I Am The Maitreya

Time goes so fast, it’s again Thanks Giving. Wow! I do remember backing out from my turkey preparation last year after sending out invitation.

Did I tell you one of my stories on Thanks Giving? Bunch of us Nepalis (mostly youth) were invited by this good white family for the T.G. (Thanks Giving) dinner. That’s may be for it’s sentimental value for its historical facts. These days, you will have to go to Reservations to invite any Native Americans (*** read the side story) for dinner; we might have been the next closest thing (for the better insight, read the Pligrims’ story). Since I had never been invited to any T.G. dinner ever, I jumped in. The hosts were great, but the dinner was shit, since there was no turkey, just vegetables.

The plot was revealed latter that one of the invited Nepalis (true son of a cow) was so scared of the white people feeding him with beef that he sent the hosts a mail few days earlier saying that Nepalis are mostly ‘vegetarians.’ Amen! If I become a gate keeper to hell, I’d put a cucumber up his vegetarian ass upon his arrival for his good deed that is making us all eat boiled broccoli for his mother—cow.

I guess; these are going to be my fables, like Aesop’s, when I grow old, and I will recount them over the fire place to my many many grand children (assuming my tool functions fine to  spread my seeds). At that I’m going to be a mean grand Pa; I will toss the fucking unruly ones into the fire, I don’t care even if they are my own blood. I don’t understand how people find these brats cute?

Do you want to hear another great story of mine? One winter vacation, around Christmas time, I waited a table at some fine dinning many years back when I was fresh off the boat, I was just beginning to cope with what’s-chowmein-to-me-is-pasta-to-you phase. So this handsome old man with his beautiful wife with all gray sits at my table. Other workers in the restaurant tells me he is the ex-mayor of Vancouver, may be may be not, I didn’t ask him (this story didn’t take place in Canada mind you; it took place in California-Monterey, where he was visiting at the time). But he had this demeanor of affluence about him, at the same time very approachable and affable man. We chatted for a while, I told him I am fresh to this country, and I am from Nepal. He was so intrigued by the idea that some Nepali chap is waiting his table in California, with fine English but funny accent. For a moment, I thought he mistook me for Tensing Sherpa, but he turned out be a well read guy, he knew who Tensing was, unlike many white people. During the conversation, he asked me, what is the single most striking and amusing thing about the U.S? I was standing beside his table, him with his elbow on the table and at the other end of his elbow was his double cleft chin resting in his palm. Opposite him was his lovely wife with a pearly smile with fluttering eye lashes (you know the kind when women get excited), both looking at me with anticipation of some sort of epiphany of oriental wisdom, like I’m some Zen master about to unlock the vault of my ancient wisdom. Spotlight was on me, I had to come up with some profound answer to match their enthusiasm. I didn’t want to disappoint them. But I couldn’t think of anything profound. Then I realized there is nothing profound I had to say. Few minutes had passed in silence, me pretending to think hard, them staring at me. I was looking up in the ceiling cupping my chin in one hand, and another in my waist.  After a while, I thought, fuck this pretension, I will be myself. I will tell them what intrigued me the most about this country in honesty.

So, I started, “well sire, you see. In our country when people poop dogs pick them up, but in this country, when dogs poop people pick them up. That was very fascinating for me.” The old couple laughed their ass off, until every one turned our way to see what’s happening. Old guy gave me his phone number in Vancouver. He said, “Give me a call young chap, if you ever happen to be in the city.” And I said, “Sure,” and lost the number after few days.

Moral of the story, be original, that way it’s easy to connect with people. Had I given him some eastern spiritual or philosophical shit, he wouldn’t have cared, for he didn’t gray his hair in the sun. I’m pretty sure; he must be recounting this same story to his grand children around the fire place, if he isn’t dead yet. By now I must be a legend in Vancouver, Golay’s fables are yet to travel far flung, my friends. I aspire to be a modern Aesop.

*** ok time for side story: Did I tell you about a Nepali guy, who went to a graduate school here? Who could buy iPod over the internet for quarter the market price, who knows where to get the cheapest ‘samosa’ in Jackson Heights in NY, who could solve differential equation in back of his head, who has 25 credit cards, but thinks that Native Americans are the Blacks after so many years of his stay in the U.S. If I had my ways, I would DEPORT him; in the literal sense, take him to some port, and tie him to the boat and kick it off into the Atlantic or Pacific, whichever he is nearest to him. A fitting action for such an IGNORANT FOOL.