LEAVING ANA


“So, how would you rate the concert?” Suman Joshi nonchalantly asked his cousin, pushing his wheeled suitcase towards the parking lot of Westin Hotel where the annual Nepali convention had ended a day earlier.

“I thought Sabin Rai was pretty darn good. He’s got a stage presence, a nice vocal, and his songs sounded melodious. It puzzles me though why he emulates Bryan Adams like a parrot. It’s a shame.” Amulya Joshi, an amateur musician himself, passionately critiqued one of the performers from the night before.

“The drive to the airport is not that long, is it?” Suman switched the topic without willfully grasping he had done so. He sounded amnesic and unwitting to the premise of his own question he had posed 15 seconds earlier.

“Is it just me or we were just talking about the concert last night? That was small, even for a small talk.”

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry. It’s this Monday morning syndrome. It’s a ritual I go through every seventh day. Even after 13 long years in this country, I never figured out the way to overcome Mondays. I got this thing I need to present to my clients next week. The ideas are floating in my head, but my mind keeps on throwing me a runtime error.”

“Recompile it once you are in New York. Airport is no more than 10 or 12 minutes. … I hope you had a good time Suman dai. When you arrived, you looked like you could use a break. Knowing vauju, I am sure she would have enjoyed it here.”

“I had a great time, honestly. Your vauju not being here had a lot to do with me having a great time. You are a great host. Thank you … But I could do without this hangover right now.”

“The hangover is one for the road. It’s a long trip to New York.”

No sooner had they arrived at the aisle where Amulya had parked his car, he shrieked in anger and shock. “GOD DAMN! Someone slashed my tire.”

“Holy crap! See how badly … I can see the wheel rim.”

“I know who did this … those lowlife yahoos from Dallas who scuffled with those thugs from New York last night. They did it.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I saw one of those New York hoodlums drive the same car like mine. It was the same color. Those Dallas crooks must have slashed my tire thinking it was his. These freaking felons. These sociopaths. These god damn good for nothing losers. These bullies.”

When Amulya kicked his car in kosher frustration, Suman said, “If you are kicking it because you ran out of vocabulary, you have not used ‘hooligan’ yet.”

The two cousins waited for gratis assistance in rage, dismay, and rage-and-dismay-induced laughter. Their cell phones with dead batteries abode in silence in their pockets. No more than three minutes had passed; a Jeep Liberty slowed down and stopped right next to them. An amiable man from the front passenger seat uttered a single-word interrogative sentence, “Trouble?”

“Flat tire.” Amulya upped the ante with two words.

“You guys have a plane to catch or what?”

“I am local, but my dai is flying to New York.”

“We are heading to the airport. We will drop you off. Hop in.”

“Are you sure? I hate to be a burden.”

“It’s not a problem at all. Let me open the trunk for your luggage.” The driver of the Jeep volunteered.

“I feel like crap leaving you here like this. You’re sure you want me to go?” Suman asked Amulya.

“Don’t worry about me. I will call the tow truck. I am off today anyways. Give me a buzz when you are done with your check in.”

***********************************************************************

“I am Nirmal, this is Dipesh, and that’s my wife, Pratibha.” The man in the front passenger seat introduced Suman to everyone as soon as the car started rolling in the parking lot.”

“Hello, hello, and hi. I am Suman Joshi.”

“Where are you flying to Suman ji?”

“New York. How about you guys?”

“We are heading back to Houston … So, how did you like the convention?”

“I thought it was pretty good. I was surprised, for all the good reasons, by ANA’s evolution since the last time I attended. I met some old friends after many years, renewed some old friendships, I had a blast.”

“Now I have been to four of these … it always hits the ground running on the first day, but kind of runs out of steam by the last day. One day too many, maybe? I am not saying it was bad, but it could be better.”

“There is no panacea for people’s expectation. It won’t be right to dwell on shortcomings in a mega event like this.”

“I agree,” Dipesh, who was driving the Jeep, added, “I would say, on the cultural front, the new generation seems to be making adjustments much more swiftly than we did.”

