the northern Jersey, I came to know New Jersey Nepali community.  And it was a wonderful thing.  Eventually a Nepali Organization was formed and there was a lot of involvement from all the Nepalese. 

It snowed during winter, some year more than other.  I still sneezed and coughed with allergen that I could not identify.  Summer time was mostly camping and picnic events.  Delaware River always fascinated me and six flags never stopped my thrills.  Beaches were always crowded with all kinds of people.  After a while every language sounded Spanish.  Edison always reminded me of Dhoosa and Shrimp fried rice.  And occasionally this Indian community serviced me by providing some serious curry buffets.  And there was Penang- the Malaysian Restaurant.  I always ordered the same dishes every time I went there.  And I never changed the order.  Never.

The other thing New Jersey reminds me of is all the speeding tickets I got penalized for.  I do not know how many times I went to the Courthouses of many Counties.  Till this date I am being pursued by the State of New Jersey to pay the insurance surcharge.  I feel very privileged to have been so adored by the town and state Police.

But having said that, New Jersey is also the State where I brought in my bride, my parents and also my daughter.  It was so nice to visit that State again last week and get together with some of the finest people I have ever come across in my life.  Putting Jersey City’s chaos and dullness aside, the Garden State always showed me some really nice flowers in otherwise manure smelling soil.

As we ride the roller coaster of hope and disappointment, and more disappointment, with the situation unraveling in Nepal in a very dramatic way, it is nice to know that a US Artist is coming out with a Nepali CD.  You know with all the crap that is going around, this is the kind of refreshing news.  At least someone in Kathmandu is not protesting or closing schools or commanding or being commanded. 

I hate to write about politics in general and Nepali politics in particular, but when I hear again and again the rise and fall of Girija Babu from power and continuation of the saga and soap opera, I get really bad itch on my rear crack.  And sometimes the itch becomes so strong and intense that I get blisters.  In this great Nepali drama of King, Politics and guns, I wonder what would be the ultimate outcome. 

I think as a nation we have lost the feel of normalcy.  Gone are those days when we actually talked about going to school and doing home works.  Gone are also those times when we talked about Khashi for Dashai and colors for holi.  As someone said, and I do not know where, we are living in a very interesting time.  In one hand we talk about democracy and freedom, and paralleling we close our stores in fear of vandalism during bandh.  Someone’s freedom is making everybody’s right to light there houses in the evening a nightmare.  I guess we do have this situation because we are definitely living in a very interesting time.

And there are so many conspiracy theories floating around the nation that it has become a conglomerate of mystery.  I guess that is why they named it Shangri-La.  Is King pulling strings of Politicians? Or is it the other way round? How about those Rambo Maoists?  Well, this is a murder mystery at its best.  One of these days we will have to make this into a great movie. 

Driving up to Maine last weekend, I saw vast uninhabited area of land.  And suddenly I had this genius idea in my head of transporting all the warring factions from Nepal to Maine.  We will build a new town for all those immigrants.  Establish them a brand new everything. First batch of new settlers can be Girija Babu and his cronies if they so desire. Sounds wonderful, does it not? Girija will have his own town and he can claim the mayor ship if he so elects.  But, thinking deeply on this idea, soon I realized that he would still be unhappy about everything and his evil power hungry thoughts will overflow to Boston, then New York and then finally Washington D.C., creating havoc through this land and starting bandhs and black outs.  So maybe that is not such a fabulous idea after all.  But a man is allowed to dream, and dream I had while driving to Maine. 

As our nation imported rich cultural heritage from Banarus through our so called “Freedom Fighters”, we are almost there in transforming Nepal into Uttar Paradesh.  At least decade old democracy has brought in the strikes and bandhs we so longed for when we were going to school in Nepal.  I just wish I was going to School now.

Battling the bad weather here in Boston, with constant rain and cold, I just keep on thinking how enjoyable it would be in Kathmandu baking in hot weather and hot political turmoil.  Having said that however, I would like to know what is the secret of Mr. Girija Babu’s good health and long life.

No matter what people say, we are obsessed with our physical looks.  Although God might have created us equally, we as human beings certainly succeeded in marring the whole equality thing and started the profiling parameters to distinguish between good and bad, slim and fat, pretty and ugly.  Everyone is figure conscious these days whether they admit or not.  I hate to admit this myself, I am figure conscious myself.  And that is the reason why for a long time I wanted to have body like Mr. Arnold.  Now, have I been remotely successful in achieving that goal?  The answer is big No!  However, I have been fighting this uphill battle of losing fat on certain areas of my body and building muscle in others.  I am not totally unhappy about my physique, but being optimistic that I am, I strongly believe that my body curvature could be more masculine than Mr. Arnold.

One of the things that I built over the years, especially after landing on this heaven of burgers and buffets, is my firm, round rim of fatty deposits slightly above and right around my waist area.  I would have been classified as prosperous entrepreneur with this physique if I were in Nepal and if the year was around 1970.  But we are on this very challenging 21st century where beauty is so closely associated with body fat that people are having problem keeping up with the current style of having as less adipose fat as possible.  Back in College, and that was about seven years ago, I took physical education class.  And what I discovered astonished and agonized me at the same time.  If you have body fat of more than 12% then you are categorized to be not healthy.  At that time I was probably 22 or so and my body fat was about 21% to my total body mass.  Since that fateful day I have been fighting this uphill battle to control, eradicate and exterminate all the excess fat that I deposited on my lovely body.  And I have been saying- it is not over until it is over.

