I Am The Maitreya

As one of the protagonists of ‘The Brothers Karamazov’ would say, I don’t remember exactly who, but it goes something like this: “I love mankind in general but hate man in particular.” How beautiful, Dostoevsky the great. It seems all intricacies of human are only fathomed to their greatest depth by Russian writers. At least so it seems. My lack of social politics seems to aggravate Dostoevsky’s notion even more. Without stepping on others’ toes, I would like to leave it to that.

So, what’s new? Nothing, I guess. Oh! Yes, I can run now 6 miles without a stop. Quite an achievement, huh? Pat on the back. I’ve been running regularly, I would prefer to play some sports, but lack of company makes it harder. Running is tedious. Once, my friend asked me, why do you think Africans are a better runner than anyone else? I didn’t know the answer then, but I guess, I do now, after watching ‘God Must Be Crazy’ again. If you are chased by some carnivores the moment you open your eyes, fucking anybody would be a great runner. Environment makes you evolve, but social status makes you run. I’ve never seen any Blacks or Hispanics running opposed to the number of Whites running on the road. Only time I’ve seen them running is in the TV program ‘Cops’ when chased by the police. Hehe…now I am being stereotypical. But, besides being politically correct, that is very true, so it seems by the color of people being chased by the cops.

When white people ride their bikes (bicycle) they are ecstatically happy, since it’s recreation for them.  I’ve seen Latinos riding bikes all grumpy, who wouldn’t be, if you had to go to peddle to your work. Probably this must be the only country where poor are fucking fat, and rich all scrawny. Poor and rich are literally divided by the waist line.

Shit, this write up has been turned into politics of health, which I am not good at either. Talking about politics; I’ve given up watching any News on TV. Politics in the U.S is the worst of any kind anywhere in the world (just the exaggeration, I wouldn’t know about all the political processes of the whole globe, it’s just to let you know, how disgusted that I am with it.) Republicans seem to be running for Jesus, and his affluent followers, while Democratic Party is confused, they don’t know what they are running for. Earlier, I was excited about the Democratic candidates, one a woman the other a minority—black. Since they’ve been chirping their songs to their targeted audience for a while, my enthusiasm is fizzling out. There is no difference between them and the other Presidency candidates, beside their sex and color. In fact they all sound the same. It’s all about national interest aka corporate interest, so there goes the Environmental issues down the oil drain.

I’m all worried, as if I can vote.

Now, don’t think this as my full come-back; it’s just a cameo. As if anyone cares. But, all the comments were encouraging, more so surprising, people like reading my crazy shit. Don’t you guys have anything better to do? No way should eccentric behaviors (mine) be encouraged this way, very harmful for the wholesale health of the society.

Anyway, I was expecting comments something like of this effect: please don’t go, without your write ups my life is void; I would probably commit suicide without the reassurance that the world is full of insane people just like you, which makes me feel better, since you make me feel saner. But alas! Nothing of that sort. I can’t help it, since I am a self aggrandizing bastard. Nevertheless, I’d like to think my writings had profound effects on people. Someday, I hope, they (I don’t know who the fuck), would put my statue in the middle of Kathmandu, anywhere else but not in Ratna Park, please, since I don’t want some drunkard pissing on it, or some hooker giving blow-job underneath it. I want it to be made with a white marble, with all my limbs intact unlike ‘Bhanu-Bhakta or Devkota,’ so that I can kick the nuts off the drunkard, if he were to piss on my statue, or the mutt’s. I want parents to point their finger (not the middle) at my statue and say, ‘now, that’s the pride of Mankind.’ Be like him. And the kids would go, ‘what the fuck, that bastard was crazy.’ I wonder how many parents aspire their children to be like Devkota or Bhanu Bhakta these days. Had my dad said, ‘be like them son,’ I’d have said, ‘are you crazy old man? One was ‘ghasi’ and the other teacher.’ I want to be a ‘Doctor’ to serve the poor and needy. And, the dad with his infinite wisdom and a smirk would say, ‘oh! Fuck! My son wants to be Mother Teresa, some one help.’ By the time you are in your final year of medical school, you are already preparing for your USMLE, for others GRE/GMAT etc. Dad would come around to remind you of all your altruistic benevolent cause of pursuing a medical career or whatever the fuck you are doing, or think you are doing. By this time you’ve gained some wisdom of your own if not infinite through those few decades of your meaningless existence. And you would say, ‘oh! My resolve to help poor and needy is as strong as before, but old man think bigger, time have changed. It’s a global village now; what the fuck does it matter anymore, if it’s Humla or Harlem? I will tend after poor Blacks and Latinos in the ghettos of the mega cities in the US. Service is the same just the location has changed, and the currency, 1 to 70, that’s all. I am still that Mother Teresa at heart.’  Where was I? I’m like a puppy, keep getting lost with my own disconnected thoughts. Oh! Yes! I was on Devkota/Bhakta baje. I seriously believe that no parents want their children to be Devkota or Bhakta anymore.

Once I had one of my family friends had me call him in Nepal. Ok, one of the ‘uncles’. Fuck! Everyone is your uncle/aunty in Nepal. His son had just finished his 12^th grade exam, and he wanted my advice on, what should he push his son to study that would be very helpful in getting some lucrative job (as in make lots of money) in the US. Now, believe me when it comes to seeking SOUND advice, I would be the last person my own dad’s list. But, this gentleman heeded it anyway, his bad luck, I guess. First of all, I was already irked by the fact that he made me call him to Nepal, and more so, he wouldn’t let me talk to the kid—my recipient of advise. So, I laid down few options that would fetch BIG money to him.

