April Rains
Since I have no decent topic to write on, here is a collage of a few sights and thoughts while I walked the streets of Kathmandu. For those who know the layout of the city will understand the route I took. This is a presentation of half a journey, sliced midway, lest some stalker finds his way to my home.
I pass the Air India office. The airline does not operate here; the reason for its existence is unknown. I had met the general manager some days back at a party and posed the same question. He could not give a convincing reply. The man was genial and jovial, so I shut up and had enjoyed his anecdotes. Still, I wish they would not waste money in operating offices in foreign lands where the airline is not flying to. Worse, the building is so shabby, it s a shame.
The SBI is housed in a better one, a few steps down the same road. However, architecturally it’s dull as if a pavement of square glass tiles has been erected. The entrance on the side is weird and resembles the narrow balconies of seedy hotels on cheap hill stations; on the left a driveway runs down in a slope.
Beyond it, regretfully, the PIA building looks more promising with its colonial, arch-shaped fa ade. It is a one-storied singular stand-alone construction; still, it’s colonial, I observe. I extend my patriotism to vague and weird levels, even to the buildings housing my country s governmental offices in foreign lands.
Passing Jai Nepal Cinema Hall, I see Waqt posters are up. Shuddering at the uncomfortable memories of Anu Mallik’s throaty and raspy warbling, I shake off my eyes and ears from the sight, lest the horrendous song starts playing in the mind. Thankfully, it does not. I still have Lata Mangeshkar’s sonorous Mere dil ne jo maanga mil gaya running in the loop in my mind s stereo. (Never mind if you do not know the song; even I didn t till a few days back, but it s got some lovely lyrics that go Munh chhupa kar gaya hai andhera, mere jeevan ka aaya savera, aaj kadmon mein jhukne laga aasman, ho gayi pyaar ki har tammana jawaan). It s from an old film Rakhwala; old, I know for I have seen the newer one starring Anil Kapoor and Farha(not exactly new!) with some horrible music by Nadeem Shravan, pre-Aashiqui.
Rounding the bend of the passage, I bow to a small roadside temple (Kathmandu streets are full of these minute edifices). Opposite to this, the Hyundai showroom stands wistfully awaiting customers. The prices of cars are staggering here. The name Avco International rings a bell; if I am not mistaken the same have a share in one of the Gurgaon dealership.
Passing the shops there, I notice that Visa card is more famous here than Mastercard. Both are on my lists of must-join employers, reasons best unknown to me (like many other things in my life). I have no clue about these companies whatsoever, but still they sound interesting to work for (don t laugh, I am dead serious, I often go by this logic!). Since Visa is full fledgedly here (and in Bhutan) I wouldn t mind staying on here but under different masters.
On the Gairidhara road, I am almost runover by a huge, red Land-Cruiser Prado. I let out choicest of Punjabi expletives. The car is well past the earshot. I have spoken these words after months, it is almost cathartic. Hell, what s wrong with me, where shouting out abuses is cathartic for me?
I quicken my pace in front of the Bhatbateni Supermarket. It is one of the largest ones in Kathmandu three storied high and with many sub-shops in its compound. It s a fantasy land for me, and my reserves not to spend always weaken seeing the large array of goods displayed attractively. I walk fast to avoid succumbing to the temptation.
I cross the Chinese Embassy yes, the same place that I was trying to find in my last post, and just when I was climbing the slight uphill in front of Nepal Rastra Bank (the Central Bank of Nepal, equivalent to our RBI), I realize that I am through with half my walk.
The idea of this post was running in my mind, all this while. (It always happens with me; I think out the exact layout of the post before I type it). God, I had not paid attention of feeling thin . Now a great lady had recently told me that it s the thought that always matter . She was right. Since the weighing scales wickedly show the numbers going down miserably slow-motion, I have to rely on the thought only.
It starts to rain. Though I had noticed an overcast sky, I was not expecting it to shower. Now, Kathmandu has the most mercurial and unpredictable weather, and it can rain anytime (which also makes living her exciting and enthralling). I like rains. But three things deterred me from embracing them today a) I prefer rains when they come during the day, not in the evenings b) I fancy the soft drizzle to the hard blobs that were falling from the skies c) I was wearing a light beige shirt, which when wet would have looked awfully compromising.
First up, I took out the thinning bundle of cash from my top shirt pocket and placed it in the inner one of the trousers. (I wish the readymade pants had not stopped making the obscure chor-pocket behind the waistline in fashion in my father’s days ; old-fashioned, they may be, but extremely convenient as well, more so if one is traveling). But I am digressing.
So, before I could look like Mandikini-in-reverse-semi-nudity (I can now expect many more bizarre google searches), I took shelter. Imitation is the best form of flattery, it is said. But, I wish my gall bladder had not decided to imitate the laden skies at that very moment. The same great lady (as mentioned above) had advised to drink loades of water; she simply forgot to inform about the gallons of treated water that would pass my backyard drains as well!
Eventually, the rains slackened and resumed my walk back home but only to be inunandated with a fresh round of shower; this time I did not stop.
I heard my name called. I looked back. I had met the person on my official duties. “Can I drop you off somewhere?” he offered after the exchange of pleasantries.
“No, thanks. I am on my evening walk,” I replied, casually.
He looked at me from top to bottom. “In the rain?” he blurted out after a brief second, incredulously.
“Err it wasn t raining when I started off” I added lamely but truthfully. He looked at me and the sky with the same look that Johny Lever gave the sardar-boy in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. I hope he considers me sane enough to deal with me on official matters!
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