“Do you know? They are just byproducts. In other words, the waste. Whether they are created by the blood thirsty revolutionaries mingled in the war for the sake of people’s freedom or by the army personnel fully-loaded with arrogance which automatically comes due to the automatic rifles on his arms. Whether the reason behind was the long relaxation of truck drivers at every turnings of winding road to Kathmandu or the faulty protection during enjoyment of fresh meat at the bank of No. 2 Bridge. They form unwontedly.. Just as waste. Nobody wants them, no one planns their formation. Even no one takes the responsibility of their formation. A mere byproduct. Like spirit in sugar factory. These bloody human puppies”, Hariram uttered his wisdom. As usual, his oration skill prospered at high mood.
“But, Sir. Is it the right time to do this type of business?”
At one side, People’s war was at the full swing. Interestingly, at the same time Number Two Bridge near Hetauda getting used to to the increasing numbers of vehicles parked at road side. ‘Dhindo with local chicken’s soup’ was becoming a delicacy among nepali youths. In that background I had to say something to make my master happy.
“Of course, Yes. This is the best time. When a country is deeply engaged in civil war, few industries prosper. Cement factory closes its gate, but the production graph of gunnery business goes steeply up. Production of rice decreases at the cost of rising business of maize-import from The States. That’s why you have to find the right business at right time. And bang…. You will hit the bull’s eye”, closing his left eye he raised his right arm. He gave the support with left hand and fired some type of imaginary gun to hit imaginary central point of imaginary target.
Even he Exhaled dust-filled Kathmandu air to blew away that vary imaginary smoke coming out from his gun. In pure Clint Eastwood style.
It seemed that beside money, he also had some sort of affection towards gunpowder.
“I got it, Sir. Of course this is the high time for the orphans. Armed revolution means blood. Few gallons of blood byproduce few dozens of orphans. And now this honor killing is at full swing anyway,” I supported my boss fanning away the smelly gun powder smoke from my face.
I hated gunpowder. And its smell too.
“How can you think otherwise? Nowadays, gallons are not enough. My friend. Not enough. You need tankers to fill,” I felt he delighted with his own answer. His ear-to-ear smile was for that. At least I felt so. He contracted his smile and extended left arm to fill my glass.
I took back the brim-filled glass, “Thank you sir”.
I wondered. Alcohol seemed to be something special. Whether God made or Greek discovered. Even your bloodthirsty boss will be happy to fill your glass. Other day he might be asking you to police his shoes, but besides the bar, he becomes the best person in the world. A generous man. A good Boss. A Buddy.
“But, sir. Whatever you can say, they are also human beings. And trade of human beings….”, Sipping the froth first, I supported my best buddys. Though I left the incomplete sentence to be completed by wise man, sitting in front of me. Anyway, I was not a newcomer in this ‘Private Job’.
Now he fired. On real sense.
“Standing on two legs does not mean that someone is a human. If someone doesn’t have the right to be human being, then ‘It’is just a human by physique. In reality, ‘it’ occupies the place of a mere puppy in the society. Your civil society, dear. And then you can freely buy or sell those Zoological Homosapiens. Bloody Homosapiens”.
“So, you are doing the same as those sugar factories? They trade their byproduct in the form of Gin and spirit. You trade the byproducts of armed conflict”.
‘Friend’
‘Dear’
You get intoxicated with these types of adjectives, especially if you are in ‘Private Job’. These words are like national ordinates.
‘The Glory of Nation’
‘National Hero’
It brings that sort of arrogance in you. Obviously, I got it. Not to mention about fifth glass. And obviously, it annoyed boss. His body reacted with flushed blood in his face.
In accordance, his tongue reacted with , “ You, m***. How can you dare to compare me with beer bar? A wisdom giver and an alcohol trader? You nuts”.
He supplemented with more words starting with ‘M’ and ‘F’.
Wild world! You can not predict who will spit on you for what connection. You can dare to say, ‘You are on trade of human beings’. But not to compare between his trade and beer-bar.
However. If you know your boss, you can do many acrobats. I tried four-folding of Chinese. Bowed head like ‘P’ throwing my sacrum as far as possible. And apologized.
“Sorry Sir”.
Though he gave apology or not, I doubt. In the mean time my mind managed to take a snap of Hariramji’s acrobatic pose. Kicking my ass still sitting right in front of me.
In a pure Jacky Chang style.
****