1. American football
2. Basketball
3. Hollywood

The kid turned out to be just 5’ 5’’ tall, and scrawny and ugly at that. The only consolation was that the kid played Cricket, something distantly similar to any sports that Nepali play with American sports—Baseball, as only consolation, I told him, that his son should tryout for Yankees/Red Sox, some asteroid might do some trick. All options were ruled out, and his old man was devastated. Well, he wanted my advice, and he got one. I haven’t heard anymore from my beloved uncle since then. And I seriously hope that, that kid would want do a theater or want be a painter or anything other than just crunching numbers, just to give a kick at his dad’s ego. Stupid kids, stupid dads.

On different note. Anyway, thank you guys/girls for your readership (here in the US guys include both the sexes, even one in the middle too) it was necessary to add that ‘girls,’ since I am hoping that there are many ‘girls’ secretly reading my blog. Fuck! ‘Girls’ sounds tad pedophilic, ok, some clarification: females over 20. And they would be wondering, ‘who’s this dude anyway?’ I so very much would like to go on date with this Maitreya guy (Maitreya as in me, no, not the promised Buddha, he doesn’t give a shit about hot females, so give up, and focus on me), and discuss things like: how eating Sushi affects aquatic marine life in the Artic, or on how the discovery of the elusive particle ‘Boson’ would explain the definite working of the Black Hole in the universe.

If you are expecting all these from me, my lovely ladies, you’ve got the wrong person. Sorry, look further, guy with Einstein’s brain and Brad Pitt/Hirtik look is somewhere else. I’m just a regular guy; in fact, I don’t like Sushi, and that weird hotness of Wasabi sauce. I only eat my raw meat with all that heat is not on my plate, but in my bed. I don’t want to be befuddled with the Black Holes in the sky; I want to cuddle with one on my floor, since, I’m a simple man, but still worth making a statue of. Thus, you shall appropriately name it not ‘The Thinker’ but ‘The Confuser.’

I guess, I need to end my affair with blogging here. We got tired growing together, need to go seperate ways for a while. While it lasted, it was great. Thanks folks.

Farewell, Adios And Albida! Dosto.

Happy blogging. Do pray on the demise of Blogger ME.

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.

What’s with British people and Zombies? Fucking, wasted my $9 over that shit movie—28 Weeks Later. Worse, I still have that bad taste lingering in my head, senseless gore and graphics. Looks like the sun has entirely set on the
British Empire, the best they could do is Monty Python or hordes of Zombie movies. But have to give them one thing—music, they still have a better sense than Americans. The other day I was watching TV, and pbs had ‘

Faulty
Tower’ running, if you remember the British serial, Nepal TV used to run those on Saturdays. It was pretty funny, but ugly people. Sorry, Queen. Beside, Elizabeth Hurley, everyone there seems to be characters out of Charles Dickens novels. Eh! Enough of dishing English people, just because they make bad movies.  Last week was the movie week for me; I watched all the movies running on TV. Watched Lord of The Rings for 81^st times, Matrix for 145^th times, The Chronicles of Riddick 28^th times, Scent of a Women for 30^th times and Dead Poet’s Society for 25^th times, well, you got my point. So, this week, I have made a contract with my flat mates, that if they catch me watching TV for more than 30 minutes in one sitting, I will scrub the toilet bowls. That has kept me away from TV for at least last two days. Remarkable feats need remarkable determination.  Nothing interesting happening in my life, very bland. The major event could be–my passport expired, had to make a new one. Downloaded an application form from the Nepali Embassy in the
US. Their site has been under construction over one year, probably they are also waiting for the CA election, back home to fix it.  The queries in the forms are very ridiculous. Color of my hair, eyes, my complexion etc. etc. full of irrelevant information. 99% of Nepalis’ hair color would be black, with a few exceptions of albino, and eye color brown. If these characteristics are so prevalent, why have it there? What’s the purpose? I was baffled, when I had to fill in my complexion. What am I by Nepali standard? In my previous passport, I had, Olive. What would be the people of Taria? Oliver, Olivest? I presume, they go by dark—light dark, kharani dark or charcoal dark.  

I believe; the whole idea of this information is to identify, which population demography you fall into, not certainly for lost and found. A description like this wouldn’t help: A gentleman with black hair, brown eyes, olive skin, and of height 5 feet 2 inches, lost his passport in Ward No. 4, please, return if found. That would fit for all the Pahadis men. Fucking idiots of coveted Foreign Services, haven’t they heard of the word called ETHNICITY?  That single query would have sufficed.  And, the most amusing one was: Any peculiarities? With a big box to fill in, I was very tempted to fill in these, but I didn’t, since I needed to get my passport back.My peculiarities, not necessarily in order:

1. I hate Vyantak ko tarakari.
2. I get bad dreams when I am constipated.
3. I would want my girl friend to wear edible undergarments, possibly sprinkled with vanilla.
4. I can fart and sneeze at the same time.
5. And many more…

Surprisingly, I got my passport back in two weeks, as stipulated. For another ten years, I don’t have to answer these questions. So happy.