“Half of the girls I saw had a tattoo or two. They were all smoking and drinking. Everyone knew the beats to ‘Milkshake’ and ‘Hips don’t lie’. I am sure they all make a perfect sandwich and fries. They sure have adjusted well.”

“Nirmal, seriously, your nostalgia is overrated. The generation before us just did not know how and what to experiment with. If these young women want to experiment the way Nepalese men always have, let them. If flipping burgers gets them through college, shouldn’t we be applauding that? How conveniently we forget our hardships.”

Suman Joshi quickly observed that Dipesh and Nirmal were of opposite extremes in every faculty. Dipesh was tall, handsome, tolerant, and marginally friendly. Nirmal on the other hand was short, stocky, mildly opinionated, and extremely friendly. The ride to the airport became longer when Dipesh made a wrong turn when they exited the hotel.

“You don’t see that as vulgarity?” Nirmal pursued.

“I don’t wait to judge people; I get busy participating. When I participate, I become one of them. When I am one of them, how do I patronize me? Hey, I am pro-tattoo as long as it is not carved on my body.”

“That brawl that halted the concert, the security, and the cops—none of that bothered you? You’re telling me you don’t see that as vulgarity. You were not embarrassed as a Nepali?”

“I can see why some see that that as a fly in the ointment,” Dipesh punctuated, “But I don’t live to count the number of times my breathing is interrupted by my hiccups. I live because I can breathe.”

“You may think I am trying to fit in here, but I agree with both of you,” Suman filled in, “Though I fancied their energy and passion, I wish some of those young people were more restrained. Sometimes being loud is just being loud, it has no other purpose. Then again, opinions, when mixed with alcohol, can be quite strong.”

“Very well said,” Dipesh cheered, “But that is not limited to just young people. Old people, when drunk, are as righteous and loud.”

While the three men impulsively and vivaciously talked about the pros and cons, the beauty and the ugliness of ANA, Pratibha in the back seat, sat quietly. With the exception of one faintest of smiles when they were first introduced, she had not otherwise played a host to Suman. Though her body, strapped in the seat belt remained motionless, her mind was somewhere else. Either she did not want to be where she was at that moment, or she did not want to be where she was headed.

“How did you like it Pratibha ji?” Suman made a courtly attempt to receive her in the conversation.

Though her lips did not curve sharply, she forged a charity smile and said, “I go with the flow, I had fun.”

As soon as she said that, she looked startled, her eyes opened wide, she let out a gasp of panic and screamed, “DIPESH, WATCH OUT!”

*******************************************************************

Dr. Parimal Shastri and a Centinela Hospital administrator slowly walked towards Suman Joshi. They looked somber. When they were face to face, Dr. Shastri gently tapped Suman’s shoulder and said, “Please sit down.”

Tense and unsettled, Suman obliged. Dr. Shastri sat on the chair adjacent to Suman. The administrator who was carrying a file with him, took the seat across from him.

“I have a very bad news,” Dr. Shastri paused while he maintained the eye contact with Suman, “He came with a broken neck. There was massive internal bleeding. We did our best, but we could not save him. I am extremely sorry.”

Suman started shaking. When the hospital administrator stood up to help him, Dr. Shastri raised his palm, politely signaling him to wait. They gave him couple of moments to gather himself. When Suman could not compose himself, Dr. Shastri once again patted his back and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” The administrator added.

Suman tried to stand up because he was too shivery to sit down. Once he stood up, he realized his legs were too weak because of the tremors his nervous system bore. He felt a spasm that flapped him like huge waves of undulations. He immediately sat down and started sobbing for the dead man whom he knew for only 20 minutes.

“Who is dead?” Suman Joshi suddenly realized, he did not even know which of the two new acquaintances he was grieving. The question startled Dr. Shastri.

The administrator who knew more about the accident, quickly clarified, “Mr. Giri is dead.”

“Who is Mr. Giri? I met them this morning. I only know them by their first names.”

The doctor and the administrator glanced at each other in surprise. The hospital administer checked the file in his hand before answering. “Mr. Dipesh Giri is the one who passed away.”

