Sometimes the internet installation folks promise for three days that yes, they are definitely coming today, between noon and two pm – and then for three days don’t come and don’t call. Sometimes they even call you out of bed in the morning to say that they will be at your location in a few minutes – only to decide they need to finish some other work first and it will take another hour or two. And yet other times, on your way to a nearby café that’s too fancy for its britches (but has great wifi), your landlord is at your door with a plate of sweets to share because it is Nepali Mother’s Day. (In the midst of writing this paragraph, my landlord again showed up at my door to share sweetened barley flour and some cold tea concoction because today is Akshaya Tritiya Barta – that one is new to me.)
Yesterday, while cycling to Quiz Night at the local pizza place, I got caught in a torrent of rain that hadn’t ended after six hours and had to weave through an eternal traffic jam down roads that were rivers. Of course, I had left my helmet in the rain and didn’t have a jacket – haven’t I learned yet? Quiz Night was a fun disaster. There was a big disagreement about whether ghee (clarified butter) goes in dhindo (a Nepali staple food) and whether it’s possible to define the main aspects of bubble & squeak. My team partner, a real-life person who was pulled straight from Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaram and who ought to be at Leopold’s in Mumbai rather than a pizza place in Kathmandu, muttered about everything. We weren’t a terrible team, but we were no match for the other teams of experts in random knowledge. We came in last place, and I took my sopping cycle and walked home. The rain had finally stopped.
Stepping forward to unlock my front door, my animal instincts stopped my foot going down all the way. I may have jumped and squealed upon realizing that there was a giant, soggy, peacefully curled-up, and thoroughly dead rat perfectly placed in front of the door. Who would do such a thing? My mind clambered to remember if I have any enemies. Was it the person who keeps flagging my website as spam?? Oh wait, that’s just the MetaVerse, not a person… I went to find a plastic bag or a dustpan or some way to move the little corpse so I could go inside and go to bed. I scooped it up gingerly, half expecting it to wriggle away or jump, and walked down to the street to toss it in a rubbish pile. Thinking my work was done, I had nearly stepped inside the apartment before I noticed the little blob of intestines off to the side. Something – someone? – had disemboweled the poor animal before leaving it for me. I scooped that up too, bloody as it was, and walked it down to the street. I rinsed the dustpan with the tap in the garden, but faucets aren’t so well-constructed here and I couldn’t get the water to turn off. I mopped away the blood that had marked my front doorstep and finally, finally went inside to go to sleep…
…only to remember that I still had to transfer a sum of money to a friend, and I hadn’t sorted out my online banking yet. Even with my two local accounts, one valid ATM card and one expired ATM card and random checkbook, and two banking apps that don’t really work, I couldn’t get the transfer sorted. We messaged back and forth, both of us increasingly tired and frustrated, until we decided to stop expecting apps to be useful and to go take care of business at the bank itself the next. I mapped out my morning in my head, knowing that I’d have to bike to pick up my passport with the shiny new visa, then grab a couple of groceries from the nice shop on that side of town, then head to the bank to wait in line for assistance on this transfer. In the midst of that running around, I could be called by the internet installation people *at any time* and, for good measure, I also needed to go check out a secondhand dining room set. It was going to be hectic, but I was ready.
Fast forward to this morning. It is Eid, so the banks are closed. The internet installers call at 7am to say they are coming. By 10am there is still no sign of them, I haven’t gotten groceries or my passport, and I won’t be looking at furniture until this evening. I am about to leave the apartment to finally start my day when they call to say they are at the pipal tree, waiting for me. I walk to the pipal tree, but all the men standing around are pouring buckets of cement or selling fruit from a bicycle. I call the installers, who insist they are at the pipal tree. “No, I am at the pipal tree,” I insist. “No, I am,” he insists back. Knowing I am at risk of becoming even more of a farce than I already am, I hand my phone to the old man selling fruit and ask him to explain. I don’t know this neighborhood yet, and my Nepali isn’t good enough to give directions when both parties are frustrated. The fruit man finds out where the installers are, but declines to give them directions to come to me and my pipal tree. Instead, he hangs up and tells me how to get to them and their pipal.
About to lose all my hair, I call a friend, who calls the installers, who figure out the direction to go, and then drive right past me to go to another pipal tree. They call to say they are at the pipal tree, and where am I? “At the pipal tree!” I insist again. “The bedeshi (foreigner) in the blue shirt by the pipal tree behind the British Embassy!” “Oh yes. I saw you.” They ride back, the three of us exchange sheepish grins, and we head to the apartment. As they work, an angry howling begins at a nearby house, and we discuss whether it is a cat or a child. Full disclosure, mating cats sound very much like toddler tantrums.
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