Dogster: The road to Phulbari
Oct 23rd, 2010, 05:20 PM
#23
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‘This’d be a great place to drop acid!’
Well, that’s a line I haven’t heard since 1975. It was delivered, in all seriousness, by a forty-one year old Social Studies teacher from California. He has a prom-book haircut and must have looked great in a shirt and tie, a kindly Matt Damon teaching thinking to teenagers.
I thought he was being facetious and rambled on:
‘Yes, this place has that rock-star look about it, eh? I can imagine Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithful here in the Seventies…’
‘No, I mean now.’
‘Now? Do people still take L.S.D.? Hasn’t it been replaced?’
‘Oh, yeah, there’s MTP and CIA and Extasy and Chopped Liver and Kyabsote,’ he said – something like that, anyway. Whatever it all meant, it all meant mind-altering substances that were probably bad for you.
It hadn’t occurred to me that there was generation after generation emerging, had emerged, would emerge that would career headlong into the same, psychedelic brick wall that he had, so many, many years ago.
I really had no idea who this fellow was.
Well, that’s a line I haven’t heard since 1975. It was delivered, in all seriousness, by a forty-one year old Social Studies teacher from California. He has a prom-book haircut and must have looked great in a shirt and tie, a kindly Matt Damon teaching thinking to teenagers.
I thought he was being facetious and rambled on:
‘Yes, this place has that rock-star look about it, eh? I can imagine Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithful here in the Seventies…’
‘No, I mean now.’
‘Now? Do people still take L.S.D.? Hasn’t it been replaced?’
‘Oh, yeah, there’s MTP and CIA and Extasy and Chopped Liver and Kyabsote,’ he said – something like that, anyway. Whatever it all meant, it all meant mind-altering substances that were probably bad for you.
It hadn’t occurred to me that there was generation after generation emerging, had emerged, would emerge that would career headlong into the same, psychedelic brick wall that he had, so many, many years ago.
I really had no idea who this fellow was.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 05:22 PM
#24
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Raj Kumar was sixteen and still at school. He supplemented his income working at night as my security guard. At eight-thirty he and his mate would appear, torches in hand, to peer into my room, observe every minute change since they last peered, shine halogen spotlights on me if I was sleeping, whisper loudly and crash around in the gravel.
‘Is it a tigah-h-h? Is it an elephant? ’
There was high pitched giggling.
‘I think it is a monster,’ said Dogster dryly. More mirth from the mist.
‘Mr. Raj Kumar! Sir!’ His torch clicked on.‘No monster.’
‘Everything is good, Mr. Raj, I am safe. Goodnight.’
‘I am going.’
‘Sleep well.’
Raj hovered in the doorway.
‘I am going.’
‘O.K. Raj, goodnight…’
A pregnant pause… two bright eyes lit on the shiny black Sony on the desk.
‘No, you can not watch movies.’
Crash, giggle, clump through darkness. I see their torches wobble off along the path.
‘See you!’ shouted over a young Nepali shoulder, ‘I come tomorrow!’
‘Is it a tigah-h-h? Is it an elephant? ’
There was high pitched giggling.
‘I think it is a monster,’ said Dogster dryly. More mirth from the mist.
‘Mr. Raj Kumar! Sir!’ His torch clicked on.‘No monster.’
‘Everything is good, Mr. Raj, I am safe. Goodnight.’
‘I am going.’
‘Sleep well.’
Raj hovered in the doorway.
‘I am going.’
‘O.K. Raj, goodnight…’
A pregnant pause… two bright eyes lit on the shiny black Sony on the desk.
‘No, you can not watch movies.’
Crash, giggle, clump through darkness. I see their torches wobble off along the path.
‘See you!’ shouted over a young Nepali shoulder, ‘I come tomorrow!’
Oct 23rd, 2010, 05:23 PM
#25
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Govinda the manager was my conduit to the world. His English was way better than my Nepali so, in effect, he was translator, guide, host and life-line - my Phulbari fixer. Life was easy between us.
'I will collect thirty or fifty children,’ he said one day, apropos of nothing at all, ‘make children house.’
