Kathmandu, Iceland: Jhaks & Ashok
Jhaks
“Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” I don’t have to laugh because Jhaks is already chuckling at his own joke despite the fact that it’s the fourth time he’s told it in the past three hours. Don’t let his incessant talk of “bitches” (beetsiz), or scoring some pussy, or pretty much constant gyrating fool you; he’s a good guy deep down but perhaps just a bit too compulsive for his own good.
He’s one of the six Nepalese guys I’ve been sharing a small trailer with this summer in Iceland. Jhaks isn’t a full time staff member so he’s been relegated to couch surfing. Although he drinks pretty much constantly he’s the only boozer among them that doesn’t make me uneasy when he’s drunk.
I get off the river early one afternoon and Jhaks is watching Nepalese music videos in our ramshackle hut nicknamed Kathmandu. My bare feet stick to the linoleum floor and the place smells strongly of stale beer and curry. Jhaks is surround by the empty cans of his half finished case of Vikings.
“Day off Jhaks?” I ask. He works in Saudakrokur’s fish processing factory 20km north.
“No man. I just didn’t feel like going.” Just like yesterday. His eyes don’t move away from the screen and I know he’s going to start some commentary on the beetsez soon.
“Oh man. I will pay 20,000 kronur for her. Fuck I want to buy her for the night.” I know he would.
Ashok walks into Kathmandu singing along with the video. He stops, still staring at the screen and launches into an intense conversation with Jhaks in Nepalese.
“Bibbity bobbity ma chigney doobity lado ma chigney hoobity puty ma chigney lado.” We’ve become wise to the way of Nepalese cursing and still marvel at their ability to fit so many ma chigneys (mother fuckers) into the same sentence, followed closely by a few lados (dick) and puty (pussy). This is in no way how typical Nepalese people speak, but you can count on the Nepalese raft guides for an amusing “dick motherfucker fuck pussy dick” tirade. In this sport Ashok is the champion.
Ashok
He stops and turns to me, closing his eyes with a slight bow he says “how are you today Mr. Jesus,” my nickname for the summer.
“I’m alright.”
“I’m vedy happy to hear that.” Then he settles in on the sofa next to Jhaks, his partner in crime and fellow squatter. They don’t clean, hardly work and generally seem like guys lost in the world. I’m baffled by how Ashok can be so polite and considerate one minute and such a sketchy lado ma chigney the next. While Jhaks is harmless, Ashok has a wild streak and a violent temper. He’s the brother of our head boatman Anup and is basically in Iceland because there are too many people back in Kathmandu, Nepal who want him dead, including his mother. Two summers ago Anup got a phone call from his mother swearing that if he didn’t bring Ashok to Iceland she’d poison him at breakfast. Over the course of the summer we’ve started to understand why.
Unfortunately for Yuji from Japan, he’s taken the brunt of Ashok’s wrath. One night after partying down at the hotel Yuji asked Ashok not so smoke in Kathmandu. Yuji is one of the few Japanese males who detests cigarettes. Ashok exploded and promptly went to the kitchen for the biggest knife he could find. It took three guys to hold him down as he shouts, “I will fucking kill you, I don’t care ma chigney!” I believe him. Then one morning while having a quiet conversation over breakfast Ashok erupts out of his makeshift bed on the living room floor, belting out a long string of lado ma chigneys. Okay, so he’s mad, I think. Then he puts on his favorite Nepalese pop at full volume. I shout something about it being the morning and turn it down but he doesn’t see it’s me with his head buried in his covers.
“Who the fuck turned down my music ma chigney!” Up goes the volume again. This time Yuji grabs the remote and within thirty seconds the brawl starts. Yuji’s a pretty big dude and gets Ashok in a headlock. Raj and I come over too and soon Raj has the little fucker restrained on the couch and he’s promising over and over “I won’t do anything, I’m done. I won’t do anything.” Raj lets him go and he immediately goes for the guitar. Yuji braces for it as Ashok smashes it on his back. As Ashok tells the story now, “that Jap broke my guitar.” He smirks when he says it but he seems a bit disappointed as he used to play it the most. A guy who destroys what he loves is a guy who doesn’t care.
Tags: Eurasia: Marco Polo-in' it, Iceland, Nepal