It was relatively easy to diet when I was in College.  I was living under the poverty line and that actually assisted me in my effort to not be around food.  When I got job after graduation, I actually had money to spend on food and regular lunch outings with co-workers made my body fat expand to the areas of waist area also known as “love handle”.  At that time I was single, and so in order to attract opposite sex and to fit on one of those tight shirts, I actually started working out and doing regular Cardio.  And that in some ways checked my excess body fat deposits.

And I got married.  That is when my wife and me started indulging ourselves with really good food.  It did not take too long before we both ballooned and started growing horizontally.  Soon we realized that we should be on diet.  I looked at different diets that will help somehow prevent me from bursting out from fat.  I thought Atkins diet was pretty good for a while.  But I just got sick of eating meat all the time.  Turned into vegetarian for some time, but that was too bland and empty.  Also did what they call breaking meals into small portions and eating many times a day.  Well, I just ended up eating more and many times a day, completely beating the whole effort.

It is hard to be pretty and handsome.  I commend those that can actually maintain body fat of less than 10%.  See, older you get your body metabolism slows down and no matter what you eat or not eat you will still end up being fat. These days I hate taking any pictures because I am usually disappointed when I see myself.  And even though I have been doing things like sucking in my checks and gut while taking picture, I still see myself being fat in pictures.

Having said that, maybe people like myself who are gravitationally challenged should go to famine stricken countries like Ethiopia and spend some time there.  The other that I personally think we should do is that, we should ban Hollywood movies with stars that are less than 150lbs (for female) and 200lbs (for males). To some degree I blame Hollywood for all this anxiety.  I think it is time to make movies featuring fat actors and actresses.  I still enjoy eating variety of foods in surplus amounts, but I have learned to live with post devour guilt.  That is the way it is.

Usually, I am quite busy on Sundays.  However, this Sunday was an exception.  I literally had nothing to do.  And to add to my blues, it was raining and looked awfully depressing outside.  I was by myself- home alone!  So, with all things considered I decided to stay under the warmth and comfort of my Martha Stewart comforter and watch Cable all day.  And that is exactly what I did.

Now, give a man a remote and he will definitely hit all the buttons of the device and flip through channels as if there is no tomorrow.  That was the case with me too.  Usually my favorite channel is PBS, so right around 11am I watched “History of Jazz” by Ken Burns on PBS.  It also happened to be PBS’s fund raising event.  So, every 10 minutes they were asking for money.  I love PBS and I enjoy watching the channel for thought provoking shows.  However, I am little tight on the money and at this time I can not afford any extra fund going to PBS.  I do feel guilty of not being able to contribute financially for their excellent show, so I changed the channel partly because I wanted to minimize the guilt factor and partly because the Jazz program was going on for hours.  The next channel I landed on was FOX News.  They will remind you again and again that they are “fair” and “balanced” news Channel.  If I were a Republican perhaps this statement would hold true to ground, but if you believe on school of thought other than conservative republicans, this News channel will annoy the hell out of you.  I usually like to turn on this channel when I am pumping iron or when I need that extra aggravation to motivate myself.

I think, at any given time, I can only watch four and a half minutes of Fox News, then I have to change the channel.  You can only take so much of War against Terror and War against Iraq and stuff like that.  Now I am also a die-hard fan of History Channel and Food Network.  Looking at those WWII clips in black and white amazes me a lot.  I guess if you make black and white documentary with little fast forward pace, even WWII will look like a comedy show.   Food Network is my favorite.  When I was in College, I would be eating Peanut Butter Sandwiches and watching Food Network.  It greatly enhanced my Sandwich eating experience.

Over the years I realized that watching television actually acts like an index to your age.  Case in point, when I was in 8th grade, watching Grammy Awards was such a big deal.  It was so important for our existence.  Now, I can not stand Grammy and all the acceptance speeches laden with emotions it carries.  So I guess this definitely concludes that I am over age 19 bracket.  Also, Television discriminates between male and female viewers.  The programs my wife watches is entirely different than the programs I watch.  And we are lucky to have two tubes catering to the needs of two people living under the roof of the same house.  There is no way I would be able to compromise on my viewing taste.  I would not watch Soap Operas with my wife no matter whatever incentives she gives me.  I am pretty firm on this decision.  I am sure when my daughter grows up she would develop viewing taste of her own and we will have to accommodate that change as well.

Having said that, a major portion of our lives is spent in front of TV.  I still remember the time when Nepal Television first started their broadcasting back in mid 80s.  We spent numerous hours adjusting antennas over the roof of our house.  It was a family time, time for some people to compromise on some irreconcilable differences.  It helped bridge gap between generations.  Adults were actually seeking help of young people to achieve the perfect reception on their television.  It narrowed the gap between generations, reconciled the bitter neighbors and added quality time to family members.  Now, these days, however, with too many channels, families are having feuds.  And everyone wants the control of that remote; what up with that?  In this regard, television has been both boon and curse in our lives.  By the way, there are some great programs lined up tonight.  So make sure you get that remote in your control.

