The polar ice caps are indeed melting! Global warming is not a hoax after all! I should stop reading and ‘believing’ those damn conspiracy theorists.

It rained today. It was only a drizzle. No, the rain didn’t turn my hair green or burn holes through my jacket. It was just before it rained, just before I left for work, and just after I opened the gate. There she was—my dear bitch busy getting off in an orgy.

Man, those dogs were getting at it like there’s no tomorrow. Well, it’s understandable, given that their libido shoots up only once a year. And boy, do they shoot up frigging crazy or what? And it’s understandable again, given that they strictly abstain for a whole year. I couldn’t see my bitch—my sweet Pomeranian— being screwed up by six horny alpha males including my neighbor’s hunky German Shepherd.

I was infuriated. I can watch a dozen rugged bikers taking turns for a foursome on a blonde chick in a porno flick; but this, no. I picked up a brick and hurled it at the black Labrador who was romping on my dear Pom like hell had just unleashed. The Lab yelped from pain and dragged my Pomey along with him.

“No, he didn’t,” I told myself and slung another piece of brick at the black devil. “No, he didn’t,” I told myself again. Then I realized, and I blushed. Duh! They’re dogs—a work half done is getting stuck together ‘down there’ until the work is fully done.

I shooed away other testosterone dribbling beasts so that the Lab could finish off his business without constant interference. The dogs sniffed my bitch one last time and went away grumbling, stiff legged. They all gathered at a distance and drooled with anticipation.

It took longer than I anticipated. I was getting late for work. Family first and everything second I thought and decided to wait till they were able to ‘come’ out of each other. It took precisely 34 min and 26 sec give or take. Kicked off the Lab, stashed back the Pom, and went off to work.

On the way, I got to thinking. Riding a motorcycle alone for thirty minutes does give you a plenty of time to sing and lip-synch. Half way through, two 3 Doors Down, one Keith Urban and two Janis Joplin songs later, while I was doing a bad rendition of Me and Bobby McGee, I passed by what could only be a flashback of the smaller version of the morning’s spectacle.

“Maybe that bitch wasn’t attractive enough,” I thought, a dog-owner’s pride surging with paternal love.

When I arrived at the office gate, there were three dogs sniffing and growling at each other. “Where’s the bitch?” I thought. “Is homosexuality really possible in animals,” I started to ponder while parking my motorcycle.

There wasn’t much work to do at the office, thanks to my colleague, who values his work ethics gravely. Maybe I can learn something from him, but I still can’t put my finger on what it is.

Like I said, as there was no work, I decided—as always—to browse through the internet. There was this article on global warming on this website which gave helluva lot of information my indolent brain couldn’t comprehend. All I understood was that global warming was a conspiracy cooked up by some crazy scientists stuck in Antarctica.

Ooh! Information overload. I looked over the window, and there it was again—an all too familiar sight.

I looked up the calendar to check on what day the New Year fell on. It was on Sunday and I said ‘Yippee’, but not too loudly. Actually, only to myself. I can’t disclose why. Sensitive information!

Anyways, the picture of Machapuchre on the calendar was breathtaking, and the Fewa Lake, and the Lalu Pates, and Poush 9. “Poush!” I screamed. I mean, I almost screamed. How can it already be Poush? The all too familiar dogs-on-dog scenes since morning told otherwise. When did Kartik come and go?

I went back to finally finishing the article, and all of a sudden it struck me like a bolt of lightning. Duh! It’s the global warming, silly. If dogs can sense impending earthquakes, surely they can sense global warming! Surely Kartik arrived two months late for them—those only-once-a-year horny bastards—in the middle of winter instead of autumn.

* Kartik and Poush are Nepali calendar months.
Kartik – starts mid October
Poush – starts mid December

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You can also read his articles at www.offthebeat.blogspot.com.

Either Mars or some planet must be retrograde or my archenemy must be chanting voodoo and mixing lizard feet and monkey brains in his cauldron. The past couple of weeks have indeed been a series of unfortunate events.

