My Search

After watching too much of pornography, and non-stop senseless accumulation of information 24/7 (TV, News, Books etc. etc.), I feel my mind is little cluttered and disarrayed. I felt the need to align my chi with I don’t know what, but whatever gives me some serenity.


So, my search for inner peace began. I thought meditation might be the answer for my restless soul. Since I’ve never meditated before, I was clueless how to head start, I needed a help. Luckily, I happened to know a friend who’s been practicing meditation for a while. So he invited me to his mediation center, Sambhala, which is a Tibetan Buddhist way of meditation, that’s all I know about it. I’m a total novice, so you might now more than I do.


It’s a community service run by volunteers; they provide a short introductory class for the beginners on comfortable sitting postures and a few breathing techniques. While the more seasoned gather in the big hall to do some serious meditation. After an hour of meditation the class break up for a tea break, and after that they have open discussion forum, where a speaker chooses a topic and the participants can chime in. For the evening I was there, the topic was on ‘Enlightenment.’ An arcane topic for me, even though we Easterners pretend that’s our backyard, I guess a sense of spiritual superiority by association with god knows what.


The discussion didn’t have any structure, but most of the perspectives were from Buddhist philosophy. I kind of enjoyed it, since the discussion was not tethered around some central tenet like any other organized religion, we could wander around, and have the most insane explanation. Unlike Ten Commandments or some cosmic decree shoved down your throat, where diversion and imagination has no room. Indoctrination scares me, may be the anarchist in me enjoys the freedom of thought. How sad it would be to live your life by ten points or by some codes? It’s a final insult to an intelligent god (if there is one), whose creation is unimaginatively dumb (oxymoron in itself) not ever to venture beyond holy decrees. Alas! Sigh! Fuck!


The facilitator of the discussion did act like an authority on Enlightenment, which pissed me off a little (OK, a lot, since I’ve an aversion for all kinds of preachers), and I tired to give him a hard time by throwing off my stupid questions at him. He sensed my hostility and retreated a little, which I took as my victory, even stomped my chest on bludgeoning him with my club of arrogance.


In retrospect, I was a complete dick. My vanity completely took over my search of serenity. I ended my journey even before I started; my ego dug a ditch and buried me. But, hey, that was my first session; you can’t expect Buddha out of Siddharth over night. Apart from who’s-your-daddy kind of debate largely on my part, I concur. I enjoyed the format of discussion and enjoyed the meditation session. That may be the first time I’ve sat still for half an hour in many, many years without doing anything. Quite refreshing.


I’m going back again this Thursday, looking for my serenity and may be my serendipity. There was a cute girl with big boobies, who interjected herself while I was fencing with the facilitator. My divine intervention. With all smiles, she explained to me what she thinks on the topic being debated heatedly. I don’t remember what she said, but it was all bird chirping to my ears, a melody. And I just nodded my head in approval without listening; she might as well have said that I was an ass. But it didn’t matter even if it was a reprimand, where would you find a beauty who lectures you on philosophy? Phew. Smitten, smitten.

Anthology Of My Guff

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.

What’s your story?

Shit! Day after day, I keep posting some shit here. It says there is something wrong with me. May be I need to get a hobby, get-a-life kind of hobbies. The problem is, I know what I don’t like, but I don’t know what I like. I know it sounds funny, but I mean it. We go by living our lives without knowing our passion, pitiful isn’t it?

So, I’ve decided, if everything goes fine by the mid of 2008 I’ll go to South America, probably Peru or Chile. I’ve always wanted to climb Machu Picchu. Let’s keep my fingers crossed.

Am I that rich to make such a trip? Hell no! It’s one life, so why not?

I’ve always wanted to visit South America since the day I read Tintin’s adventures in and around South America (if you remember that Belgian brat). Even in those comics then, I could see the similarities with the indigenous Latin people and myself. On retrospect that may be because how I failed to relate with that fucking-pale-white-European-brat the Tintin, his dog was cooler. And I hated that drunken English bastard–Caption Heddock (I guess that’s how you spell his name). Come to think of it, all heroes or super-heroes are white people. Superman–Clark Kent, Spiderman–Peter Parker, Batman–Bruce Wayne,  Hulk–Bruce Banner AND the Savior the Jesus.

What the fuck Phantom an alter ego of Christopher Walker was doing in the African jungle, saving black asses from the black and brown thugs? Why was Tarzan a white boy, again somewhere in the African jungle? Ok! Ok! Fine they are white, but what throws me off is: why are their spouses always white–Jane and Diana? Both live in the deepest forest of Africa, they should be fucking a gorilla or some tribes women. In that respect Mogli does fine, bastard was brown that’s why he doesn’t get a white female.

But, I guess it’s not a calculated scheme of evil white people, I think it just so happened. May be it’s the dynamics of evolution of story telling. It’s always about who gets to tell their sides of stories. All sides don’t not have the means and recourses to get their stories to all nooks and crannies, but it doesn’t mean that they don’t have stories to tell. Muna Madan is as melodramatic as Romeo and Juliette.