Last week I had gone to Walmart Auto Department to change oil in my car.  The gentleman ahead of me in the line told the cashier that he was from Jasper, Texas.  A night before, there was a show on PBS about Jasper, Texas.  It was a town hall meeting participated by residents of Jasper to discuss the event that happened five years ago.  White men dragged a black man behind a pick up truck until his body disintegrated into pieces.  They dragged this man a good three miles.

So when the Gentleman ahead of me mentioned Jasper, I had to ask him-“Did you watch that show?” And while we both waited for the Oil change, we started up this conversation about the event that had transpired five years ago in Jasper, Texas.  This Gentleman was white and he was in New Jersey managing Construction work.  To ease him to open up, I made it clear that I judged the event from an independent perspective- neither white nor black.  There were lot of things he said; I agreed.  And yet I had some reservation on some opinions he had expressed.  We both agreed that racism is everywhere and that Jasper is not an exception.  But at the same time Jasper is not such a bad place to live.  Media has to be blamed for giving Jasper such a bad reputation, and yet without it we would never had discussed about this existing issue.  The Slavery way of life has ended but it is still haunting the Caucasian population.  Seventy percentage of US population is on defensive position and the minority on offensive role in this game of racism.  This is the reality of America. 

Come to think about this very issue, I can not stop but think about how things play out back in Nepal.  The Caste System in Nepal promotes this very notion of dividing a society into layers.  The top layer dominates the bottom layer and treats them with the sense of inferiority.  And this is still in practice in our homeland.  And I think it is safe to deduce that Nepal still has slavery and that we are experiencing what America experienced 50 or 60 years ago.  The problem and complication of Nepal might not be exactly parallel to the situation in the US, but as a society we still have mistrust and division among us.

The issue on hand that we can talk about to illustrate this very division is the case of mistrust between Newars and Bahuns.  I was in Baltimore once and I had the opportunity to meet up with bunch of Nepali people from Parbhat area, which is located in the Western part of the country.  With few glasses of alcoholic beverage, somehow, the issue of Bahuns and Newars surfaced.  Now everyone in the group is a non-Newar and mainly Bahuns.  Their general take of Newars translated roughly “Father can not be enemy, Newars can not be friends”.  I have been with some Newars and the mistrust and dislike of other groups is equally strong among this group as well.

And there are people, Newars, in my case, who have been exposed to different groups and so have totally different perspective to this whole race and group debacle.  The good early years of my life was spent in Biratnagar where we lived in a community where our right hand side neighbor was a Punjabi family and left a Bahun family.  Our schoolteacher was from Sikkim and the babysitter who took care of me was a Madesee.  Living in a mosaic community like this was lot more fun for me.  And I missed this very variety in life when we moved to Kathmandu and I had to sit with people who were mostly Newars.  I did adapt to the new environment eventually, but I would choose a Bahun friend, a Chetri teacher and a Gurung neighbor over a community full of Newars.

But that is me; as a society we formulate ways to group and live with generality and similarity.  If America was such a melting pot, then why we see China Town in Manhattan and Indian cluster in Edison.  We as human seem like we enjoy being grouped.

At the end of the conversation with the White Texan Gentleman that I met in Walmart, I concluded that the only situation and scenario where all races and groups will try to live in harmony will be when we discover a common enemy- aliens perhaps from different planet.  Until then we will remain in status quo.  We will live in groups and talk about and practice racism.  Having said all that, perhaps we will discover aliens soon and have this entire problem go away.  So I would like to believe in UFOs and would love to see ETs.

Recently, a man from West Virginia won a record $315 million dollars in lottery money.  With taxes taken out he decided to take a lump sum of over a $100 million dollars.  Among other things he is going to purchase a helicopter for his personal use.  The guy got lucky, very lucky.  I do throw away couple of Washingtons once in a while to purchase lotteries.  You never know about lottery you see.  Once, being too bored by choosing potatoes with my wife, I decided to scratch the “Scratch Game” instead in a grocery story and lord behold, I won a cool $25 dollars.  Since that very fateful day, my hopes are high and every time, I see some dreams that have out of the ordinary theme, I go to a gas station and ask for a quick pick. You never know, as they would say.

With that optimistic thought embedded in my head, I think it is about time that I think about my plans if I ever win those multi million buckaroos.  And last night while I indulged myself in washing the milk bottles of my two- month old daughter, I started to put together a preliminary blueprint of my plan.  For a while I entertained on the thought of giving that money away to my loved ones and my relatives.  But quickly remembered the saying- it is important to give tools to make bread than hand over bread itself, that way they will learn how to make bread rather than depend on you if they run out of the bread.  So with that in mind, I contemplated harder on what tool that I have to create or invest so that problems of all my loved ones will be eliminated.  My electric impulses were on overdrive, and my gray matter pulsated with new energy to find out the solution to this problem.  And WALA!  On fine Friday night with two solid bottles of Corona in my system, I saw light at the end of the tunnel.  My solution: If I win over 300 million dollars, I will buy beautiful island and create a brand new country and inhabit that land with all the people that I care about and like.

Having enough experience with Sims City Simulated computer game on building cities, I will have necessary experience to build a city.  And here is my plan.

