Category: Goloman

Home > Archive by category "Goloman"
The Graduates

Dalli Maya sat on the handrails of a steel parapet which provided enclosure to the café. The café was on a cul-de-sac with alleys wrung in all directions. She wore a red ribbon around her braids as rings of her hair shone colorfully in the languid September sun. Goloman assuming a meek countenance produced smoke ringlets which slowly drifted and grew as it moved towards an emaciated cat and suddenly garlanding the fascinated creature made it purr gently and in wonder. Dalli passing the blunt to Goloman coughed, laughed and unveiled her plans happily and readily. It had been a week since they had graduated from the university and they felt like king and queen of the world. They had passed the dreariness of university with a sense of self-righteousness and languor. Now with a step into the unknown and another into the past, they found the company of each other more exciting and it gave them tranquility and confidence. They were in the summer of their lives and they were young, carefree, loving and not cynical enough. They spoke with each other with their eyes, smiling, pondering and embracing the moment of time which would never return even though it was filled in love, friendship and innocence. Suddenly, they had admitted each other into their confidence and shared their hidden thoughts, desires and outlaid brilliant plans for future. In the eternal day they became nutty professor with penchant for feet. An evil environmentalist lawyer. A real estate mogul in love with hooker. A gigolo. A pimp. A millionaire coder who promoted peace among worlds. An assassin politician who pursued rapists. A filmmaker with hot troupes. In the sublime moment of happiness, they were engulfed in incoherent and rash conversations leading to raillery, jokes and denunciations of all sorts, clanking their steel voices in clashes of inane excitement, furor and nonchalance; and when an unrestraint feverishness led them astray their joviality ended up in such a passionate sequence of kisses, which like a storm that gradually engendered a violent spiral of libidinal desires and carnal appetites for which they were readily thrown out of the café. This full time fun suddenly changed in matter of months. Dalli Maya’s happiness knew no limits when her father having been elected the new mayor of municipality obtained for his daughter the position of social mobilizer in office. She spent her days fooling around…

Nirmala !

If I were a priest, I’d pray to the gods For they seem only to listen to men Who banter and applaud Cheap nudity. Manly gusto. Tore up labia. Bloodied justice. I lament! I lament- Birth. Caste. Boobs. Country I am - In mercy from wedding makers In anguish from son seekers In between dicks and dishes Under duress, naked esteem. If I were a priest, I’d pray to the gods To give birth to men Who love strangers as much as they love themselves.

Nausea

Wednesday 12:30 The Self-Taught Man came in to the café expecting me. I was scheming a public suicide in a short fiction I was working on. He came in through the sliding door, almost in rapture. His aquiline nose never ceases to fascinate me. Today the nose seemed slightly sad. He expected to die sooner because of his nose. ‘I inhale too much dust. I am surely getting an asthma in my early forties. Hear-Hear Kathmandu. Our love will kill us.’. He was convinced. I never doubted him. In fact, I never doubted him at all. Friday, 3:00 It’s late afternoon and I am dizzy. Saala. I just had an Espresso. Double Shot. I smoke too much. The waiter waved a glossy pink slip. A thousand rupees. Eight hundred for Surya Lights. These cafes charge too much for cigarettes. I merely recalled my new habit, recording expenses in a mobile app. It’s futile. What would I do if I had an inkling of my expense pattern? Why, I know what I spend on? Last week, I had bought a little book on Chinese poetry. I thought it was cute. Today, I got myself a shirt from one of a footpath dealer because it was cheap. I didn't need it. My mother always harangues on the virtues of making a pilgrimage to Pashupatinath. I made it along with her. I was broke by the time a fourth sadhu brandished his parched palm towards us. She screwed her eyes. I grinned nervously. I pick myself up languidly. A guilt similar to post-jerking engulfs me whenever I am leaving cafes. It’s the same morbid lament. The deed is done. I have an urge to run away. It’s mildly disgusting now. The Self-Taught Man caught up with me as I was leaving the vicinity of the sin. The motorbike didn’t start. I check the dashboard. It’s empty. I slap my forehead. I go back the cafe. He is resolute. He is awake. I am tired. He’s about a song now. Cotton Eye Joe. He’s memorized the lyrics. I try to keep up, but I jumble up the words. I keep telling myself that he’s a freak. Saturday 10:00 I get mail. Invitation to sit for an interview at an NGO. I look for their contact pages. I don’t recognize anyone. To get a real job is all about knowing people in Kathmandu. I will…

P.S. Bon Jovi is a Boy Band

Dear Mr. M, In the morbid bareness of autumn, I finally found, deep inside my heart, a sort of warmth, a fiasco –a friendship, which helped me persevere the brooding lust of death. Leaving behind the beauty of ethereal convictions, I fell upon your knees and you accepted me as I was; marooned by self and vain in nature. As I made strides towards the darkness, essential moments of love and compassion escaped me and primal emotions which sustain life were already numb. Having experienced life, I was disappointed. I wanted to experience death, for in certes I knew it wouldn’t disappoint. (more…)

Ebooks

Buy E-books from contributing authors of The Kathmandudes.  Fear and Loathing in Kathmandu, A Confession – Short Story Series  Publisher : The Kathmandudes Year: June, 2010 ... 2. Fear and Loathing in Kathmandu, The Moraliste of Bhaktapur, Short Story Series  Publisher : The Kathmandudes Year: December, 2017 ...

×