Pain, pleasure and paisa

by NEPA.LI

FROM ISSUE # 198 (June 2012) | IN THIS ISSUE
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Though my phone's ring treated everyone equally with a loud "trrring trrring", this particular ring felt different; as if it were remastered overnight by an invisible hand of an invisible god to cater to a new generation of hipsters - well, judging by Kushal's sudden leap from his chair upon hearing it ring, one would be hard pressed to think any differently.

I cleared my throat before answering. Kushal raised an eyebrow and let out an excited kink of laughter on a pitch that could only be described as awkward.

A drawling female voice on the other end responded: "Hi! I'm going to be a bit late - can I meet you in Maitidevi chowk? How about 1:00 pm? I'm actually at the Sati River here in Thimi. Today's the last day of Swasthani Brata and the puja hasn't finished yet. If it's a bother, we could meet tomorrow."

Kushal's giddiness would, in a matter of seconds, turn into deep, incurable sorrow if this meeting was to be postponed to the next day; he was flying back to Melbourne tonight.

"No it's no bother to us. We'll see you in Maitidevi at 1:00 pm then," I conceded.

I informed Kushal of the slight change of plans. He looked at his watch and muttered: "Well, my roommate will have to do with just titauras then. He will not like it but no Khukuri for him this time either will have no time to go look for one. Priorities, priorities." 

We drove from my house in Battisputali. Kushal was at the wheel and instead of going from Purano Baneshwor which would've been the shorter route, he decided to go to Maitidevi via Rato Pool. I knew precisely why.

I have known Kushal since we were snotty little kids. He had grown big over the years, especially after he went to Australia a few years ago to pursue his Bachelors degree and was working towards a Masters in Computer Engineering. Kushal had always excelled academically and in about 4 months' time, he would be working for Google in their Sydney office: they had offered and he had already accepted, before he even graduated.

Just before the bridge at Rato Pool,Kushal slowed down and gazed towards a three-storied old brick house. Sandhya, whom Kushal had liked all his life but had never been able to utter a word to, used to live in this house until some years ago. She was now a doctor and lived in USA with her husband. Girls, or rather a severe lack of them in his life, had always been Kushal's Achilles Heel. He was shy, very shy – especially with the ones he was attracted to. Needless to say, in his late 20s now, he was by default, a virgin.He hadn't even had any close-encounters - not by accident and definitely not by design. Never in Nepal, not in Australia either.

As Kushal turned towards Maitidevi, we spotted a woman casually looking around. She was wearing a tight pair of dark blue jeans and a black tank-top. Her perfectly swelled chest teased all of mankind. Exceptionally white sandals rounded up her urbane look. As we got, I noticed a speck of vermillion tika on her forehead.

Kushal mustered courage to take the lead. Stammering initially, he said: "If ... if, um, you don't mind, um, we could go to Thamel. There's a bar that my friend, um, runs there. I forget the name but I can call him up and ask. What do you say, um, Uma? "

"I was thinking about going to my apartment? I have a friend who is waiting there." said Uma, in her soft and slow voice, putting extra emphasis on the friend part, I thought. "Okay, umm, your apartment it is then." Kushal was doing well so far.

"Come on in," welcomed Uma once we'd parked in her driveway. Both of us followed her in. Uma led us to the bedroom and we sat on one of the beds – there were no sofas. She sat between Kushal and me. On the walls, besides blown up posters of the Sai of Shirdi and Ganesh were pin-ups of Uma and another gorgeous bombshell. As I was about to ask Uma about the other picture, a woman smelling of soap and wrapped only in a towel casually walked in – she had just gotten out of the shower. There was my answer. Another round of introductions followed. Maya declared she was hungry and was about to make some Wai-Wai, eggs, and tea. Did we want any? I said I did and offered to help her prepare the grub. She said she would change into something more fitting for the occasion and would join me in the kitchen.

The kitchen was a mess. There were probably more empty beer bottles in this kitchen than in any around-the-corner bhatti in Kathmandu. I couldn't find Wai-Wai on the tiny kitchen counter and there weren't any kitchen cabinets to pry into either. Soon Maya walked in wearing short shorts and a tee that hollered H.O.T. in bright red over white. She had with her 3 packets of Wai-Wai and a pack of Surya Lights.

Maya didn't waste any time, for as soon as she put away what she had just purchased presumably from the kirana pasal, she asked as if she knew what I was thinking about, mulling just this all the while: "Do you want to do it first and eat or eat first and do it?" I was caught off-guard.

"I'm sorry Maya … I'm here just to accompany my friend who wanted to, um, do it. Not me. I'll help you make Wai-Wai." I also added: "Let's just be friends, if you don't mind."

Her phone … a Blackberry, rang to the ubiquitous munni badnaam. She spoke in hushed tones for a few seconds until she declared a more audible "Bye!" to end her call. Hesitating a bit, she then asked: "You're not a policeman, are you?"

"Ha-ha ... no, we're not. Had we been cops, I think we'd have arrested you already." I regretted it as soon as I said it.

"You would have raped us. After you were completely done, you'd have called a few of your buddies and asked them if they were interested in doing the same. You'd also have robbed us of any money we might have had." As she said this, her hands that were trying to tear apart the Wai-Wai packet were trembling. Her quavering voice led me through the entire nightmarish episode via a 5-second visual in my mind's eye.

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

"Don't be," Maya continued. "It seems everyone is out to get us. Why can't they mind their own business and let us be? It's only a matter of time before it happens again, you know? Our landlord, Maiya Didi from back home, knows what we do. She protects us as if we are her children – probably because she doesn't have any. We pay her Rs 7000 monthly for rent. We make good money too. The calls that we get are mostly from 'safe' people. How did you get Uma's number?"

"I asked a friend about, you know, girls. This friend of mine dances in a dance bar. She provided me with Uma's  ..."

Right then, Kushal and Uma walked in from the bedroom, all smiles. Kushal looked relieved and … very much in control. He had his arms around Uma's hips and she had her hands on top of his. Both he and Uma giggled as they entered the kitchen. They were blushing like teens.  If this were any other place and any other day, you'd have thought these two were made for each other and were about to walk down the aisle to exchange vows. How I wished then that Kushal had mustered enough courage to take charge a few years earlier when he'd had plenty of opportunities to speak to Sandhya. I had a feeling he wasn't missing her too much at this moment.

 After chomping down Wai-Wai, slurping black tea, smoking a few cigarettes, making casual chit-chat and promises to go to Pokhara to spend a night there 'next time' (I had a sneaking suspicion all of us knew there would be no such 'next time'), Kushal and I left Maya and Uma's workplace-cum-home. Kushal paid Rs 5000 to Uma and I Rs 1000 to Maya for their services. I felt as if I had to pay Maya something for her time. As we stepped out of the hallway and onto the driveway, I noticed Kushal had a certain spring to his step. When we got into the car and fastened our seat belts, he thanked me. He sounded sincere. As he reversed his Hyundai i10, I didn't know whether to be happy for my friend or sad at the overall circumstance.