He gestured at the valley below. Handsome poverty-stricken hamlets vied with lush, terraced fields, the land curved away under us like slices in a bright green mango.
‘Many problems down here. Look pretty but many problems.’
I always rather had the feeling that Govinda’s grand and noble ideas needed grand and noble amounts of my foreigner cash.
‘Drink problem. Drug problem. Poor problem. Dead father problem. Too many children problem. Sometime all problem, all-together, every time.’
His face darkened. Govinda didn’t really like to talk about bad things to a foreigner.
‘One boy, I have him here – her mother was burned alive.’ He paused and twitched his head; ‘she was a witch.’
Which boy?
‘Yes,’ he said, nodding wisely.
'I will collect thirty or fifty children,’ he said one day, apropos of nothing at all, ‘make children house.’
He gestured at the valley below. Handsome poverty-stricken hamlets vied with lush, terraced fields, the land curved away under us like slices in a bright green mango.
‘Many problems down here. Look pretty but many problems.’
I always rather had the feeling that Govinda’s grand and noble ideas needed grand and noble amounts of my foreigner cash.
‘Drink problem. Drug problem. Poor problem. Dead father problem. Too many children problem. Sometime all problem, all-together, every time.’
His face darkened. Govinda didn’t really like to talk about bad things to a foreigner.
‘One boy, I have him here – her mother was burned alive.’ He paused and twitched his head; ‘she was a witch.’
Which boy?
‘Yes,’ he said, nodding wisely.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 05:26 PM
#26
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Fate brought us together – that’ll do.
Sometimes people collide in Kathmandu – before I knew it my accidental American was tagging along. Fine by me. I’d warned him.
He looked the very model of a modern Social Studies teacher, short back and sides, clean-cut and collegiate; perfectly normal in every way – he looked like everybody, as if someone had taken a gene from each reality show in America, put them in a blender and bred him.
He was forty-one and looked twenty-five, married for twenty-two years, fit and healthy. He was in Nepal, alone.
Alone, that is, save for his constant companion; a heavy bag of rolled up material.
‘Show me,’ I said, knowing I had found a candidate for ‘most stupid man in the world.'
The brown bag weighed a ton. He pulled out the contents; three rolled up sheaths of material. One was surprise pink, a diamante stretch fabric covered in sequins that I had truly never seen before. One was a lurex with diarrhea; swirling psychedelic globs of shining plastic velvet – orange, monsoon green globbing into red, neon yellow and luminous grey. The third was a return to the diamante, sequined, astro-pants; iridescent purple, this time.
‘Looking for an Indian tailor…’
‘But you’re in Nepal.’
‘Never did find one in India,’ he said with what might, for a blond Californian lass, be a disarming smile. This man had been lugging a five kilo bag of material around for a month – looking for a cheap tailor.
‘Gotta look good for the <i>Burner Girls!</i>’
Sometimes people collide in Kathmandu – before I knew it my accidental American was tagging along. Fine by me. I’d warned him.
He looked the very model of a modern Social Studies teacher, short back and sides, clean-cut and collegiate; perfectly normal in every way – he looked like everybody, as if someone had taken a gene from each reality show in America, put them in a blender and bred him.
He was forty-one and looked twenty-five, married for twenty-two years, fit and healthy. He was in Nepal, alone.
Alone, that is, save for his constant companion; a heavy bag of rolled up material.
‘Show me,’ I said, knowing I had found a candidate for ‘most stupid man in the world.'
The brown bag weighed a ton. He pulled out the contents; three rolled up sheaths of material. One was surprise pink, a diamante stretch fabric covered in sequins that I had truly never seen before. One was a lurex with diarrhea; swirling psychedelic globs of shining plastic velvet – orange, monsoon green globbing into red, neon yellow and luminous grey. The third was a return to the diamante, sequined, astro-pants; iridescent purple, this time.
‘Looking for an Indian tailor…’
‘But you’re in Nepal.’
‘Never did find one in India,’ he said with what might, for a blond Californian lass, be a disarming smile. This man had been lugging a five kilo bag of material around for a month – looking for a cheap tailor.