I’ve read Indian super-heroes (Naj Raj, Makadi Man, Faulad Singh etc. etc.) beat the sit out of everybody else besides North Indians, Dharmender’s son beats the shit out of whole Pakistan in some movie. Chinese shaolins and Japanese samurais always manage to kick ass of rest of the world. Arsonist Hanuman burned the whole of Sri-Lanka. We never got to hear the Lankan side of the story, how they feel about it.

Probably in their story, it would go something like this: they saw the strange ape like creature which came flying from the north, on a closer look it was a monkey with a red under-ware. Very amused, they captured it, decided to feast on him on the auspicious occasion of wedding of their King—Ravana, who had found a true love in the Princess from North (somewhere in the foothills of Himalaya), who had fled her first husband she was forced to marry just because the guy could break a bow. She wasn’t impressed at all with his bow breaking prowess. She wanted more in a man. She always dreamt of a palace full of coconut trees in the front yard in the shores of Indian Ocean, and a dark hubby with a thick thick moustache. Very girl has a dream. You see.

Anyway, during the feast, while the money with the red under-ware was being roasted on the grill occasionally brushed with coconut oil, and in drunken stupor, revelry and chaos of the city, fright broke out over the monkey roast, monkey got loose. Scared monkey with fire on its tail ran amok setting fire to the whole city. ‘Damn the monkey from the North,’ said the Lankans. Since monkey was a sign of a bad omen, they decided to drive it out of the island. Since monkey was badly injured, it couldn’t fly anymore, since monkeys don’t swim; only way out of the island was to make a bridge across the ocean. Thus the bridge was constructed. Loving Lankans, handed the monkey with a complied list of dos and don’ts to keep it out of troubles, better known as ‘Hanuman Chalise.’ Princess got tired of eating coconut curry, she finally returned to her first husband. Monkey had bad mouthed about her, her chastity was the concern of whole of Ram-Rajya, particulary the ‘dhobee,’ gees, Purosotam Ram (purus + uttam= excellent man) had doubts too, so she went inside the ground. Since then it’s been a fate of South Asian women. Ravana got pissed, really really pissed, he told his people, ‘thou shall avange the death of my beloved.’ True to their words, they killed Rajiv Gandhi. Finally the fued is settled.

So, you see, just because you haven’t heard the stories form the other side, it doesn’t mean that yours is TRUE. Like every coin has two sides, every monkey has two stories.

Counting my sheeps. Baaa aaah ahha!

Well, this is one of those nights, where sleep deludes you. I guess; I have insomnia, god
bless me. I’m not passionate about blogging at this un-godly hours, but what’s better to do than this, while counting sheeps dosen’t help.

Single life sucks, had I’ve a partner, I’d have fucked her brain out and exhaustion
might have helped to put me to sleep.

 By the way, I don’t have MS Words in my computer, recently installed a new operating system. So bear with my spellings and typos. Without Spelling Checker, I’m not even sure how to spell ‘bear’, pretty sure it’s not ‘bare’ or ‘beer,’ so has to be ‘bear.’

I’m clueless what to write. Ok! I’ve a rear round alergy, I sneez all year round. I’ve noticed, it gets aggrevated while the seans are changing. Once, I sneezed 28 times in a row. After that marathon my splines were hurting. I’ve been able to figure out what I am alergic too, but I’ve a strong hunch that I’m alergic to MYSELF.

God, writing in Notepad does make you realize how bad is your spelling, anyway, I wasn’t never a spelling buff. I’ve hard time spelling my own name. I’dnot understand, why do they have this spelling bee contest. I believe, schools in Kathmandu use to have that too, organized by GAA. I remember, my neighbor took part in it, I guess we were 6th or 7th graders. Fucker was an example of a good behavior in the neighborhood. All neighborhood kids used to look like shit compared to him, and all parents used to pit their kids aganist him academically, our shortness preceeded with beatings from our parents. Fucking deligent bastard.
Anyway, he took part in this spelling contest, so he picked me to be his couching partner, which I wasn’t interested in. But had to cave in when he promised that he would let me copy his homeworks. What a good opportunity to show my parents that their son is doing great, by great I mean not flunk in the tests.

So, there was this word in the pratice list: ‘Vehicle.’ The contest format would be that the facilitator would pronounce the word and the contestants have to spell it out. So this guy was playing facilitator and contestant himself in our mock session, I was just there holding the paper with the lists of words, and giving him false sense of hope now and then that he is going to win the contest. For the word ‘vehicle,’ we would read it out as ‘ven-chi-kal,’ I said there is no ‘n’ in the spelling so why ‘ven’? What did I know, he was the smart one, he said, ‘n’ is silent.

