I Am The Maitreya

Last entry suddenly escalated into pornography, so this time I will try to put something bland. Is there anything worth writing about? Nope. Pretty bland, that’s my life. To get out of this monotony, I said, let’s run, since summer is in. I invested a fortune on my new pair of running shoes, that would be my month’s salary in ole’ Kathmandu after I finished my Engineering. Talk about white color servitudes in Nepal, I worked for the premium Software House in Nepal. God! Life is cheap out there, so the services. Bastards. All the proprietors had SUVs, while I had to tussle with women with young children and 60 years old grandma to get a seat in ‘Vikram Tempo’ to get to my work in time. In many occasions, I have tossed these geriatrics and even pregnant women without any compunction while fighting for that coveted seat in ‘Vikram Tempo,’ I wonder if those three wheelers are still running. It’s a jungle out there. After securing a seat, I always wanted to beat my chest like gorilla, who’s the man, who’s the man? Who’s your daddy, who’s your daddy? I found, that three wheeler ride is anything but, boring. Six people in that cramped space, reveals more than you expect to see or care to know, that you could see the layers of make up foundations on women face to hide all those zits and age. For men, you could see few missed out stubbles of facial hair that he missed while shaving, all those lines formed on his face due to the perpetual nagging of wife. Call it Murphy’s Law, I always got caught between two fat women, while opposite seats are always taken by thinnest possible people. Young girls, always conscious about their look, and fiddling with their lock of hair hundredth time, while trying to cover their cleavage with their hand bags. Old lechers, always ogling at those young girls’ sprouting boobs. Bastards. Sexually repressed Nepali men. I had my ass groped in public bus once, he was an old guy, I leaned to him and whispered in his ear, ‘did you intend to grab my ass, or was it a mistake?’ He smiles and says, ‘Mistake, bhai, mistake.’ I say, fine carry on, but not my ass old man, if you care to have rest of your denture intact. Probably, that might be his only entertainment left in life. I thought, why call for a public attention and have him beaten to death in public for grabbing a wrong ass. I have seen pick-pocket getting beaten up by 30 people or more. All those Judo and Karate chops these Nepali men learnt in their puberty, suddenly have urge to try on that poor soul, and beat the shit out of the guy, even though, the stolen wallet doesn’t belong to you, or don’t know a guy to whom it belongs to. Kind of a public service—a Good Samaritan. Sometime, you don’t even know why the public is beating the shit out of someone; you just jump into the crowd with a flying kick like Jet Li or in Matrix movie, nonetheless. I guess, it’s boredom and monotony of life, any chaos is welcomed, and such public spectacles are more than welcome, where you get to practice your Karate chops. Another good example would be, village elders and young ones making a hullabaloo while they see a dogs caught up in their sexual act. Kick them, jump on them, throw stones—it’s the curse of the DOGS that Nepali men are sexually repressed. And, there are these body builder types, in Rupa Ganzi, in three wheleers, they sit with their chest puffed out in that congested space, we get it, your chest is as big as Mt. Everst, now breathe in, and let others sit comfortably. They usually do that when opposite seat is taken by a young female. And there is another type, sweating profusely. Sweat form their arm pits run like Bagmati river. You always wish you had a rain coat. There is something wrong with Nepali women, after marriage and a few kids; they completely shed their inhibition and coyness. They don’t care anymore; they throw their weights carelessly in those constricted places like in public transports. You find their thighs on your lap and their gigantic mammary rubbing all over your face almost smothering you to death, at times, you wish, you had snorkeling gears to breathe safely. And, they always wonder (fat wives), why do their husbands visit whore houses? If you groom yourself, keep yourself appealing, take care of yourself, maintain your weight, may be husbands will stop running to different ponds to quench their thirst. But, what can you say about men, they are pigs after all, even the Lord Indra had to disguise as someone else to sleep with someone else’s wife, he could’ve fucked any of those Apsaras in heaven. Where was Urbashi? On menstrual periods. That’s why Islam is a more rational religion, you are promised 72 virgins in heaven, that way, you never have to come down to fuck someone else’s wife. What a fine example of religious scripts. By the way did Lord Ganesh ever got married? I wonder why no Hindu women keep fast to get a husband like Ganesh? Fucking vanity. Poor guy only gets remembered when someone starts a business, or at the beginning of the fiscal year, and even gets thrown into the river (if you are familiar with the Ganapati festivals in India). If I were him, I would have been mighty angry. No chicks dig you and they occasionally throw you in the river, and you are fat, and you have a trunk, when dad gets to smoke pot, you still drink milk. Pretty depressing huh? Oh! Misery doesn’t stop there, his (for the lack of an English word) choice of vehicle is a fucking RAT, while everyone else gets, cool creatures like dragon, tiger, lion, buffalo etc. etc. Wow, what a digress. Ok! I have been running regularly after I bought my new pair of shoes; need to shed few pounds over the summer, before my would be wife runs with someone else. I need to preen myself, don’t want to be Ganesh while she prayed for Shiva.