"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.