Fourth Day My fourth day’s stories are fragmented, so bear with me. On the fourth morning, as I was helping my sister-in-law load Nabin Bhattarai’s songs into her IPOD, an intruding voice distracted us. I turned back since it sounded nothing like Nabin Bhattarai. My thulomuwa (my mother’s elder sister) had barged into the room commanding: “Why are you not taking care of your parents?” I pointed my finger to my chest to make sure she was addressing me. Her vindictive looks affirmed the allegation. I was astounded because I did not quite grasp the hypothesis on which that accusation was based. Upon my investigation, she elaborated, “Gopal ko chhoraa, I hear, sends at least five thousand dollars to Gopal every year. How come you never do the same?” Gopal mama is my mother’s first cousin. His son Bijay lives in Chicago. I get along very well with Bijay. But I did not know, in my mother’s side of the family Bijay had become a yardstick for measuring a son’s fidelity. I have not quite figured out yet how the marketing was done on Gopal mama’s part, but everyone in my mother’s side seemed to know Bijay’s generosity. Strangely, I did not hear anyone call him Bijaya, he was just known as ‘Gopal ko chhoraa’. I found the dismissive term only more endearing than ‘Gopaley ko chhora’. So far I have already heard the term ‘Gopal ko chhoraa’ at least three dozen times. My Sanimaa even compared ‘Gopal ko chhoraa’ to Buddha. To quote her: “Teslai ta Buddha vane pani hunccha”— believe me she was referring to the enlightened Buddha who left his material life in search of divine clarification. Just like that, our modern day Buddha who left his less-material life in Nepal in search of a Software Development job that required Java and Oracle skills has turned me into a mediocre son. I resent my downgrading. Bijay is a good guy. I can live with knowing that he is a great son too. But what I did not get is: who bestowed upon my thulomuwa, saanima, and others the privilege to vilify me by way of conveying this message repeatedly? I am scrutinizing this. Everyone is a suspect right now. This looks and sounds coordinated. That evening, tired of hearing the charity work of ‘Gopal Ko Chhoraa’, I headed to Thamel to experience Kathmandu nightlife for the first time in eight years. Boy oh boy, the city lifestyle has changed indeed. Trust me it has changed big time. I found both positive and negative changes. The positive changes included many elegant restaurants, pubs, and bars. The negative changes included people inside those facilities. Two things about those people fascinated me the most: 1. Their ever-willing partaking in Nepal’s most popular sport: drinking. Many of them, I heard, hibernate in those bars. 2. Their obsession of the English language. In Nepal with the exception of couple of schools and a college or two, we all know English is taught more as a subject than as a language. Which means grammar is more important than communication. With the exception of some H1-B expired returnees, I have noticed a very few speak English when they are sober. However, be aware, post-alcohol language in Kathmandu is essentially English. Even my friends who supplemented me to Thamel, once drunk, quickly switched to English like they were preset to function that way. Some of those who spoke intoxicated English, like the queen of England, often talked in the passive voice. And they used words as big as a void in their brain left by their departing common sense. My second cousin, let's call him Angrej, who is a hardworking engineer during daytime and an expert alcoholic during nights has only spoken English with me after 7 PM. Angrej, who has his high school diploma from Syangja and the engineering degree form Pulchok campus, told me, "Some imperative test will be appeared by me soon. If I flourish with high colors, do facilitate my access to the land of opportunity." I wish I were creative enough to make up something like this. It took him two minutes to finish that sentence—and six minutes for me to decipher what he had meant. To the English-speaking world, this is what he meant: "Dai I’m taking the GRE, help me if I do ok." One last thing I spotted in Thamel that is worth mentioning is young guys are into tattoos these days. Since I am not a big fan of tattoos, I was relieved to see most of the guys have not painted themselves excessively. But one kid I saw, who looked like he had an IQ of a tollbooth collector minus 23, had a quite peculiar tattoo. Either he is not Christian, or he went to a tattoo artist who can’t spell. That poor kid’s tattoo read: “Jisus Rocks.” Reality is always more biting than imagination. To be continued… PS It looks like many are misreading my observations—even the smarter ones think I am being whiney. I am not complaining or deploring by any stretch of imagination. I am having a blast here. This is my home after all. Think of me as a commentator (with a limited vocabulary) doing a field report. I have always thought of comedians to be failed philosophers who can’t think in paragraphs. By being subjective about my writing, you are giving me a lot more credit than I deserve.