"Bandhu!" Manoj was knocking loudly on my room door "Uthnus na, chhito uthnus ta please"
"What time is it, man?" I yelled wishing he would go back to sleep. I had a headache from the party last night - boy, what a party it was. Manoj was snoring when I came home so he would be clueless as to what I had been up to and how hung over I might be.
"8' o clock" he said "Farmers market jane hoina? " he continued. Manoj was one of my flat-mates in a four bedroom apartment that he and I shared with two other guys. Originally from Lamjung, he had done his high school in Pokhara and had a Bachelors degree from Tri Chandra college. He completed a second bachelors in Computer Science and a Masters degree in Philosophy from a small town in the Bible belt. He was also a poet. He wrote poems for every occasion - birthday parties, funerals, graduation parties and even dance parties. He rarely addressed his roommates by their first names, and much to the discomfort of everyone around him, he always addresed us as "tapai" and often suffixed our names with "Bandhu" and "Mitra".
"La la, ma aye. 15 minutes, ok ?" I bargained for time. There are few things I value as much as precious morning sleep and I dreaded the thought of having to walk with Manoj through hoards of shoppers and rude farmers alongside rows of fruits and vegetables. He always gleefully compared the prices to the local grocery store and enthusiastically proclaimed how much cheaper they were here. He did this every-time he went to the farmers market which, in his case, was anytime he could find a ride to the market square.
"Mickey Bandhu" I heard him knock on the door of the other flat-mate " Tapailai ko keti ko phone achha" he teased. Mickey was a party animal and a self-proclaimed womanizer who worked at a management consulting firm. He was an easy going lad from Kupandole whose top-most priorities were partying and getting laid when not working his rear end off at his job. He and I shared a lot in common but we had one big difference : I , in spite of all my flaws, could only see one woman at a time. As for Mickey, his legendary mojo made it hard for him to stay focused on any one thing, be it jobs or women, for long. If flirting, seducing and philandering were art, he was Picasso, Mozart and Homer all in one. We never quite figured how he got away with it time after time.
"Bihana bihana jaad kha ho kabi-jee?" he teased back. Mickey was always in a good mood. " Go back to sleep" he shouted.
Disappointed, Manoj went to knock on the only other bedroom door left. He was always much more formal with Prashant than with Mickey and me.
"Prashant jee, chiya khane ho?" he tried bribery this time, perhaps realizing moral persuasion no longer worked in the house. Prashant was a graduate student of physics. He was a brilliant student and recipient of several scholarships and awards. He was a man of few words and when those words did come, they were delivered softly and calmly. Originally from Ikhalakhu, Patan he was admitted to a prestigious university in the East coast on a full scholarship.
"Hetta, khanna bhankeo. Yo manchhe le kasto disturb gareko yar " Prashant grumbled and turned in his bed.
Never in our 12 months of living together, had we gone anywhere at 8 on a Saturday morning. Mickey and I didn't even wake up till noon on Saturdays. Prashant hated anything to do with shopping and would avoid grocery shopping whenever he could. Manoj's weird love for grocery shopping, his peculiar knack for poetry, and his not-so-sophisticated etiquette often got on our nerves.
Manoj finally gave up on his roommates and went into the kitchen, set the kettle on the stove for some tea and started whistling a tune from a Nepali movie. Today was his last day in the US. He was catching the 11:30 AM Virgin Atlantic flight to London and onwards to Kathmandu. He was going back to Nepal after six years in the US. The job market was in the doldrums and he had decided to try his luck back home after his optional practical training, and thus his student visa, had expired. He had hoped to take some pictures at the farmers market and downtown - two of his favorite places in the city - to show friends and family back home. With shopping and the packing taking up most of his time, he hadn't been able to take any pictures of the city. Never mind, he thought.
The kettle started whistling and he headed to the fridge to grab some milk when he saw three half-awake faces making their way to the kitchen table.
"Malai pani chiya hai " they said almost in unison.
"Let's go grocery shopping" Prashant broke the silence that followed.
"And I need to go to downtown too" Mickey quickly said.
"I'll take my camera as well" I said.
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