Adele: We Could Have Had It All, Rolling In The Deep

Now playing on the cafe sound system.

So I Did It

I wrote the two blog posts that were so heavy on my chest for almost two weeks now. I feel relief now.

The posts don't read as angry as I thought they might read, and that's okay.

At The Buspark (2)
Kentucky Blues

Now my three blogs are all exhibiting the same piss on racism graphic. I think it is important. I think it is important to say fuck you to racism.

At The Buspark (2), Kentucky Blues
"Can You Understand This?"
"Bring Home An African Next Time"
Padgurum
Hawai Chappal
Deaths In The Family
Gonu Jha
Hum Jayega Burnt His Ears
"Thanks For Asking"
Prax
"It Was A Nigger!"
Little Flickers Of Racism
Australian Woes
Kathmandu Woes
"Do You Have An Email Address?"
Race, Gender, Tech
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Alabama

At The Buspark (2), Kentucky Blues

I have been struggling to work on a few autobiographical blog posts. I have wondered if I should publish them at this blog, my most active blog, or maybe they belong at my other blogs. The buspark post belongs at my Nepal blog, and the Kentucky post belongs at my Barackface blog.

They are going to be angry posts. I don't intend to mince words.

I have put out some posts at my blogs that people have described as "hilarious" and "hysterical." Well, these posts will not fall into those categories. They will fall into the angry category. They will fall in the nonviolent militancy category. I have been toying with the idea for about two weeks now. Longer perhaps. But for about two weeks in a more concrete way. It has been hard to get down to it.

If it is hard to talk about now, how much harder must have it been to go through them when they happened? Long time. Long time coming.

At The Buspark
Southern Hospitality
Third World Guy
Deaths In The Family
Enemy Of The State

Phir Mohabbat

Source: Top 10 Bollywood

"Can You Understand This?"

Image by tonynetone via FlickrRadio Nepal would serve the news in Nepali at seven, morning and evening, and the news in English an hour later at eight. This was during the days of the autocratic monarchy. And so there was much state propaganda. I much preferred listening to the BBC. In English, of course.

Of course no one in my village listened to the news in English. The smart ones listened to the BBC Hindi service.

But then there was always some smart alec who would turn the radio on for the eight o'clock news in English.

"Can you understand this?"

"Yes."

"Bring Home An African Next Time"

Image via WikipediaBy now people from my homevillage have gone to far away places like the Arab countries and Malaysia to do manual labor. A bunch of them are on Facebook. Like one guy said recently, brother, I can't talk to you right now, I am off to have dinner.

So going to Kathmandu, the capital city, is less big of a deal these days. But back when I was attending school in Kathmandu, it was a big deal. It was an even bigger deal when my father was doing high school in Kathmandu. At least I got to take the overnight bus, he had to fly. There was no other way to get there.

And so it was all known that I was attending school with the crown prince of the country, the future king, the same guy who in 2001 mowed down his family in a palace massacre, but then back then you could not have seen that coming, not by the furthest stretch of the imagination.

When I was home for one of my vacations a neighbor approached. He knew I had just come home from Kathmandu. Kathmandu was this mythical place far, far away.

"Next time you come home will you please bring an African?" he delivered. "I hear they are really black, I would really like to see one."

Padgurum

Hawai Chappal

Padgurum was the term in my homevillage for pants, you know, the kind you and I wear. People natively wore lungi or dhoti. When I was old enough and got out of my half pants, I was allowed to wear the lungi for casual outfit. I loved it. Basically you wrapped a piece of clothing around your waist. It was great for summers.

But padgurum was the local term for pants. What the term meant was that when you fart, the air never gets to escape. The people in the village supremely looked down upon pants that way. Pants made absolutely no sense to them.

Hawai Chappal

The term was Hawai Chappal. Hawai loosely translates to air, as in Air Jordan. Meaning, when you wore these, it felt like you were floating in the air. Hardly anyone in the village wore them. People walked barefoot. Chappal is the term for sandal. But sandals were leather. So there is no exact translation. You had to be well off to be able to wear these. Just like you had to be well off to be able to eat vegetables every day.

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But people still bought them. For when you had to go visit a relative. Or when there was a fair in a nearby village. When there was a fair people would carry the chappals in their hands and walk barefoot for those 40 minutes, and then when they neared the village where the fair was at they would find a nearby pond where to go wash their feet and put the chappals on. I mean, if you wore them all the time they might wear away, and then where were you?

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Hum Jayega Burnt His Ears
Bbuddah Hoga Tera Baap
"Thanks For Asking"
Prax
"Do You Have An Email Address?"

Deaths In The Family

Image via WikipediaMy grandmother, greatgrandmother and greatgrandfather all died within a span of two years, in that order. A few years later my grandfather one morning left home without telling anyone to become a sadhu in the holy places of India for the rest of his days.

The Mourning Period

My greatgrandfather had been the Founding Father of the family. His had been a rags to riches story. He was not born a landlord. But he worked hard and, ably helped by my greatgrandmother, saved well to end up with more land than anyone else in the village.

I was a few years from finishing high school far away - overnight bus ride - in the capital city when the deaths happened. They each happened when I was home for vacation. I would be home three times a year.

I did not realize at the time but over the years I realized as I do today that those deaths were like there was an umbrella over the family's head, and suddenly that umbrella vanished. My father acutely felt their absences for long years. He likely still does.

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Gonu Jha

Gonu Jha - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Gonu jha's stories | Facebook



As Birbal was the most intelligent minister of Akbar's court,same way,Gonu Jha was the most intelligent minister of the king from Bihar.Many times he proved his intelligence.
A pahalwan went to a sahukar to ask some money.He was having a big golden "gada" with him,he said"This is my grand father's gada, It is of pure gold,I want to mortgage it and you give me eight thousand rupees,I will pay the interest regularly till the repay.The sahukar believed him and gave him money,but the pahalwan did not give him any interest for six months,the sahukar went to him and asked the interest amount,The Pahalwan said"I don't have money,you can sell the gada and get back your money.The sahukar showed the gada to the goldsmith he said"It is not golden gada,but it is of iron and only covered by thin layer of gold.The sahukar shocked he immediately ran to Gonu Jha,and asked him what should he do now.Gonu Jha said"Go and invite whole village for good lunch."Sahukar surprised"What are you saying?""yes!I am serious,I mean it"Sahukar agreed and went away.Next morning the whole village was running for lunch to Sahukar's House.The Pahalwan saw this and asked one of them"Hey!what is going on,why everybody is running to sahukar's house""I think he has got a Treasure"The Pahalwan thought"It is definitely my Gada,I must get it back"He went to another village,mortgaged his akhada,got the money,went to the Sahukar and said"I have arranged money,Please take it and give my Gada back"The sahukar immediately took the money and gave him back his Gada.The Pahlwan reached to the only goldsmith.He said"Why have you brought it here,it is not gold"The Pahlwan came to know that it is only because of Gonu Jha.He decided to sell the Gada to Gonu Jha.He went to him and said"This is my Grand father's golden Gada,Please buy it,I need money"Gonu Jha took the Gada in his hand and started swinging it,It fell down and a small part broke,Gonu Jha said"Yes Yes!I am going to buy it but we must get it repaired first"Both of them went to the Gold smith"Why have you come again with this Iron Gada,I have already told you that it is not gold.The Pahalwan was speechless now,and Gonu Jha was smiling.

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