First it was my motorcycle. I should have taken it for servicing the first time it didn’t start. I had to take a cab back home that night. As we all know, there is no night life in Kathmandu, and I mean that literally. Traffic dies just after 8 pm, i.e., the public transport (the minis, micros and mini-micros) snooze off early, except for a couple of cabs with meters that run as fast as the cabs themselves on empty streets. Since I get off from work at 8 pm, it was at least Rs 150 for the fare way home.

That was about two weeks ago. Next day, I came back to the office on time (mind you, not earlier), took the bike to a workshop and had it fixed. Turned out, the spark plug was clogged with dirt. Well, I’m not surprised. The last thing you’d see me is with a sponge and a bucket of foam.

The bike was good and running, not until a week ago. First the cursing, then the cussing, and then an expensive ride home. Next day, it was the same routine. The spark plug needed to be cleaned. Doink! Who woulda thunk that?

Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. On that note, I took the bike to Jamal for servicing. But, alas, I was late by three whole hours. Procrastinator that I am, I thought, like always, “Maybe, umm…, next week.”

Well, I guess the Lord above still wanted to teach me a lesson. The bike broke down again three days ago. I guess third time’s a charm. So, I came back to the office early next morning—even before the early bird managed to make a shrill chirp—and took the bike for servicing.

Well, the series of unfortunate events didn’t end there. Yesterday the bike started, but rattled crazy. Had to take to a workshop and have the chain tightened.

The biggest bomber was when we didn’t get tickets for King Kong. Damn all the tickets, except for a few rows up in the front, were sold out. Even on a Monday afternoon. Zees! It took approximately 15 min for reality to hit me and my two other friends. Damn! We had been so anticipating watching the movie, like, for the past two weeks. And Monday’s my only day off. Evening show was of the question (not being the night crawlers), we went to good ol’ New road.

As we were about to step into our favorite Almond Restaurant, my variety loving mouth suggested Jeans. So we went there. The cafe took us completely by surprise. Not just the decor, which by the way looks like one of those sets of one of those Hindi tele-flicks, but the prices. And we all thought we would fill our I-am-so-hungry-that-I-could-eat-a-horse appetite with a 120 rupees pizza. It had the thinnest crust ever. It was like some grated cheese and a couple of thin capsicum rings topped over a naan.

P.s.: One of our friend’s a vegetarian. And, pssst: I still don’t understand vegetarians.

Anyways, the pizza and parathas only served to whet our appetite. No way was we to make further orders.

As expected of Space Time, all the cable channels were gone except for NTV Metro. Who watches NTV Metro? I decided to watch past episodes of Sex and the City. Alas, the DVD was not working. Tired of being surly, I hit the sack early that night after reading a bit of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.

I woke up next morning in not so bright mood as usual. Had to go to the Transportation Office to get my Blue Book renewed and pay my dad’s mobile phone bill.

Actually half the work was already done, or rather half the work didn’t get done the other week at the Transportation Office. Well, you all know how Nepali Government offices are like, right? Went there and got the bill paid. Was then directed to room no. 10, and not in the least genial manner if I might add. By the time I found room 10, it was already 2 pm. The office window with Room 10 written with a ball pen on a piece of paper stared back at me sardonically.

Today, however, I went straight to Room 10. Got the blue book signed. I was then directed to other unnumbered room. I followed my instincts, asked a dozen people, and came upon a part of a hallway where there was a man with stamps. Got it stamped and whizzed to Nepal Telecom at Jawalakhel. The line was unbelievable, five of them in total—zigzag, serpentine and banana-shaped. Took quite a while to figure out where the queue started and where it ended. Anyways, like a true Nepali who has previously undergone innumerable bewildering experiences at government offices, I made it through.

I was surprised how things got done so efficiently. Maybe Mars or some other planet must have gone direct.

Back at my office, I looked up my weekly horoscope (in my free time of course). It said, “But this is only temporary – things should be back on track within a day or so.”

In my own words, I’d like to say, “Today, everything finally fit like a condom.”

“Thanx to Sishir for providing us such good and humorous article. He has promised us with good articles in future course also. You can also read his write-ups at www.offthebeat.blogspot.com.”