Angels of the Kathmandu night

Let us do a “guesstimate” sort of count. Let us factor in all classes and categories – from your average, wholesome types to the more, should we say, “niche”, “Gongabu” types. Leave the country alone, how many do you think are scattered across Kathmandu? A thousand, perhaps? Take a rough average of a head count of ten per joint – that brings the approximate total to about ten thousand “angels” who sparkle in the Kathmandu night, and maybe two or three thousand of their “guardian knights”, or, as we like to call them, “khalaasis”.

The scene here is quite different from the conventional idea of what we’re talking about that exists, say, in the United States or Europe. Well, there are some things in common – extremely bad beer at extremely high prices, people trying to hustle you left and right, and the one obvious thing – the primary objective, of course. But unlike over there, we have multitudes of “degrees” out here, with some joints being equally tasteful and sleazy at the same time.

You could perhaps compare what is over there to a nice, juicy steak. It’s a no-nonsense piece of meat; you know what you’re getting into and it’s all quite predictible. What is over here is more like a platter of khichadi, with all sorts of things mixed into it. Only God knows what they will be serving you with when you step in the door. It is an “interesting” experience, nonetheless – a bit like watching a movie that is so bad that you laugh at it so hard that you end up enjoying it.

Anyway, there really is no point to these paragraphs. After all is said and done, these “angels” do work hard and earn an honest living – maybe more so than we do. I think they deserve our respect, and maybe that they needed a mention somewhere. That’s all. Hell, sometimes I wouldn’t mind being a “khalaasi” myself – if you know what I mean.