Liberty Starbucks Way

The other day I was at Starbucks. I hate the corporate culture but I love coffee. So, I haven’t been able to give up Starbucks. Bastards have pictures of indigenous people hung on their four walls picking up coffee beans, and have championed themselves as friends of these people somewhere in South America or Africa. They don’t give a rat’s ass about them; it’s all about profit, and all these altruistic soft-heart-bleary-eyes-white-liberals would order some intricate beverage thinking that farmer’s life in the picture would get better by drinking at Starbucks. Well that’s Ameircan liberalism when it comes to some brown/black people somewhere in the world. I saw an ad: a tourist drinking Starbucks at Tiananmen Square. Starbucks is ubiquitous. Let the tourists have indigenous experience while they travel, let them have some local Chinese tea at some local Chinese chaiwalla stall; you don’t need to follow them all around the world. But, I might be wrong here, Starbucks at Tiananmen Square might have been for the local consumption. They might have had the urge to stake awake and stay ahead of the game after the centuries of slumber; people of ‘Sleeping Dragon And Slouching Tiger.’ As Justin Timberlake of consumerism pop culture Thomas Friedman would say, world is flat. Idiot wouldn’t realize even if he falls off the edge. Fuck him.

 

Ok, coming back to some intricate beverage at Starbucks. A good synonym for America would be ‘choices.’ It’s all about choices while buying some commodity or service. There are at least ten choices for everything. Sadly, they relate these overwhelming choices with liberty and democracy. You will have to answer 20 questions, before you get your god damn sandwich, since you can make 20 different sandwiches with same ingredients. Now, how is it any different, they are selling the same shit with different names? That doesn’t stop at sandwich, the madness stretch as far as conjugal service. And they decry, that divorce is a national crisis. Given so many choices, every man would want to try everything, hence more divorces (pun indented, I know of few men who are as loyal as lap dogs). They should learn from Nepalis that you stick to your woman, the one your parents found for you until you die, even if her vagina is under her armpit, blame it on karma, and go about living. And, we South Asian men wonder/argue why our marriages work better. Apparently they never bother to ask the same question to their wives, since their opinions don’t count.

 

With no more meandering, let’s talk about varieties of beverages at Starbucks. Why can’t white people order simple drink? Like get me a regular coffee, instead of, I would get ‘Machiano with expresso shot with sprinkle of pumpkin seed with twitch of vanilla powder with 2% low fat cow milk from Mid West.’ It’s not that I never wanted to drink those drinks, but the problem is I don’t know how to order or what to order, it sounds more difficult than the periodic table in Chemistry book. The best I have done is, ‘I will have the same,’ after a women put an order which sounded like some magical incantation. The drink turn out to be like some beat up cheese cake in the cup with the straw. I don’t understand how that even remotely resembles coffee? Well, I guess that’s democracy, order coffee and end up getting some cheese cake taste like drink, element of surprise at your own expense, since they don’t come cheap, I mean in dollar value.

 

And this same mad urges for choices extrapolates in their Foreign Policies too. No wonder Americans were so anxious to dispense their ‘Democracy’ to Iraqis. They thought lack of choices in Iraq equates to no democracy, since it’s been Saddam all way long. Sadly, it has not been as sweet as some cheese cake beverage at Starbucks. Nonetheless, more choices on how to get killed and by whom, pretty democratic way of dieing I would say, if not living.

 

Freedom of choices have never been fair for me, I always end up getting the worst deal, when given many choices to pick from. Let’s say, I have the special talent at picking up wrong things, that’s my karma. But many of my friends have flourished and prosper under this system, especially when they do shopping. They always end up buying the same thing almost 20 to 30% cheaper than I do. Out of embarrassment, I tell them I bought the same shit at the same price as they did, sometime I even lie that I got it cheaper than them. 

 

For most of us, American way of life has been buying things off EBay, enjoying our rights to choose. And I’ve yet to order my mail-bride.