First and foremost I would need to choose an Island that is located in prime location, situated distant enough from big countries like superpower and emerging superpowers so that they will not meddle in internal affairs of this new nation.  Like any nation, we need to give a name to this country.  How about Peaceland.  So in this newly formed Peaceland, there will be no army, no religion and no racial division.  This nation will have self defense mechanism build and based solely on the latest technological advancement.  There will be free education, free housing and free transportation.  All the residents of the Peaceland will not have to worry about any taxes or any traffic or speeding tickets.  There will be no Trent Lott or Bill O’Reilly.  There will be Television with only TLC and discovery channels, with the possibility of PBS perhaps.  This nation will be free to fossil fuel and its combustion.  Energy will be renewed and recycled.  No political parties and no monarchy.  This country will never issue an I-20 or H-1.  Peaceland will have constitution that will emphasis on peace and prosperity for all.  At the same time, Peaceland will allow people to settle their disputes and grudges by traditional old means- there will be legal fistfight bouts allowed to settle any disputes.  The nation will provide referee in any such bouts.  This nation will ban greed and religion.  The only religion they will be allowed to observe will be the religion called “Nature” where they will have multiple gods like ocean, land and sky.  Pity and sympathy will be discouraged; everything mild will be tolerated and encouraged.  There will be no Enron, MCI and George Bush.  This land will have culture based on internal harmony.  No passport will be issued, and if someone decides to leave the country they will be welcomed to do so, but they will be never admitted back again.  The new defense shield will not permit them for reentry.  We will not be a member of UN and we will not participate in any international disputes.  We will neither support nor seek support from any other nation.

There will be plenty of food, clothing and shelter for all.  Peaceland will be peaceful.  It will have its unique culture and if outsiders want to visit this land, they will have to leave their own culture where they come from.  There will be no MTV.

Peaceland will have culture of consuming healthy food.  There will be no McDonalds.  And if some people become obese, no one will be allowed to make fun of them.  If they do then, such a dispute will be settled in a ring with boxing match with that fat person.

All right, so having dreamt all that, what are chances of me winning multi million lotteries and if so what are the chances of building such a country. Very slim.  But I am sure there are people who are thinking the same way as I am.  Reality might be very contrasting than the thought, but I know that at least I am not tied up in any INS laws to think this way.  And so mind is beautiful.

I am a salesman; that is what I do for living.  Also, I am a philosopher and a comparative analyzer.  Last night, as I was driving home after a long day at work, I thought about many little things that criss-crossed my life.  Grocery, thanks giving holidays, upcoming Christmas and many other things.  In a bizarre twist of events, suddenly I started browsing back to my old times in Kathmandu.  For some reason, I wanted to imagine myself being in Nepal.  Had I been in Nepal what would I have done? What profession would I have chosen?  Would I have been in Sales in Nepal?  And if so how hard would that be.  I started thinking about some of the best salesman in Nepal.  And without the shadow of doubt, the most versatile and effective salesman found in Nepal is not the ones working in big offices, or wearing tie and suit, but rather simple, down to earth and extremely well versed in the field of Sales.  I am thinking about no other than the Bicycle Salesman catering to the needs of all the Kathmanduites for their daily necessities like fruits, vegetables, kitchenwares and clothes.  They are known as “Madesees”. 

The original and traditional farmers and traders of fruits and vegetables in the Kathmandu Valley are the native Newars.  Lot of them is still engaged in the professions.  In due course of time, with growing immigration of people both from North and South of the Valley, the demand for household fruits and vegetables climbed up tremendously.  No longer the natives could supply the growing demand.  At the same time, for growing real state demand, the Newari farmers opted for selling their land for hefty lump sum of cash than pursuing further in their hard agriculture profession.  So the Valley saw more houses erecting everywhere than carrots growing in the land.   Some native farmers who were determined to stick to their traditional profession, soon realized that their method of marketing and selling their products were not very effective.  Reason was because they had new competition in town.  The southern traders and vegetable sellers known simply as “Madesees” were new force to reckon with.

The word “Madesee” comes from the word “Madesh” which is basically the generic name for whole of Terai Belt.  These southern people have dark skin, and they can be easily detected from their outfit, which comprises of “Lungi” or “dhoti” and little head turban.  They introduced a novel way of selling fruits and vegetables in the valley.  No longer the consumers need to travel in wee hours of the morning to Ason or other designated Farmers’ Market to get vegetables for the day.  The “Madesee” way of selling vegetables and fruits was based in mobile store technology.  They had their items put in two baskets and tied in the old bicycle, mostly Atlas brand.  Madesee Salesman innovated door to door selling of fruits and vegetables.  In the beginning, people were not happy with the vegetables grown in the southern part of the country.  They preferred the original Kathmandu products.  But as time went by and as the persistence of southern salesman took strong consistency, consumers gradually caved in to the convenience and easy access to all these different varieties of fruits and vegetables.

Madesee Salesman thrived very well in the Valley.  They made money and that supported their family back in the south.  However, the money they made was not easy.  They tolerated among other things, discriminations and racial bias.  Their customers often treated them very badly.  Kids to adults alike harassed them.  They got kicked, yelled at and punched every day of their lives.  Yet still they always smiled, persisted and thrived.  They are true survivors of recent history like Jews in the second world war.  Soon, they were covering every corners of the valley.  The Kathmanduites got the false sense of superiority by treating these Madesees in such a harassing way, but they prevailed in the battle of torture versus tolerance.  And surprisingly, their tolerance is winning over our torture.  Newari farmers complained, but that was about all they did.  They could not adapt to this new competition.  And they are losing the battle.  They are selling their land and they are trying to get into new professions with the same attitude and rigidness.  In a free market economy, the fittest survives and weaker ones complain.  Madesees are the winners.

