So the fun of traveling in a bhaale gaadi is a new discovery to me.
As the sly looking, mascara lined eyed bhai with barely any warm piece of cloth on his body, carelessly letting his pants slide over so that you can see that thing that leaves behind a public-transportation trauma in your brains, making you so uncomfortable that you do not know where to turn your head to now that you have already seen it; shouts out "gwarko, koteshwor, chabel, buspark"...."bhaale gaadi aayo, bhaale gaadi aayo"; I wonder what I am doing inside a bhaale gaadi.
A young chap, whose face I do not have any view of, but somehow I seem to remember his long, peaked nose, spiked hair and checkered shirt, shouts back..."bhaale gaadi ma ta bhaale matra chadnu parcha".
I coil inside my own body. I am inside a bhaale gaadi, amongst the bhaales of our Kathmandu and it makes me wonder: what the freaking hell does this even mean? I try to psycho-analyze (hawa, 2010) it. Perhaps, it has a heavy brunt of man-woman debate; bhaale is supposed to show potency, arousal and sharpness along with the pout its tail carries along; perhaps bhaale is supposed to court the hens, prove their masculinity through their strut; bhaale is supposed to be today's modern, rusted-almost-to-the-brink-of-falling-apart micro's epitome.
I wanted to shout at but whom? I wanted to reply back to this faceless bhaale seating ajdacent to me but why? I wanted to slap the bhai but for what? Ignorance? Simple, meaningless, slur of fun he derives out of this man-ness; he thinks his micro is possessed with the strut of a bhaale; enough to make his micro run like a soul infested with man cow disease.
I want to jump out of this bhaale micro because I am not bhaale enough for them re! I want to scream.
Bhaale micro, for god's sake!
As the sly looking, mascara lined eyed bhai with barely any warm piece of cloth on his body, carelessly letting his pants slide over so that you can see that thing that leaves behind a public-transportation trauma in your brains, making you so uncomfortable that you do not know where to turn your head to now that you have already seen it; shouts out "gwarko, koteshwor, chabel, buspark"...."bhaale gaadi aayo, bhaale gaadi aayo"; I wonder what I am doing inside a bhaale gaadi.
A young chap, whose face I do not have any view of, but somehow I seem to remember his long, peaked nose, spiked hair and checkered shirt, shouts back..."bhaale gaadi ma ta bhaale matra chadnu parcha".
I coil inside my own body. I am inside a bhaale gaadi, amongst the bhaales of our Kathmandu and it makes me wonder: what the freaking hell does this even mean? I try to psycho-analyze (hawa, 2010) it. Perhaps, it has a heavy brunt of man-woman debate; bhaale is supposed to show potency, arousal and sharpness along with the pout its tail carries along; perhaps bhaale is supposed to court the hens, prove their masculinity through their strut; bhaale is supposed to be today's modern, rusted-almost-to-the-brink-of-falling-apart micro's epitome.
I wanted to shout at but whom? I wanted to reply back to this faceless bhaale seating ajdacent to me but why? I wanted to slap the bhai but for what? Ignorance? Simple, meaningless, slur of fun he derives out of this man-ness; he thinks his micro is possessed with the strut of a bhaale; enough to make his micro run like a soul infested with man cow disease.
I want to jump out of this bhaale micro because I am not bhaale enough for them re! I want to scream.
Bhaale micro, for god's sake!
yo bhale gaadi ke go?
ReplyDeletebhaale gaadi is like a male chicken vehicle re literal translation. like bhaale pothi..so the micro is supposed to be bhaale.
ReplyDeletepothi chai ? safa tempo!! ah !
ReplyDeletehaha. yes zinta, pothi chai safa tempo nai bhannu parla hai.
ReplyDelete