Suman Joshi sat in silence for a minute. “The other guy, Nirmal, how is he doing?” Suman did not have a clue what was to be expected of his inquiry.

“He broke a bone in his leg. He has suffered some other injuries, but we expect him to fully recover.”

“You guys will have to excuse me.” Suman gingerly assembled all of his broken emotions and walked towards Pratibha, who was sitting in the waiting room some 40 yards away.

When Pratibha Dhungana saw Suman Joshi’s face, she started sobbing. She figured out something terrible had happened. Suman sat on his knees, and murmured, “He’s gone.”

Pratibha did not cry loudly, but she continued to sob. She then leaned towards Suman and whispered something. Suman responded in whispers. Everyone in the waiting room was gazing at them. Moments later, when they stopped whispering, Pratibha asked for some water.

Suman was filling up a small plastic cup from the water-cooler near the waiting room, he heard a man scream: “Stop her. Someone stop her.” He looked at the direction and saw a Hispanic man run towards the window.

*******************************************************************

A Traffic Death Causes an Unwarranted Suicide

By Henry Jastrzab and Raymond Saunders, Times Staff Writers
July 5, 2007

A Nissan Murano speeding at 85 MPH slammed into a Jeep Liberty at Sepulveda Boulevard exit near Los Angeles airport early Monday, killing the driver of the Jeep.

The Murano, trying to cut off another car in the same lane, lost its control, spun, and wound up overturned on top of the Jeep’s hood. The driver of the Jeep, identified as Dipesh Giri, 33, died at the hospital four hours later. The passenger in the front seat, Nirmal Dhungana, is recovering from shinbone fracture and other injuries. The driver of the Murano, Bruce Sanford, suffered some serious but non-life-threatening injuries, and he is expected to leave the hospital in three weeks.

There were two more passengers in the back seat of the Jeep, both of whom initially survived the accident without any injury. All four people in the Jeep of Nepalese origin were returning home from the annual convention of Association of Nepalis in the Americas (ANA) at Westin Hotel near the Los Angeles Airport.

A twist to this mishap that unfolded at Centinela Hospital has made this tragedy much worse. According to Bret Dunn, the spokesman for the hospital, Mr. Giri was pronounced dead at 2:17 PM. His death was first notified to Suman Joshi, the third passenger in the Jeep, who walked away from the accident unscathed.

“What followed after we announced the death of Mr. Giri is quite bizarre and needlessly tragic.” Dunn said.

According to Mr. Joshi, he did not know any of the other three passengers in the Jeep until that morning. Mr. Giri and Mr. Dhungana had offered him a ride to the airport after they spotted him with a flat tire at the parking lot of Westin Hotel, the day after the ANA convention ended on July 1, 2007.

When the doctor informed him of Dipesh Giri’s death, since he did not know anyone else who knew the deceased, Joshi says he walked up to the fourth passenger in the Jeep to deliver the news. The fourth passenger was Mrs. Pratibha Dhungana, 29, the wife of the other surviving passenger, Nirmal Dhungana. She too had survived the accident with only a minor bump on the head.

Mr. Joshi was so traumatized, he says, he could not clearly convey to Mrs. Dhungana what had just unfolded. “When I talked to Pratibha, ‘he is gone’ is all I could say.” Joshi recalls.

When she heard Mr. Joshi’s vague account, Mrs. Dhungana mistakenly assumed that it was her husband, Nirmal Dhungana, who had died from his injuries. Several witnesses in the hospital waiting room confirmed that Mrs. Dhungana whispered some indistinct words to Mr. Joshi before asking for some water in English. When Mr. Joshi walked to the Water Cooler, Mrs. Dhungana opened the window and jumped out the window. She landed on her face and died on the spot.

“I should have told her clearly that it was Dipesh Giri, who had died, not her husband. I should have thought it out before talking to her. I should have been more coherent.” Mr. Joshi, 37, who works as a Software Engineer in New York, regretted.

Nicolas Kauslick, who was parking his delivery van when he saw Mrs. Dhungana jump from the hospital window said, “It was so surreal I could literally see all the emotions in her face while she was free falling.”