My life as a Salesman in the US is very similar to life of a Madesee in Kathmandu.  I am an immigrant.  Much resented and respected by the locals.  My tolerance to US abuses is very high.  Similar to Madesee’s tolerance to Kathmandu’s mistreats.  I am a “Yes” man.  I wait for my permanent residency like a Madesee waits for his Nepali citizenship.  I am a survivor like a Madesee.  I will digest, forget and thrive on all the legal and social hurdles to make money and seek better life for my family and myself.

I am like a Madesee of Kathmandu.  I know how it feels to be different from rest of the population. Still I am smart enough to blend in.

Having said that, I have a new respect for our Madesee daju bhai of Kathmandu.  They taught me valuable lessons in life.  A lesson about tolerance, persistence and will to survive.  Forgive me all the Madesees brothers for all the pain I have inflicted against you in the past.  I have a new respect for you all and I commend your talent.  Now that I know now how it feels to be a Madesee in the US, my bow of respect goes to you all Southern dwellers.

Keshab Shrestha (Name changed for anonymity reason) turned 27 last July. He worked hard to finish his Undergraduate level education from esteemed US University and he further pursued his Master Level Education from equally well know Institute of higher learning. Last year after receiving his degree, it was relatively easy for him to land on well-paid job in a Multinational Company.

Kiran Thapa, again not a real name, had similar story as well. After his education, he is now employed by one of the Fortune 500 Companies.

Although Mr. Shrestha and Mr. Thapa have never seen each other, there are some striking similarities between the lives of these two souls. Their nationality is Nepali, they came to US as Students and after completion of their Education, they dropped their dream of going back to Nepal and lending a helping hand to the development of the country, instead they embraced the US Culture and boundless opportunities that exists here. They have settled, despite the fact that they really do not feel comfortable with the lifestyle here.

These days their biggest worry is about getting married. And they have seen only one avenue to fulfill this dream. They are trying hard to convenience their loved ones in Nepal to help them find loving ones so that they can bring the brides here and settle down. Relatives are contacted; photos are scanned and emailed overnight. Their long distance phone bill is proving the fact that the frequency of their communication with their folks in Nepal is higher these days than anytime before.

Arrange marriage in the Cyberspace era is as complicated as network drive of a computer. Not only the bride has to have the appropriate looks; they also need to have perfect astrological matching and good family background. Since lots of Women in Nepal with ripe age for marriage are well educated these days, another factor also comes into play. Mr. Thapa is worried that if the bride to be is a doctor, it will take lot of effort to get her a job once she lands in the US. So he has been telling his mother to browse girls having Arts or Science degrees than Doctors or Dentists.

It is interesting how a Bachelor Nepali Male tends not to look for a partner from within the US. I have hardly seen Inter-racial marriages between Nepali Males and non- Nepali females. There are some sporadic cases here and there but these kinds of arrangements are rare. The reason, of course, has lot to do with cultural differences, which tend to split further in the long run. It is also interesting to see how a Nepali Male does not give priority, when it comes to marriage, to Nepali Female living in the US. This is also true in reverse situations as well. I think Nepali Women who are in the US already (who came here as a young single person for studies) seem to think more independently and feel more free than Women in Nepal. This kind of freethinking nature is something that a Nepali Man is not very comfortable with.

Living in the US, our bachelors are constantly seeking for environment similar to Nepal, and the big part of mimicking such environment is being with someone who is well versed in Nepali culture and who is good at delivering kind of taste that they long for.

Over the years, arrange marriage has come a long way. But the age Old tradition is so powerful, although it might have gone through some changes here and there, it is still practiced and surprisingly majorities of these marriages have happy endings.

Having said that, I think we have a good system in place. Lot of my single buddies are taking this Overseas arrange marriage option as a safety net. They will first try finding their partners themselves, and if everything fails then call up Mama and Papa and ask them to help find a nice bride. This way they satisfy their parents’ dream and at the same time have a bride well suited to give the best Nepali mimicked lifestyle in the US.

In retrospect, combing through my past experiences, I have learned many valuable lessons of life.  One wise man told me once “Life is like ocean waves, you never know how big they become”.  Alright, I made that up.  In any case, over the years, I have learned that wetting your bed when you are really, really young is not so embarrassing.  I have done that many times when I was very little and not ashamed of saying so.  When I used to discover the wetness the next morning and having the big fear about anyone else finding out about it, I often stayed on the patch until my body warmth evaporated the liquid out of the bed.

Not memorizing the multiples of 5 “one ja” like “water” , I learned, was not an end to the world.  I could never get a good rhyme or reason in horning my skills to “water” this mathematical concept.  Sure I was castigated for not doing that by my teacher with thick glasses who strongly believed that this was the most vital survival tool that there is in life.  Later I found that there are Calculators everywhere.

I also learned that my Dad is not as gigantic as I had thought.  His contour never got exaggerated when he was furious, I discovered later.  As a matter of fact, he was not taller than me when I was 25.  I learned the apprehension I had about my father punishing me for my misdeeds, was only amplified thousand times for no reason.

When I was a teenager, I learned that my Mom did not have the magic key to the golden vault where my Dad stored all his wealth.  So my constant buttering up was worthless.  And I learned that hundred Rupees can not buy a house.

