Quarter Life Crisis

Quarter Life Crisis

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‘25/26 is not a nice age for a man’ the post appeared several times in my wall. ‘……25/26 is not a nice age for a man,…..Your ex-gfs are getting married,….. your career has just started…….Elders treat you as unproven theorems, ….. Every Aunty you meet ask “Shaadi kab kar rahe ho beta !!”, ……while uncle asks “Career ka kya socha hai beta…”,…….. You have all the confidence in the world but little achievements to show, ….. You know that whatever you have been taught about the world in schools has been sheer waste of time ……..’ I have heard a lot about a middle life crisis. But this is different; it’s not a middle life yet so for a reference let’s call it a quarter life crisis.

I remember my grandma citing an example of my dad and uncle wearing pants only when they were enrolled in college. Last month Nepali media published Prime Minister Dr. Bhattarai’s photo wearing a shorts while he was receiving an award of a SLC Topper. Seeing the photo in Newspaper my mom looked at me ‘See even the great man like Baburam used to wear shorts till SLC’. She took off the spectacle and gave a stern look at me ’what’s wrong with today’s youth! Whatever you give to them they won’t be satisfied’. And I hope my grandma if was alive today would support my mom. I am sure that my mom and grandma’s tone was why are you guys not like them? You are thinking of buying an Armani Jeans and you mom show you the picture of the great person wearing shorts and ask you to be like him.

‘Can we be like them?’ Great!! ‘Can be’ but the Getup!! ‘Hell No’. First thing he was not great when he used to wear the shorts and second how could you ignore the fact that we could be the great like him. The worst part is that the parents won’t believe in Quarter life dilemma no matter what you do. So I just laughed at her.

In the evening, it was a small family gathering and the newspaper on the table had a half page picture of Leaders signing a peace agreement. What more to ask for the gossips? But the sky is the limit. The gossip became a dialogue and gradually an argument. Happens every time when everyone thinks he/she is right. Dad and I had a tug of war. For him the peace agreement was great, for me it was bullshit. He was satisfied with the development and I was ironic. He strives for the social responsibility I strive for the money. He preferred cooperative I preferred company. For him agriculture was the backbone of economy for me it was technology. He wants road network I want a neural network. I want to work in the IT Park; he worked to build the PuspaLal Park (Park in the memory of Puspa Lal Shrestha the founder of Communist Party in Nepal). He sided with Gaddafi I supported Obama. I was sounding like a capitalist and no doubt he was a Marxist. Finding my ideas antithetical to his, he conclude ‘You have nothing, you are a zero’ and ended the conversation.

‘What!!! I’m different, does that mean I am a Zero’

I don’t know why he said so. Was it because I was really a zero or was it because I was a quarter life unproven theorem? The dialogue by Bhisma in Mahabharata ‘मे एक सुन्य हुँ जिसका अकेला कोही अस्तित्व नहि हे’ was ruling my mind ever since I watched Mahabharata few months back. Then I started believing myself as a zero. I even called it a Zero Anxiety. Today when dad gave his conclusion he hit in the bulls eye.

I didn’t have any concrete things to prove a theorem. I wished I could say ‘I have all the confidence in the world but little achievements to show’. But confidence cannot be shown and achievements; I don’t have. So I was in a deep crisis better to say in a quarter life crisis.

सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी

सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी

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Preceding three nights were quite rough; whole night digging into 3 books of card without blinking an eye and emptying the pocket without a good damn chance to win. So when the climax of Tihar came, the ending was sure to be forlorn: the evening of Bhaitika day, I and my blue visage left alone in the room trying to catch some sleep.

My laborious attempt to make up for those preceding nights was in vain when the stereo speaker started blaring on our front porch. ‘What the hell !!’ I wake up rubbing my eyes and came out doddering down the staircase. My god, the whole neighborhoods gather into our front porch. The banner on the side reads the name of Local Youth Club. And three damsel images were swaying in the heavily lighted porch to keep up with Gauri Malla’s classic Nepali number ‘Tiharai ayo lau jhilimili’. I pulled the chair and placed myself at the corner yawning and rubbing my eyes.