‘Gotta look good for the <i>Burner Girls!</i>’
Oct 23rd, 2010, 06:05 PM
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I know who the Burner Girls are because I read this on your blog. Been there, done that. (Topless music fest wackiness, I mean, not your blog visits.)
I'm embarassed that guy is from California, spreading Left Coast stereotypes as he travels the world, like Johnny Apppleseed.
Glad you're posting it here also, for above-stated choral reasons. Nice to see the pictures, though.
I'm embarassed that guy is from California, spreading Left Coast stereotypes as he travels the world, like Johnny Apppleseed.
Glad you're posting it here also, for above-stated choral reasons. Nice to see the pictures, though.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 06:09 PM
#31
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lol chicken - let's not praise them too much. They'll get swelled heads and interrupt even more. Soon it'll be 'The Dogologues' starring THE GREEK CHORUS instead of the Dog.
Dog has seen this syndrome before. Fame is a drug.
Dog has seen this syndrome before. Fame is a drug.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 06:19 PM
#32
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LA, what was most interesting about my friend was that he looked completely straight, completely suburban, very Matt Damon, very UN-Californian - but, come the weekends, our sweet Social Studies teacher led a rather interesting personal life...
Cali, I don't understand what <i>2:39 Part Two</i> means.
Cali, I don't understand what <i>2:39 Part Two</i> means.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 06:33 PM
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2:39= time into the second youtube video of the drive up to Phulbari. Wasnt't trying to be mysterious--it's the only way i know to point out a specific frame.
Looks like a giant version of the omnipresent plants in Himachal.
Your sunset (rise?) photo of that place is beyond words.
Looks like a giant version of the omnipresent plants in Himachal.
Your sunset (rise?) photo of that place is beyond words.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 07:43 PM
#34
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Ahh Cali, I wish it was my pic. Hans Hoefer took it. If you hover over it you'll see the attribution. As you know, 99% of the pics on the site are mine, but in this instance, with permission, I had to bow to the master. It is stunning, isn't it?
Yup, those amazing plants are a hidden feature. There's something about the micro-climate up there. The more I think on it, the odder it gets.
Yup, those amazing plants are a hidden feature. There's something about the micro-climate up there. The more I think on it, the odder it gets.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 09:25 PM
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‘Burner Girls! Burner Girls!’ The chicks who hang at Burning Man!’
<i>Burning Man is an annual art event and temporary community based on radical self expression and self-reliance in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. It takes its name from the ritual burning of a large wooden effigy on Saturday evening. The event is described by many participants as an experiment in community, radical self-reliance and radical self-expression.</i>
So that’s what that material is all about. Radical self-expression. Obviously he thinks of himself as pink and sparkly.
‘Yes, some amazing women, Dog. Drugs and sex, drugs and sex for days.’
This seemed to be a good time to quiz him about his missing wife.
‘Oh, we have an open relationship,’ he said blithely, ‘I told her about five years ago that I couldn’t go on being faithful. There were too many women in the world.’
I liked his blissful candor. We were just men on the top of a mountain. No need to lie.
‘She’s my high-school sweetheart; I love her to death – but after fifteen years…’
Luckily his wife felt the same way. It was a modern marriage. Together they stumbled into the sweet embrace of free love. ‘Sex Radicalism,’ he preferred to call it.
‘I don’t own her, she doesn’t own me. She can use her body any way she pleases.’ Fortunately for her randy husband, this interesting concept gave him permission to use <i>his</i> body in any way he pleased, too.
‘We screw around. Sometimes we screw around together, sometimes we don’t. It’s cool. We’re Sex Positive.’
Noticing the blank look on my face, he added, ‘it’s a philosophy.’
<i>Burning Man is an annual art event and temporary community based on radical self expression and self-reliance in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada. It takes its name from the ritual burning of a large wooden effigy on Saturday evening. The event is described by many participants as an experiment in community, radical self-reliance and radical self-expression.</i>
So that’s what that material is all about. Radical self-expression. Obviously he thinks of himself as pink and sparkly.
