Shyambahadur would describe himself as a man of modest means. His family had toiled with difficulty throughout their entire lives; his dad had some ropanis of land in Patan, Jawalakhel, Bhaisepati, and Baluwatar, and he had spent all his life holding the land, waiting for the real estate market to boom, and sell bits and … Continue reading Shyambahadur
Author: Ishan Mainali
Kentuki Fried Chicken
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 … Continue reading Kentuki Fried Chicken
Mr. Kattel and His Cattle
During my statistics class in high school, I used to sit at the back of the class. Not because I was not interested in learning, but my teacher was not interested in teaching. Please do not feel pity for me. This is a pretty normal circumstance in schools that were and are similar to mine. … Continue reading Mr. Kattel and His Cattle
The what-ness of heartbreaks
What else could she be feeling other than a heartbreak? I did not know. She had only told me about her heartbreak. Nothing else. But that was reasonable. Heartbreak is its own set of feelings. A complex concoction of a particular kind of anxiety mixed with a seemingly unsurmountable melancholy. I did not ask her … Continue reading The what-ness of heartbreaks
Moralitiih
"What is good?" he asked. "Good is not bad," came the response to his own question. How was one to interpret this exchange with the self? It could be a satire. Or an existential statement. A bite-sized treatise on the nature of morality. The key to the biggest metaphysical question till date. I think the … Continue reading Moralitiih
He is making a house
He is making a house. No not a lego house. But an actual house. Let me be politically correct here. He is not making a house, neither is he building it. He is the landowner and a soon-to-be homeowner. But he, using his own labor, is not making the house. He intrigues me. Every time … Continue reading He is making a house
Those Lovely Hands
When the teacher's hand touched his face, all that remained was a mark. At first it was soft and subtle. Eventually, it became puffy and prominent. It was as if someone had dipped their hand in a plate of crimson red paint and gently placed it on another's person face. The only twist was that … Continue reading Those Lovely Hands
Visit America 2020
“I mean I can understand why someone would want to stay in the country,” Garima said. “Actually, I don’t. What’s here to even remotely look forward to?” she continued. She grabbed her cup of tea and sipped on it. She looked at me as she put it down on the small wooden table, “What do … Continue reading Visit America 2020
Temporary Musings at क्षणीक निवास
The twins were named Rama and Seema. Rama preferred red shawls. Seema stuck by her brown and blue one. Their mama who had gone missing for fifty years before the family discovered that he was a Pujari in Rajasthan had gifted it to her when he had finally come back home after five decades. Rama … Continue reading Temporary Musings at क्षणीक निवास
My First Date
Some events in life etch themselves in your heart with such depth and vigour that recalling them feels like drowning oneself in a Murakami novel. Surreal yet lonesome. The day did not begin with any inch or kilo or second of surreality. In fact, it began with me picking up the Axe body spray. “Very … Continue reading My First Date