Suruwal Ko Toona—Keep It Tight

Well, many might say silence is a mark of a wise man, I’m everything but wise, my resounding silence is due to a sudden explosion of work load, which have kept me away from blogging for a while.

 

I have some time at hand, so let me try to put something here. Lately few issues have been bugging me, before they rot inside me and I die of gangrene, allow me to purge myself. By doing so, I get purified, you get infected, beauty of blogging, isn’t it? So here they are:

 

1. Prasant Tamang
2. Gundruk
3. Nude Bars

 Prasant Tamang:

Let’s start with Prasant. Boy! Did the nation go gaga over ubiquitous serenading Tamang? Rude awakening huh that we suffer from an identity crisis as a nation? Post Panchayat kick in the patriotic groin by reality, ache in the balls (apology to female species, since I can’t relate what will equate to that pain for you guys) still lingers, that as a people and a nation we are non-existence in the globe, but only full of valor and majestic history in our school text books. In the absence of national figures (state person/scientist/artist/sports person etc. etc.) like in other countries, to take a pride on, we try to substitute that void with anything/everything, no matter how ridiculous it is. For instance: Prasant winning Indian Idol. The jubilation/celebration far exceeds the achievement. The event was a shining moment to express our support for Nepalis in diaspora, but sad, it only happens when someone is singing on TV. What happened to that love/support when whole of hill people in Darjeeling was fighting for a separate state? When thousands of Nepalis were driven out of Burma, in resent history from Bhutan? And God, what do we do? We take a PRIDE on Prashant being one of US, (Nepalis know when to play that card of inclusiveness very well, shall we ask Madhesis, how they feel about that word US?) as if his win is a win over evil India by under dog–Nepal.

 

We have picked the battle ground—popular culture, since in diplomacy and in foreign policies, our Southern friend (let me remind you, Delhi is up more north than our beloved Mt. Everest, our pride, as if we built it with our own hands) always rams our Southern orifice, that’s what happens, Mr. Nepali Politicians, if you bend so low, and don’t hold tight to your suruwal-ko-toona, I guess, Indian Diplomats/State men get tempted and aroused to pull their dhotis up and do you a service. And you fly back to KTM airport with that weird saunter (now, we know why), and we always thought you scored some finer points on the barraging table, but on contrary, they scored you on the same table. Mother of all ironies, same people high-light the issues of human trafficking across the border for flesh trade, while they are themselves abused across the border on the table. India has been indiscriminate in its philandering while rendering their service to Nepali leaders of bourgeois or proletariats likewise, and at times they even extend their service to Monarchy, you just need to bend. While our leaders are sodomized in Delhi, we are pre-occupied by what Rhritik has to say about Nepalis, or go berserk over crooning Tamang.  So much for modern (that is questionable) Nepali sensibility—show kitsch nationalism at the slightest opportunity. I’m not India bashing, I know very well that foreign policies do not run on compassion/benevolence or charity. It’s a hard bargain and a ruthless game, but I’m plain worried that our leaders don’t hold to their under-ware any tighter, and are eager to get down on their knees, expecting some compassion from the other party, only that you get is lust for such demeanor and posture. Next time when sent to bargain, they should be padded with chastity belt, and in strait jackets to keep them up-right to show some presence of back bone. But, what can you expect from these dirty whores? They don’t even die of STDs. Look at that old fuck—Koirala, even Herpes is scared to get him, he seems immortal, but the fact is even the Death cringes and shies away from him. Fucker, looks like a Gollum from Lord of The Ring movie, holding tight to the ring, never dieing.