Bastard was out in the first round, my homework stopped, followed by more beatings at school and home. Now, I regret, I should have taken part in those contests, those skills would have come handy at times like these, when you don’t have MS office to do your spell check. I tell you some pepole are goal oriented even when they are infant, as was the
guy. Why the fuck would anyone want to memorize the dictionary by heart? The whole purpose of the dictionary is not to know the word or spelling, when you need it just turn the pages. 

God, how did people work before computer? Just imagine writing this blog in type writer. I’d never complete it, I’d be painting the paper with that white liner. That reminds me of old Hindi/English movies where boss has his secretary dictate his memo, while boss is smoking cigar, and a pretty secretary with the blouse showing clevage is pounding on the type writer keys. Now, I realize that they didn’t get that job for their boobs but for their brains, since typing without computer prompting where you went wrong is quite a daunting task.

well, on retrospect, i’ve managed to put something substantial in volume atleast, even though it’s pretty much shit. Vagaries of life, fucking sleeplessness and boredom, add that to my litany of complains.

I sign off, I need to go to work tomorrow, and it’s already 1:30 in the morning.

Gentil Shylocks

I’m a paradox to the conventional wisdom: that one grows wiser with the age, but, opposite is true. I haven’t seen a shred of wisdom in me after a few decades of existence. I’m still waiting for my epiphany to strike to transfer me into a true Maitreya. Sooner the better, then I’d not have to leave my family behind for my nirvana.


Last week all (well almost all) desi diaspora in the U.S got exuberant over Boby Jindal gubernatorial victory in Louisiana, the first of Indian origin to hold the governorship in the U.S. I believe there have been House of Representatives earlier of Indian origin but not a governor. Mr. Jindal victory in the land of White Supremist does tell one thing—times are changing. But, don’t get your hopes any higher, he won the race on GOP ticket and under the Jesus’ banner. So, personally, I don’t see, why any Indian for that matter any desi should be happy over his victory? Get happy just because, his color tone is same as yours, or for providing the hope that even brown people can do? I would be truly happy the day when immigrant can win the office without compromising his/hers values whatever that might be, then the playing field has been indeed leveled. But, no matter how much the social game is rigged, playing field is more leveled than anywhere else in the world. That’s a sign of a healthy democracy and liberty, even if it’s not perfect one. Imagine anywhere else in the world wining an office by the immigrants.


Largely, desi diaspora can be categorized into ‘Conservatives’ and ‘Libertarians.’ I believe 95% can be safely put into Conservative slot. By conservatism, I don’t mean by American standard, I mean by their own preconceived and inculcated values that they got from their own motherland before getting of the boat wherever that might be from, like not eating beef, pork etc. etc. marrying their own kinds (but sleeping with everyone), diligently following their own religions, and so on and so forth. And there are these fucking self hating liberal desis, who look at the rest of the 95% and wonder why the hell do they come to this country at all with all that baggage? If they can’t let go off this baggage, can’t they try to make it any smaller so that it won’t intrude into someone else’s space? ‘Baggage’ was in rhetorical sense, but I’ve seen people coming with ‘lottas,’ and vehemently arguing on the plus side of using lotta over toilet paper.


Oh! How prompt we are to protest on the slightest racial remark or behavior from the White people? But has no problem separating your own sisters/brothers from their lovers who are not of the same caste as you are even though they are of same nationality. And go in 50 states nation hunt for the right caste boy, all in the name of preserving your culture. Irony, no one sees racism in that.


I’ve heard numerous complains from the people and concern from the government on few sprouting churches in KTM that they shouldn’t be allowed to operate at all, while we enjoy the liberty of building the biggest the and most expansive Hindu Temples and Mosques in the U.S. Take that right away and Hindus/Muslims organizations would be all up arms in Washington D.C. protesting the U.S hypocrisy on secularism and personal freedom to worship any kinds of God. But, when Nepal was declared secular, the same people went ape shit about it, they saw it as attack on their age old culture. I guess they need to relearn the word ‘hypocrisy,’ but that wouldn’t help, since these are senseless, irrationals bastards who have just migrated their ass to different land mass to litter with their poops, while they left their heads home. Muslims are the worst of the lot. Hanuman, save them as well.


Deport all these fucking desi conservative bastards. By the way, I am libertarian, if you haven’t figured it out yet. 


Oh! Beside these two ‘Conservatives’ and ‘Libertarians’ the third kind is ‘Green.’ That constitutes 99% of the desi population. No, I’m not taking about environmentalist; I’m talking about Dollar Green. The most interesting of the animal are the ‘Green Conservatives.’ Who are oblivious of all the social and political happenings around them but busy collecting $$$. They come with all kinds of professional expertise—bugger flippers to Scientists. They wouldn’t notice if Ku Klux Klan wins all Supreme Court seats, or wouldn’t care, since they will be too busy looking at their bank account whose number goes up every minute. These are the Jews among desis, financially successful and astute, but wouldn’t hesitate to take a pound of flesh for a profit or give away a pound of own flesh. Brown Shylock that we are.


We’ve become slaves in search of a freedom.