When KFC had first come to Nepal, I believed that it had a revolutionary potential.
The elites were confused when they had to stand in a 1-hour long line. The concept was alien for them. Their uncles in the government bureaucracy had made their citizenships in two minutes and whenever they visited Roadhouse Cafe, the security guards methodically opened the entrance door and the waiter politely catered to them.
But this time it was different. Everyone had to stay in a queue.
For the elites who could afford to dine in this American fast-food joint that served fatty chicken in different versions, KFC symbolized a dream that they could not achieve in their teenage years, or in their 20s. Neither could they get a DV to America, neither did their spoilt asses study hard enough in the private schools to land a decent scholarship to study in the country of Uncle Sam. Some did manage to travel to the land of dreams by paying full tuition but, for our purposes, let’s call them the uber-elite.
But this was just my thought. I could be wrong. Any person, at any time, can be incorrect in their analysis. So, I decided to bring this topic up with my grandmother.
“Aama, Nepal has a Kentucky Friend Chicken now,” I opened up the discussion with her.
“Je aaye ni aaos. Haamilai tuki nai chaaincha. Whatever comes, let it come, we still need a tuki,” she said, as she continued weaving wicks for her prayer lamps.
In retrospect, I do not know whether I have to thank Kulman or his administration or whoever corrupt before him left. But thank you for making Kathmandu tuki-free.
tuki: a homemade kerosene lamp
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