 

Bastard MaKuNe, only thing intellectual about him is his moustache and Nepali Topi, rest is all bull-shit gibberish in Nepali vernacular, which is very hard to understand for the people who didn’t graduate with Sanskrit degree, lot harder for ethnic people. And we have a habit of equating incomprehension of gibberishness with intelligence, thus he appears very intelligent. What to talk about, Comrade Daktar Sahib, you should read some of his publication in English, God, it’s like reading GRE vocabulary, it’s embarrassingly difficult to read, as if he throws dart at Thesaurus to pick the hardest and randomest synonyms, which otherwise would’ve sufficed with use of simple regular words. I guess, he does better in Nepali, but I haven’t read any. I doubt; the other of the bandit duo—Prachanda even knows how to read and write. That’s our intellectuals, who can’t make a point after wasting shit load of ink and paper, and words, and air time. But, who has made sense all this time in Nepal? Beside, Pawan Putra Hanuman. I don’t know why I said it. May be, I am a Hanuman fan. Monkey God that flies and builds bridges, and who comes any closer to Batman, Superman, and Spiderman, even wears red under-ware. If evolution is correct that we are descendant of apes, we should be able to fly some day. But, privilege should go to those first, who reads Hanuman-Chalise, for their unflinching belief in their super-hero. I can be pretty stupid with my nonsense sometimes, for bringing in Hanuman for no reason out of context.

 

Pardon my miniscule knowledge in Nepali politics; these are the only people (yes, I know Hanuman is not a Nepali politician, thank you very much) that I can put faces to their names and a few more. When is the other gem of Koirala dynasty—Manisha running for office? If she shows her tities, I will vote for her, an excellent reason to vote for in Nepali politics. But, she better hurry up, before those tities get old and sag to her knees. Incorrigible pig that is me. I’m pretty sure rests are as shitty as others. God, do I hate politicians so much?

 

But, I’m beginning to fall in that slot of pseudo-intellectuals ex-patriots, who worry too much about Nepal in free time, that’s called leisurely worry—worry of sort that won’t kill you with stress, other time I don’t give a shit. Or of people who worry too much about Nepal after a few drinks, and even promise to go back to serve motherland in their drunken stupor. Next time, I’ve decided to chisel their words in stone, and show them the next morning about the promises they made the other night, or may be buy them a ticket out of my own pocket. But one thing for sure, one of the main ingredients of alcohol is love for motherland.

 

But, I love Mt. Everest which I’ve only seen pictures of, and Buddha is my uncle, as I go by Maitreya, you see, and Sita is my Mata from Janakpur, and Hanuman my Mata saver, not the Gau Mata, you stupid fuck, you think Ravana is that stupid to want to marry a cow. Wouldn’t you think there are cows in Sri-Lanka that he had to fly to some Bihari jungle to get one? Nepal is a great confused country, confused between identities as a peaceful people of Buddha or the brave Klingons (Star Trek) of mankind, ready to rip head off on the slightest provocation. Fuck, what are we? But, lately, we have been Pacifist-Klingons-Son-of-Sita-Mata-From-Janakpur running after Prasant, who beat the shit out of sons of Gau-Mata—the Indians.

 

Disclaimer: I don’t have anything against Mr. Tamang personally. I did watch his few clips in YouTube, he’s good, but I didn’t see any other contestants. Let him wallow in his success, leave him alone, may be he doesn’t want to represent Nepali people, I guess, he just wanted to get out of that drudgery of Calcutta police, make something/someone out of himself. Beside, he might be my long lost cousin, since he is rich and famous now.

 

I guess; I went over board, started with Prasant and ended with bitching about politicians, in between praising Hanuman. Now, I guess, I don’t have time to write about ‘Gundruk’ and ‘Nude Bars.’ May be next time. Now, don’t get excited, I’m not going to talk about Gundruk in Nude bars, they are independent topics. For your kind information, Gundruk that you see in Nude bar is called ‘pubic hair’ in English, and not edible at all, but men have been stupid enough since time immemorial that to think of it as edible, and try it anyway. Ah! Ah! Think silently, I can almost hear, you saying in your head, ‘Paataki, Nakachara mora, laaz pani chaina.’ Welcome, to my blog.

 

Remind me to write about them next time, if I forget.