Five engineers were walking down the highway, soaked with perspiration, each carrying a duffle bag weighing tons. The venue was Tandi, Chitwan and the year was 1998. One of them was me, the good old John_Galt with eyes penetrating all the paddy fields to look for a small temporary office (and perhaps a glass of cold water) our company established which was soon to be moved once the factory was completed. None of them spoke to each other, cos everyone knew coming to a terai was not a good decision for most of us. Mr. A and I were raised in the eastern terai of Nepal, but had become consummate kathmanduites over the years. Mr. B , C and D had never been to terai, and their debut was not so fine. It was our first job, garnished by a handsome remuneration and a perk training in various parts of Asia, Europe and South America....an offer no one could refuse. But the catch was; we had to be stationed in Tandi forever. We were delighted at first.....as long as the money was good enough no one would mind relocating in either Timbucktoo or Ulan Bator. Everything seemed so alright until we saw the paddy fields and the scorching sun. I had no remorse over coming to Chitwan, infact it reminded me of my childhood and early teens in Biratnagar, but for others, it was a living hell. Finding a house was not a major issue but living together certainly was. Mr. B used to wake up all night killing mosquitoes further exacerbated by incessant snoring of Mr. D as if mosquitoes weren?t enough to do the damage. Three days later we decided to go separate ways. Mr. C almost went back to Kathmandu, but after thorough counseling with Mr. B and I, refrained from doing it. Finding another job with a good five figures was not a cakewalk. So I started living in Parsa, a VDC six miles east of Tandi. I moved into one of the finest apartments with a little bathroom in it. Most of the houses had restrooms located outside. I started my first evening with a cold San Miguel which caught eye of one of the probing old woman at a grocery store who would not believe engineers drank liquor. ?I thought you guys were good student and successful human beings, keeping yourselves away from liquors?. She scowled at me. She was certainly outdated. Grapevines in Parsa had news disseminated that a young engineer who drank lot of beers had arrived and was stationed there forever. Middle aged women flinched, and thought I would not make a nice groom for their daughters completely forgetting about their half drunk husbands who picked up fights at a village square once a week. But some of them were aware that I earned more than enough to feed their daughters and that drinking did not matter at all. I would soon have to encounter them. Chitwan was a beautiful place, more beautiful than I ever imagined and the people were courteous and nice. But it was a playground for dirty politics. Leaders often amassed gullible villagers and duped them for wrong doings, such as unconditional strikes and bandhs. During one of those bandhs, when I had to abandon my sleek hero Honda and had to rely on my feet and a pair of Nike for odd miles, I met Neema..... To be continued.......