‘Yes, some amazing women, Dog. Drugs and sex, drugs and sex for days.’
This seemed to be a good time to quiz him about his missing wife.
‘Oh, we have an open relationship,’ he said blithely, ‘I told her about five years ago that I couldn’t go on being faithful. There were too many women in the world.’
I liked his blissful candor. We were just men on the top of a mountain. No need to lie.
‘She’s my high-school sweetheart; I love her to death – but after fifteen years…’
Luckily his wife felt the same way. It was a modern marriage. Together they stumbled into the sweet embrace of free love. ‘Sex Radicalism,’ he preferred to call it.
‘I don’t own her, she doesn’t own me. She can use her body any way she pleases.’ Fortunately for her randy husband, this interesting concept gave him permission to use <i>his</i> body in any way he pleased, too.
‘We screw around. Sometimes we screw around together, sometimes we don’t. It’s cool. We’re Sex Positive.’
Noticing the blank look on my face, he added, ‘it’s a philosophy.’
Oct 23rd, 2010, 09:27 PM
#36
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<i>The Sex-Positive movement is an ideology which promotes and embraces open sexuality with few limits. The terms and concept of sex-positive and sex-negative are generally attributed to Wilhelm Reich. His hypothesis was that some societies view sexual expression as essentially good and healthy, while other societies which see sex as problematic, disruptive and, dangerous take an overall negative view of sexuality and seek to repress and control the sex drive.
</I>
Which all makes perfect sense to me – but then, where my loins are concerned, I’m articulate enough to justify almost anything. I just had no idea there was a Sex Positive <i>movement</i>. I think we must have called our sex something else.
In his particularly Californian way, my Social Studies teacher had conjured up a philosophy that actually encouraged him to be as dirty as he liked. With the enthusiasm of the new convert, he was shagging his way to salvation.
</I>
Which all makes perfect sense to me – but then, where my loins are concerned, I’m articulate enough to justify almost anything. I just had no idea there was a Sex Positive <i>movement</i>. I think we must have called our sex something else.
In his particularly Californian way, my Social Studies teacher had conjured up a philosophy that actually encouraged him to be as dirty as he liked. With the enthusiasm of the new convert, he was shagging his way to salvation.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 09:30 PM
#37
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Out of the blue and the darkness, in the black of an August Nepali night, a bespectacled organic farmer from Cleveland appeared at my door. The poor chap looked miserable – his laptop, thin cotton shirt, shorts and flip-flops were not going to help him now – only stupidity kept him warm. He was lost.
His appearance was so unexpected it was almost surreal. Once the sun goes down in the Nepali mountains a blanket of deep black covers the world. We were seriously isolated – yet somehow this student fool had found my door.
Young, serious and probably very smart where organic farming is concerned, little else of life had yet filtered through. He was twenty-two with thin gold glasses and a Bill Gates stare – but an stubborn refusal to admit that he was in any trouble at all. The poor fool had turned down an invitation to stay at Namo Buddha, an hour or so up the road and decided to return home to his own bed down in the valley..
‘Maybe I should’ve asked a few more questions,’ he said blithly, ‘it was light, the guy just said go down, go down, go straight and down. If you get into trouble just ask for Govinda.’
The meek young farmer headed off into the gathering clouds of his own stupidity. Of course, once the Nepali night fell on him he was stranded. Eventually, walking along a lonely road, he met a man and asked for Govinda. The man bought him miles through the rain to Phulbari. Raj Kumar escorted them both to my house. With me was Govinda. Now Bill Gates was saved.
One problem. He had the wrong Govinda.
A new candidate for most stupid man in Nepal.
His appearance was so unexpected it was almost surreal. Once the sun goes down in the Nepali mountains a blanket of deep black covers the world. We were seriously isolated – yet somehow this student fool had found my door.
Young, serious and probably very smart where organic farming is concerned, little else of life had yet filtered through. He was twenty-two with thin gold glasses and a Bill Gates stare – but an stubborn refusal to admit that he was in any trouble at all. The poor fool had turned down an invitation to stay at Namo Buddha, an hour or so up the road and decided to return home to his own bed down in the valley..