I learned that there is no such thing as “falling in love blindly”.  I had my eyes wide open when I fell in love.  Had I been blind, I would have never fallen in love.  I discovered that when I was in relationship, and when my folks did not approve of it, I could not have left house with my sweetheart and survived out in the street with nineteen Rupees I had in my pocket.  Also realized that there is no point of doing so.

Coming to America was a big “Eye Opening” experience for me.  The tough reality of life unveiled in the bitterest way possible.  I soon discovered my survival was solely based on the technique of making other people happy and satisfied.  Working in all different kinds of fast food restaurants that are out there, I learned the right way to mop  floors, clean dishes and make fries crispy.  Having employment opportunities in Convenient Stores like “Seven Eleven” taught me how to open a cash machine, pump gas and make coffee at the same time.  I learned that America is far more complex and rough than what they show in Hollywood movies.

College was not piece of cake either.  I floated on my semi real state in all of my eight o’ clock classes.  Learned that Mountain dew has more Caffeine than Coffee.  Also, realized that my grade has lot to do with my “buttering up” ability to please Professors than my hard work.  In America, I found, louder and more vocal you are better you appear as far as intelligence is concerned.

After graduation I realized that finding a job was not as easy as I had thought.  Moving to New York, I found, was like moving in a sea full of people of all colors and shape.  “How you doing?” was not so much of a question, but rather way of acknowledging presence of another human being, I felt.

Once I got the job of my interest, I realized that to survive I needed more “people skill” than technical knowledge that I had gained in School.  At this point, I understood why it is not important to have perfect 4.0 grade point in school to succeed in life.  I analyzed that partying in college and horning your “people skills” is probably more beneficial than burning midnight oil with Calculus that  you will never use in real life.

Now, gradually I have been realizing that no matter what we say, United States is probably the least evil places on earth and that my dream of going to Nepal is just a thought which I entertain once in awhile when I am severely intoxicated with the “Corona”- the Mexican Beer.

Having said all that,  such is the nature of life and nature dictates our destiny more than anything else.  I realized that your home is where your income is and not where your heart is.

When down pour gradually withers away and Monsoon Lady finally stops her tantrums, the fall brings new rejuvenation to wet grounds and muddy streets of Kathmandu. Perhaps, our ancestors, observing this very fact year after year, decided to celebrate this season of the year with all the “Pujas” and all the “Bhoj”. Dashai brings joy to the kids, happiness to students and bit of financial stress to the bread earners. Nevertheless, Dashai brings the much-needed change in Life.

Growing up in Kathmandu, I saw Dashai with many meanings. One month of freedom from School, new line of clothes to show off to friends, Khaski Ko Masu to fill my carnivorous appetite and most importantly full indulgence and satisfaction of Kite flying.

Now come to think about Kite Flying, I have been a hardcore amateur of this sport from the day I knew how not to urinate in my pants. But I have to say, the intensity of this sport did not attend climax until I was in my fifth grade. Living in one of the Toles (Kel Tole is where I grew up mostly) with strong background and popularity of Kite flying, made me even more hardcore. I still remember the time when I used to come home from School and hang out with my Tole Buddies and talk about Kites and Kites exclusively. For us, flying Kites was not just a sport but it was full fledge battle and we walked that extra mile to cover all the bases so that we got the best weapons for the war. Yes, flying Kites in Ason Tole was a war, far more interesting and intense than the air war of Desert storm.

I still remember the time when I used to rush home from school, toss my bag in one corner, wear my favorite shorts and Batman T-shirt and sliding Payal Slippers quickly run down to my “Chok” where all my nose running buddies would be waiting for me. We would get a good wooden “Lataie” and “Chain” brand flying thread. Now back then “Chain” brand thread was the best money could buy. Then we would prepare some “Majha” which is basically made of highly concentrated starch, some fine powdered glass from crushed light bulbs and some Aloe to enhance slipperiness quality of the Majha. So after heating this mix to the right consistency, one would be designated as the “Roller”, another the “Releaser” and the third as the “Majha” applicator. The Roller would roll the “Lataie” in about 20 rpm (rotation per minute), the “Majha” applicator will hold the Majha mix in one hand with the thread passing by through the middle and in the other hand he would hold some more fine glass powder. This way the Majha will be applied first and once wet the thread would be subjected to glass powder which will stick to the thread. The Releaser will be there releasing the thread at the synchronizing pace of 20 rpm. Once the Majha is applied, we would dry the thread by either using two poles in the Chok or by flying a kite and drying it in the air.

On the D-Days, which lasted until the end of Dashai, we would get dozen or so Kites of different patterns from a Kite Dealer in Ason. My favorite is the “Dariwala” or the breaded one. We would go to the rooftop of the tallest house belonging to one of our friends. Get a Sanyo Stereo and would start the party/war from 11pm onwards. We would blast “Beat it” number from Michael Jackson and we would also have our sisters and cousins as cheerleaders. “Chait”… “Chait”… “Chait” would be the word that we would repeat all day long. There would be thousands and thousands of Kites rotating clockwise and anti-clockwise in the skies of Ason. And you would see people in almost every rooftop playing their Stereos and blasting their favorites, flying their prides. We would forget about everything that concerned us in our day to day life, like the school, homework, marbles that were won, lost or credited, candy wrappers that were lost, stolen, owned or borrowed. We would forget about everything. Twice I fell off from my rooftop flying Kite, but let me tell you nothing stopped me from enjoying the sport of flying Kite. My life was Kite, Kite was my life for the whole month. Relations between friends were broken due to Kites, enemies were made due to Kites and friends were created due to Kites. Lot of us lost weight due to stress related to Kite flying. One would think in Dashai one would gain lot of pounds because there is so much food lying around. On the contrary, we went through what is called “Appetite Suppression Disorder from Kite Anxiety” or ASDKA syndrome.