The MC guy started calling the name one after another. Dhinka Chika, Prem ki Naiyya, Shila ki Jawani, Taal ko Pani, Maya Godawari Ful Fulyo etc. The fusion of Bollywood and Kollywood was off-color yet jolly. When it was time for Shila ki Jawani my hangover was over and I was feeling rejuvenated. The girl shaked her butt well in shila ki jawani. I tell my mom that she won’t have to worry about cleaning the porch tomorrow. And she laughed. Thank God mom too loved Shila ki Jawani. The Dinka Chika Guys were funny, though they couldn’t do Salman’s 6 packs stuff but they did fine with their hands in the pocket and the whistling. ’ Taal ko pani’ lived up to the expectation of bringing the earthquake in couple of rector scales. Neighbor kid also participated in the boogy woogy.

The MC’s tone showed it was coming to an end. ’The last performance of today the Nepali dance esp. popular among the youth, I hope the old here also enjoy it a lot’. He paused for a while and screamed ‘Let’s welcome our friends for Simple Simple Kanchi’. I had heard the song’s snippet in a movie’s promo in Nepali channel and few friends in facebook had already mentioned it as weird. I had never got chance to listen the full songs. So I felt animated getting one now. I composed myself so that I don’t have to yawn for next 5 min.

‘सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी को डिम्पल पर्ने गाला, मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मलाई मन पर्यो’……

…………सुटुसुटु आउने कान्छाको लुटुपुटु पर्ने बानी, मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मलाई मन पर्यो’’

The whistling and clapping went for a minute or so. For me the song was funny, catchy and not so weird. I think that’s better than present days Bollywood’s Dhinka Chika or ChamakChallu. Unlike Chamakchallu or Dhinka Chika I can understand the wording of Simple Simple Kanchi. The MC called it a day by thanking all and bhailini packed their stuff.

Though they never bother to recite the Bhailini (anyway who cares whether they came to ask for Gunui Choli or Sent by Bali Raja) they were well appreciated. To conclude, one and half hour full entertainment and they did fine. When I fall back into the bed I was whispering ‘सिम्पल सिम्पल कान्छी को डिम्पल पर्ने गाला, मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मन पर्यो मलाई मन पर्यो’. The next morning I sat to write this. To bring myself in a mood I think of the song so I searched for ‘simple simple kanchi’ in youtube. 28 search result and at the top of the list the song itself with 53,256 views. That was not bad for a Nepali movie number and not for me as well because the evening which was supposed to be gloomy went tip top with ‘Simple Simple Kanchi’.

Highway 200K

Highway 200K

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Next day after Dashain, the world wasn’t awake and I was all set to leave my home to get back to the shitty Kathmandu. Loaded with two heavy back packs I took a taxi to the bus park. My ticketing agent’s foul play made me to travel in a mini bus and worst of all I had to pay double. What to do its Dashain for everyone. So called tourist bus was filled with few but intriguing foreigners.

The bus started off and the seat beside me was empty. You pay double, you get double, I felt lucky and put my luggage by my side, plugged the ear phone in my ears and relaxed. ‘So we keep on waiting, waiting, waiting on the world to change’ one of the John Mayer’s best was buzzing on my ear when the daylight pierced through the cloud and caress my countenance. I closed my eyes, felt the warmth of sunrise, took a long breath and the cold breeze form Machhapuchre filled every alveoli. When the playlist was changing, the panorama of Majestic Mountain was slowly getting away from the eyesight. Three Gurung Teenage girls were sitting in front of me. Their gossip was more interesting than my playlist so I just paused my cell phone’s media player and lurch my ears toward their conversation.

‘Did you know the guy who made iPhone died yesterday (ओइ सुन त, iPhone बनाऊने मान्छे त मरेछनी।)’ the girl on the front seat turned back.

‘Oh I see, that’s why the facebook was filled with RIP’, the second replied. She started luminous smile and start to comb her hair.

‘Yea you are right’, the first one clarified. ‘That’s why everyone was writing RIP in their status and I too did last night’ the voice was filled with the boastfulness and her face glowed with the glory.

‘Oie listen’ the third one: silence listener by then, poke her presence. ‘Sipora sent me the friend request on facebook, but I didn’t accept’

‘You did damn right; she is just a show biz, braggart fool’ (ठिक गरिस् तैले, कस्तो घमण्डी छ बाई त्यो पोजे त). God these girls are really something, I thought after I heard the terse reply from the first one.

