Random Thoughts, Freestyle

You know, it's like swimming around the pool in circles...

Here I am, sipping caffeine, sugar and hetch-two-ough, and random sparks begin to shoot around my cranial hollow. Is moustache really dead, I wonder... I mean, you do not see younger people nowadays indulging in that hair manicure - although, i might disclaim right-away, one does see a couple of moustache-beard combo, which, I must categorically state, is different from a pure moustache. Lets see... can we baselessly assume that in the next generation one does not hear somebody utter "Khane mukh lai Junga le Chhekdaina"?

Amidst carpeted quietitude in my office floor, I surf along a different tangent- what makes a heart flutter more- Caffeine or love? Is the flutter desirable in its own, or it is desirable because it signifies something desirable? Coz if it's the former, why not just have caffeine; and if your heart doesnt flutter enough, multiply your dose. In either case, I do not like this phenomenon- my heart feels like a ruptured balloon bounding against my ribcage.

Pretty soon, I begin recalling last night's brief moment of consciousness before I succumbed to eyeclosing. I could hear many dogbarks. I realize I do not hear them like this during the day! I also get a deja-vu that I had thought this particular thought SOME time before, but that's another tangential fray I do not wish to align to. So yeah, dogs. There is a scientific explanation that sounds are heard more distinctly during nights than during days... But I wonder, is that the only thing that's making you hear the dogs? Could it not be that dogs are CONDITIONED to bark at nights, and therefore we realize how many dogs are there in our neighborhoods?

Two houseflies were bothering me a while ago. Not at the same time, thankfully. Sort of like the way Jackie Chan is gang-struck; one at a time. I did the Schnooks, successfully both times, and the Death Flings... and I start to wonder how their average days would be like. Mostly, they are in search for sweet things, they buzz a lot, have a very obvious name (they 'fly' around the 'houses'- I mean, what if you are named 'Milan's Fan', huh?), some of them have bright, bottlegreen color and hang around in shitty places (literally). And they fear Spiders. There's even a joke that goes like: Why did the 'fly 'fly? Because the Spider spied 'er.

Then I begin to notice the sighing airconditioner behind me, and notice my forearm hairs standing up. You know (beware, scientific rant:) the real reason behind it right? It's to fluff up to conserve body heat. Animals do it with their furs, and birds with feathers. For us, it is just a shitty deal offered by Nature because we are not t.h.a.t. hairy (well, thank god for that, or else we would look like detailed monkeys), and the sparse follicular density doesn't really do the trick.

And it is just a matter of time before I begin to realize who you are and what you look like AT THE TIME you are reading this very sentence. Is your mouth stupidly hanging open? Do you have a mused half-smile? Are you in your undies ( I mean, ONLY undies? In which case, are your hairs standing up?). Speaking of undies- RED undies, to be exacter, how did Superman look so great in it? Have you realised how difficult would it be for him if he wants to pee? I mean, he doesn't have a fly! I can almost hear you say: Oh, but he does FLY!! ; after which, I'll sagely say, lame joke, yaar, lame joke.

So how come you are still here? Do you also like to swim in circles? Are you still inspecting the hair in your left nostril? There's no prize there tonight, friend. Have you jerked your head so powerfully that your eyeballs dribbled on the floor? Neither have I, but I would like to see somebody get it done.

My Neighborhood

I live in Kupondol, about 40 meters from the banks of Bagmati, and maybe about 200 meters east from the Kupondol-Thapathali bridge. We initially shared a dusty road that branched from the main road towards the 'holy' river. There was a major road-making project that left us with a bumpy dusty/muddy road all along the banks of the river. And since some influential person shares the road as well, the road was recently tar-topped.

Explosive Sneezer

Our neighborhood is quite an unhappening place. Our house faces a pink house. Nobody lives there except for a housekeeper. From what I hear from my room, he:

1) Sneezes violently, much like: hhHHhaintshyaa!

As if his oesophagus just exploded. Sometimes when it is very quiet in the evenings, the explosion can be quite startling.

2) Has a special liking for folk music. He uses a special device, which I imagine to be a folded piece of paper or leaf (through which he probably blows air to make that sound- I have yet to figure out how he alters the pitch).

The owner of the pink house stops by to check on things, annoyingly at 11 pm on his bike. He has a habit of revving up the engine, blowing his horn in a staccato and bumping the bike onto the clangy iron gate to hurry the keeper to let him in. After a minute or two, I hear the rumble of the opening gates, and the habitual exclaiming of the owner "Been sleeping, budho? Tyattika ber horn bajayeko sunena”. I at times feel tempted to remind him, maybe in a gentler tone, that I for one heard him right.

The owner runs the billboard/hoarding board business. You can make out some remnants on the lawn. We also hear the incessant sounds of drilling welding and hammering. And the workers either start work late in the afternoon or work till late- whichever of the two, they’re quite busy until it is too dark to work further.

The White House

The pink house faces a large white house. Ok- this owner of the house is quite a character. He used to host gambling activities, and engage in loud brawls, uttering foul words that were embarrassing to hear. Although, he has gotten quite tamer. However, he is still far from indiscreet. And he is obsessed with the timings of water supply. He is the first to know in the 'tole' when ‘water has come’, and reminds everyone by liberally hosing his terrace. And his current agenda is cultivation; he has cleared a portion of adjacent unused land which belongs to Prasuti Griha. The land is overgrown with inviting marijuana bushes. One thing about him that I abhor is his burning of his waste (including plastic) in his own compound. Arghh! It’s worse than being next to a smoker. I considered confronting him, but quickly thought against it. After all, he is one hell of a loudmouther. I hate being yelled at.

The Red House

The White house is abutted on the other side by a red-bricked house. This house clearly has more servant-girls (or as my Marketing instructor liked to euphemize it, “domestic helps”) than the members in the family. The owner owns a Proton and also likes to honk the horn until one of the girls rushes to open the gate.

Music

There is a bhajan mandali somewhere along the banks of the river, the exact location of which has still confounded me. If I do locate the place, I will most certainly wring the necks of at least one of those harmonically challengeds. Picture this scenario, every evening: a guy proceeds to send his eulogy to God through his harmonium, by playing the same tune over and over. To gather a wider audience, he employs a loudspeaker. I hear the voice loud and clear. Why couldn’t it be Ani Choying Dolma? And I end up tormenting myself by unconsciously playing the annoying tune in my head repeatedly.

The Smell

In winter, Bagmati slows down greatly until she's scarcely flowing at all. During that time, and when the wind flows in the right direction, we have quite an enriching olfactory experience. However, during monsoon, she menstruates and gets rid of all the foul substances deposited in her bed, and the smell disappears.

So this is the place in which I grew up- I have spent about 14 years here. You might now exclaim “Ah! So that’s how he got his oddity!”.

A view of one of the eastern hills from our terrace right after a downpour.