So this time around the year, even after many years of abstaining from Kite flying, I get really emotional. Childhood memories are what they are – memories. But if I could do this all over again I would. But instead, I worry about my I-20, W-40, H-4 and B-1. Instead I worry about my social security, my wife’s maternity and baby’s maturity.

But having said all that, given the fact that Life is one way street, as long as my grey matter works adequately in my brian, I will cherish my days with Kites, Dashai in Kathmandu and my time with all my Tole buddies.

An unimaginable leap from one bamboo tree to another, Monkey like behavior with extraordinary ability to strike with deadly force.  They call him the “Monkey Master”.  The opponent has more of a serpentine character, with hands often mimicking the hood of a venomous king Cobra.  He is the Ultimate “Snake King”.  The battle between these two characters is the storyline of then very popular movie- Monkey in Snake Kung Fu.  Never to forget the conspicuous twist in the movie brilliantly portrayed by always drunk- the “Drunk Master” whose Blood Alcohol level is always equal to or more than 0.1 BAC.

The crowded “Makhan Galli” video parlors back in 1986 were showing exceptional movies like above mentioned “Monkey in Snake Kung Fu” and series of other “Saoling” movies with characters that were all bald.  If my memory serves me correctly, I was probably in my 7th grade back then.  The Kung Fu mania was so strong and irresistible that we used to skip school and go to these movies in forever winding Makhan gallies.  At that time the entrance fee was Five Rupees.  However, money was no object for us nor was school, for a good Kung Fu movie we would even skip our own “Bartabandha”.  We were the budding Kung Fu fanatics on the south side of China.

Back then “Makhan” was an amazing part of Kathmandu.  The interconnected gallies and choks of Makhan were more complicated than the caves of Tora Bora.  Had Al Queda took refuge in Makhan as they did in Tora bora, my guess is no one in this Universe would have been able to hunt them down.  Thank god they did not know about our Makhan at that time.  Anyways, Makhan was the best part of the city to foster numerous Mini Video theatres.  And so these theatres did thrive there despite the ban imposed by the government on them.

Finding the right movies in the Makhan Galli was often tricky.  One had to rely heavily on the Movie promoters who stood on the main street leading to one of the gallies.  These promoters were often Children with the box of the movie their theatre were showing.  If one decides to see a movie, these promoters would lead one through several snaky Gallies and Choks to some dingy room, usually 2nd or higher floor, in Newari Style house.  People would be sitting on straw matte called Sukul.  Even in the middle of winter, this room would be thermo set at 95 degrees.  There would be couple of rotating fans roaring to full speed.  These fans, however, would be used to cool down the VCR which is locally called “Deck” and the TV monitor called “Screen”.  After all with mere five rupees, one could not ask for too much comfort.  All this uneasiness and discomfort would soon disappear with the start of KUNG FU scenes.  These movies were highly charged with excitement with English dubbing and Chinese subtitles.  But nobody cared about the “dialogues”, or the constant poking by straw strings facing in heavenly direction towards our gluteus maximas.  At the end, the good guy-the Monkey Master finally overpowers the evil Snake master and everyone lets the breath of relief that the good has prevailed over evil once more just like in “Ramayana”.  So in a way Kung Fu movies are the Chinese version of our “Ramayana”.

Getting out of the room was marked by fresh air gushing in from all direction.  If there is such thing as hell and heat associated with it then the experiences in Makhan Mini theatre would be the closest to it. 

With new acquired skills and newly bought Kung Fu Shoes with flat bottom, we would perform stunts more daring than the movies.  I think we did almost all acts and more.  The one thing we got sort of doing is shave our heads. We did what we called the “Y” split.  Basically to knock someone down in a snap of a kick, you would need to swing your legs in anti-clockwise fashion with lightening speed.  With your hip joint flexed to the max, this flexi-swing is impossible without cracking the hip joint.  So one would need to do the “Y” split.  With king Fu shoes firmly embracing the feet, lower ends of pants tightly tucked in thick socks, we would do the “Y” split.  The goal was to get our crotch as low to the ground as possible.  The ultimate achievement would be the actual contact of our private parts to the ground.  To “break in” the cracking of our crotches we often had our “Sawoling” brothers push us on our head towards the gravity.  Painful as it might be, we all wanted to be Monkey Kung Fu master.  There were numerous jumps we often made through our balconies to be a well synchronized Monkey master.

We pursued our Kung Fu ambition for a long time until “Break Dance” movies started showing up in Makhan mini-theatres.  Soon we saw rapid decline in Kung Fu interest and we started developing good taste for breaking different joints of our bodies.  We tried the ground rotation moves, the hand wave actions, and not to mention the virtual mirror enclosed box act.  Soon we saw “Break Dance” competition in every Gallies of Kathmandu.