There was more interesting scene to indulge myself with. The Blond foreigner couples on the other side next the Gurungs were in full mood. Series of kisses, it felt awkward to watch Hollywood romance live no matter how modernized you think you are. Thank god there were no elders on the bus otherwise they would have wasted their energy by cursing the blonds. As for me I couldn’t restrain myself without a comment. ’राम राम हेर्नेलाई भन्दा देख्नेलाई लाज’, and my others neighbor, The Gurungs on the front giggled. ‘Oie see the Khaire are kissing hehehehe’.

After an hour the bus pulled out, four passengers got in. It’s better to say four troubles got in. The melodrama of the finicky couple didn’t move the bus for next 10 min. The old women and a girl with them were watching dumbly.

‘No, no we can’t sit in the cabin’, ’How can we sit at the back’, ‘I need a window’, ‘we can’t sit apart, manage two seat together’ and ‘We can’t travel in this shitty minibus, we are paying for the tourist bus’. They went on and on. Everybody on the bus was watching them quietly.

‘You are travelling in the shitty minibus’ the guy next to me grumbled with frustration.

The women didn’t stop there. She kept on trucking for another 10 min. sometime calling their ticketing agent, sometime scolding the driver and the support staff. There was no sign they would stop.

‘You better charter a private plane, why travel in a bus?’ The previous guy next to me seemed angry. All four turned toward him. God their scary growl!! But he was also something, didn’t move an inch with four pairs of ferocious wild feline eyes.

‘Fuck you bitches’ I wish I could utter these words but I zipped my lips and waited their melodrama to end. Finally they settled, the two women found out the last seat, the husband took one in the cabin and the daughter came next to me.

The blond couple and other foreign got off somewhere near Muglin for the rafting. The drama queen and the old women took the blonds’ seat. The fat guy singled his daughter to come front. She took her belonging and left. He told her to seat by the side of the First Gurung teenage (The bald guy like Bruce Willis, next to her had got off for the rafting). And he placed his ponderous belly by my side. God he swaps her seat. Do I look a diddly? I was totally shocked and scrutinized myself from top to bottom. ‘What the fuck? Am I that gross so that a man didn’t felt safe to let her daughter sitting by the side’?

Entering Kathmandu Valley descending down Thankot is like jumping deliberately into the realm of wicked beings. As people say ‘Journey is what brings us happiness not the destination’ so thinking little about the shitty destination was the best for me. 7 hours and 200K was all it took to take me back to where I didn’t wanted to be.

Odds and Even

Odds and Even

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It was late night and we exchanged few email. I don’t know why I didn’t dare to open the chat box. But a couple of emails were enough to evoke an Elysian memory. There were no more high school slangs, no more nickname, no more haggling just formal words, and words enough to make you realize we’re grown up dude.

Half dozen autumns had passed since. As soon as I finished reading the email, I just lay in my bed, strolled my eyes absentmindedly on the ceiling and gave my brain a go to travel back in time. Image started filling the ceiling some haze some limpid. After a minute I took a long breathe, closed the eyes. I thought it would be really soothing memory but to my surprise I became a calculator. I was summing the odds and even of the couple of Autumn I spent back then with a grown up dude on the other side of the SMTP terminal. For me those two autumns were the perfect combination of balmy ambiance of sissoo tree swaying in the wind and the animated high school teen life. But now my own understanding has befuddled me. I started waging it on the scale of odds and even.

I enjoyed every tick of duel autumns. From classroom to playground, from hostel to dining hall, from my dear seat in the classroom to my cozy bed of the hostel I catch a glimpse of happiness in every instance. Study, game, programs, time pass, TV room, study hours, and PE classes I took all fun out of them. I think my even camp is full of high times. Despite this I know there are ample of occasion when I was what my dude called a prick (He said he was also one of it). Though I was not right up front, my unsatisfactory deeds on several occasions were enough to felicitate me with an adjective mentioned above. Undermining the existence of the other sect in the classroom, being boisterous on several occasions and ridiculing the fellow mates, I left behind these gross memories which will sum up in the odds camp of my scale. I wish my odds camp won’t be bulky coz I never enjoyed the adjective. I calculated my odds and even with a little assistance of the emails. And the conclusion: blah blah blah......

‘Knowledge, Character, Service’. I can’t say how much I excelled in these three endeavors but one thing for sure I did excelled in numbers of pals who will be forever there to share tenderness and warmth not only on the other terminal of SMTP but also on every details of life.