‘Maybe I should’ve asked a few more questions,’ he said blithly, ‘it was light, the guy just said go down, go down, go straight and down. If you get into trouble just ask for Govinda.’
The meek young farmer headed off into the gathering clouds of his own stupidity. Of course, once the Nepali night fell on him he was stranded. Eventually, walking along a lonely road, he met a man and asked for Govinda. The man bought him miles through the rain to Phulbari. Raj Kumar escorted them both to my house. With me was Govinda. Now Bill Gates was saved.
One problem. He had the wrong Govinda.
A new candidate for most stupid man in Nepal.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 09:31 PM
#38
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We let the organic farmer stew outside while we decided what to do with him. Dog wasn’t going to help him. He just didn’t like the guy.
‘He’s not sleeping here.’
This weedy college punk was far too stupid to help – he was a young man who needed a good dose of consequences. A night with the chickens will smarten him up.
‘He can sleep in the cave house, I don’t mind,’ John said, ju-u-u-ust a little bit too eagerly.
‘Why not,’ I chuckled. That would be a dose of something more than consequences.
The newcomer didn’t look like a sex-radical kinda guy, more a <i>sex-you-mean-me?</i> kinda guy. Unaware of the political agenda about to be unleashed on him, the poor sod even looked relieved.
‘Yes, please…’
Cleveland lamb to the Californian slaughter.
‘He’s not sleeping here.’
This weedy college punk was far too stupid to help – he was a young man who needed a good dose of consequences. A night with the chickens will smarten him up.
‘He can sleep in the cave house, I don’t mind,’ John said, ju-u-u-ust a little bit too eagerly.
‘Why not,’ I chuckled. That would be a dose of something more than consequences.
The newcomer didn’t look like a sex-radical kinda guy, more a <i>sex-you-mean-me?</i> kinda guy. Unaware of the political agenda about to be unleashed on him, the poor sod even looked relieved.
‘Yes, please…’
Cleveland lamb to the Californian slaughter.
Oct 23rd, 2010, 09:32 PM
#39
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‘Yes, we have tigah-h-h,’ said Raj Kuman, his eyes shining brightly in the morning sun. ‘And bearrr-r-r-r. Rr-r-r-r-arrrr.’
I’d had a disturbed night.
‘Have you ever seen a tiger, Raj Kumar?
‘Yes,’ he said, all the certainly of his lie staring excitedly from his face.‘Rr-r-r-r, I hear big tigah-h-h-h shout, rar-rrhhh, big enormous tiger shout, explodering. There,’ he gestured to the other side of the pond,’ two big tigahh-h-h.’
Was this a real tigah-h-h or dream tigah-h-h, Raj?’
‘Little bit real, little bit dream,’ he shrugged.
‘I heard a horrible howl last night,’ Dogster nodded,’ and then a splash as something fell in the pond. I heard it swimming towards me, sobbing. Everything went quiet after that.’
‘Tiger-fish-bear-monster,’ said Raj Kumar wisely.
He knew. He was the son of a witch.
Perhaps it was the organic farmer.
I’d had a disturbed night.
‘Have you ever seen a tiger, Raj Kumar?
‘Yes,’ he said, all the certainly of his lie staring excitedly from his face.‘Rr-r-r-r, I hear big tigah-h-h-h shout, rar-rrhhh, big enormous tiger shout, explodering. There,’ he gestured to the other side of the pond,’ two big tigahh-h-h.’
Was this a real tigah-h-h or dream tigah-h-h, Raj?’
‘Little bit real, little bit dream,’ he shrugged.
‘I heard a horrible howl last night,’ Dogster nodded,’ and then a splash as something fell in the pond. I heard it swimming towards me, sobbing. Everything went quiet after that.’
‘Tiger-fish-bear-monster,’ said Raj Kumar wisely.
He knew. He was the son of a witch.
Perhaps it was the organic farmer.
Oct 24th, 2010, 12:34 AM
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