Now I do not know whether “Punk” movement got started before “Break Dance” mania.  But in any case, the “Punk” revolution had us do some weird things.  We wanted to show off our spiky metallic belts, leather jackets with all the medals and honors we never received and also chains and locks for our own protection from rough Galli neighborhood.  Some even went so far as having their hair spiked up with tons of hair gel.  Thanks to Makhan Galli movies, we were able to experience cultures from China to Czech Republic.  We had variety in our lives.

Having said all that, it is funny how we were so much influenced by other culture when we were growing up in Kat-man-du.  I do not know what kind of impact those mosaic cultures had on my psychology, but I surely had fun.

ANA Convention through my eyes. Phurfu Tsering Sherpa could not attend the Annual Nepalese Convention held in Washington DC on Fourth of July weekend (2002). He tried his best to make that six-hour trip from New York to DC, but his busy schedule was such that it was impossible for him to leave his chef responsibilities. After all, his customers could not spend a day without food stirred by his own Sherpa hands. His boss was even more emotionally and physically attached to him. For rest of the other Nepali “Laurees” and “chantimaiyas”, however, it was thrill and delight to forget work for four whole days and head down to DC. I, personally, had planned a lot for this occasion. Bought brand new OLD SPICE after-shave. I intended to shave my whiskers twice a day to project my smooth skin during the period of convention. And I am sure people had had their own share of plans and strategies to enhance their physical appearances for the big get together.

The venue was big enough to crowd in 5000 Nepalese souls. Most of the rooms in the Marriott was occupied by Shresthas, Pradhans, Sherpas and many more Nepali surnames. Even the surrounding hotels, motels and Nepali dwelling apartments were filled with Bhat dal loving, always rock jamming Nepali “Daju, Bhai and Didi, Bahini”. Some minority Nepali folks also brought their Non-Nepali significant others to give them taste and flare of our glorious culture and momos. Just to prove the world how wrong they are when they judge us as a country with no sports culture, we had multiple sports being organized in the middle of the day when the thermometer was way beyond 95 degrees. Although the soccer field was infested with bald grass patches and uneven surfaces, different teams let their steams out. We played our soccer game with grace and high spirit just to let the other team embarrass us with 3 solid goals and one suicide score. We were so determined to score that we let ourselves score in our own net to reward ourselves with some dignity.

 Old friends were met, introduced and re-introduced. People talked about how old/young they appeared. And behind their backs they mentioned how “Fat” and “Ugly” someone looked. Young eyes were scanning for “Hot Chicks” or “Handsome guys”. Everyone thought they would meet someone that would change their lives. Even parents were there to comb out beautiful girls/boys for their sons/daughters. I guess all of the mothers and fathers were apprehensive about their siblings marrying someone other than Bhat Dal loving Nepali. Some were surprised to see their past adversary become their pals, and others were horrified to see their best friend ignoring them.

The DC convention was sweet and sour experience for all. 1974AD performed, Deep Shrestha was deep in his singing. Amidst all this, the African American Receptionist was having nervous breakdown looking at all the Gorkhali hang out in front of her all the time. Some parents were looking for their kids; some kids were looking for some other kids. And yet some were disillusioned as to where they were. These kids who grew up in the States saw so many others like them and way different than their Caucasian or African American friends. They talked funny with funny accent. Yet seeing commonality with these distinctly uncommon people made them more confused about themselves. Teenagers were roaming around happy. This year 18-year-old Sumita found her long lost friend Banita who was with a handsome looking boy named Pramesh. The eyes met, Sumita soon realized that she was in love with the boyfriend of her long lost friend. Now this is the start of a new Nepali Soap Opera whose full story can neither be predicted nor completed until next year when they meet again in Denver. Will Sumita steal Banita’s boyfriend? This remains a mystery. Older adults met their old friends. They talked about old times, introduced each other their sons/grand sons. Talked about how bad it is between their sons and non-nepalese daughter in laws. They talked about Nepal and their Ultimate goal to go to Kathmandu and start a small business or just retire enjoying US social security benefits living in Gucha tole. They probably talked about the same thing last year. But their aging brain is such that they repeat and repeat these hopes, dreams and stories many times over without realizing that they are doing so. For them it is a vicious cycle. They will do the same next year also. Ramesh, a 19-year-old I-20 holder, was bragging about how it is studying at Woodshole Community College. His friends, now full time out of status employees of Prince of India Restaurant of Queens, NY, were listening very enthusiastically. All of them showed strong interest in getting admissions form of Woodshole.

And of course many tried hard to impress everyone out by putting on the best outfit they could find in the North America in the Social Banquet. They really did not care too much about awful food as they were paying full attention to drawing full-undivided attention of others. What is a Nepali gathering without constant and endless flow of alcoholic beverages? While walking down the corridor of the 4th floor of Marriott, I could hear noises from almost every room. Some were dashing out of the room and regurgitating the food they ate in the Banquet. I guess they could not hold alcohol anymore. My friends were in room 226, under serious intoxication of the Budlight. We eventually did a photo shot out of our beer bellies, and our tech inclined friends are turning all the pictures into a calendar. It will be out in the market titled “ Victor Secret Belly Calendar”. Having said all that, all in all I had a wonderful time talking, eating and back stabbing my Nepali friends or foes in the 2002 ANA Washington DC Convention.