Nirmal Dhungana, 34, who is grieving the unwarranted death of his wife refused to talk to us. Some of his closest friends told us that he has no family in the US, so once he recovers; he intends to return to Nepal for good.

Dr. Parimal Shastri, who performed the surgery said, “I hope I am wrong about this, but this tragedy could have been triggered by our South Asian Hindu culture that overemphasizes spousal commitment.”

The LAPD has the jurisdiction of the crash site. A spokesperson for the LAPD said they will file reckless driving charges against Mr. Sanford, the driver of the Murano, for causing the fatality.

Eight people in the hospital waiting room witnessed Mrs. Dhungana’s suicide, and they all corroborate each other. Speaking on the condition of anonymity, a Sherriff’s office spokesman said the suicide case will not be further investigated.

********************************************************************

Amrita Joshi read the Los Angeles Times piece on the accident twice. She read every word, every sentence and every paragraph as if she were to take a test on the subject later. After folding the newspaper and placing it on top of the coffee table, she asked her husband, “You want to live with this lie for the rest of your life?”

Suman Joshi did not pay attention to his wife. He kept on working on his PowerPoint presentation. When the wife repeated the same question with the exact words, tone, and zeal, he minimized the PowerPoint window and said, “Why do I get this nauseating feeling that I made a huge mistake by confiding this to you?”

“Do you even have a clue why am I concerned?”

“I do.”

“Tell me why am I concerned?”

“You believe that Nirmal Dhungana will always hold me responsible for his wife’s death. That bothers you.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“I can live with that. Chances are I am never going to meet the guy in my life again.”

“If you tell Nirmal Dhungana the truth, he won’t have to live with the guilt that he did not do the same for his wife.”

“Put on your thinking cap and listen … Nirmal Dhungana’s wife was cheating on him with his friend. When I told that woman Dipesh Giri had passed away, she asked me three times whether it was Dipesh or Nirmal. When I repeated it was Dipesh Giri, she jumped off the building. How do you think that husband will feel if he finds out the truth?”

“LA Times says she whispered something to you before she asked for water. What did she whisper to you?”

“She was whispering what I just told you. She asked me three times who had died, Nirmal or Dipesh. I said Dipesh three times. Dipesh was much taller than Nirmal, so to confirm, she asked me whether it was the ‘tall one’ or the ‘short one’. That was her fourth question, her fourth whisper. When I said ‘the tall one’, that was when she asked for water.” Suman Joshi uttered every word as if he was teaching his wife a Sanskrit mantra.

“Was she wishing it was …?”

“I am sure she was. She did not even bother to do ‘eeni meeni mini mo’. When you have a husband and a lover, I’d assume one would at least consider ‘eeni meeni mini mo’. She was certain whom she wanted.”

“God, how did we get here? What happened to our values?”

“What values? It was always the same. Only phrases have changed. We used to call it ‘poilo jaane’, now it is ‘cheating’ and ‘affair’.”

“Morality has gone down the drain.”

“Morality has always remained constant; fear is the variable that dictates our actions. I agree our fear has subsided to some degree. Morality weighs in when there is a conflict between ‘what feels right’ versus ‘what feels good.’ In the absence of fear, we choose what feels good. That’s what Pratibha Dhungana did. She chose what felt good.”

Even though Amrita agreed with her husband wholeheartedly, she did not pause to give him a round of applause. “This woman killed herself because her lover was dead, not her husband. Nirmal Dhungana needs to know this. He should not be mourning her for the rest of his life.”

“It’s not your place to play judge advocate on Nirmal Dhungana’s behalf. Let him live with the memory of a loving wife who cared enough to kill herself. Nirmal Dhungana is already a sad man; he does not deserve to be bitter.”

“But, that’s not the truth,” Amrita emphasized, “While you are lying to make that man feel great about his dead wife, he must blame you for her death. I guarantee you he blames you for her death.”

“I said I can live with that. As for truth, it is just an empirical concept. What you and I know is our truth, what Nirmal Dhungana does not know is his truth.”

what a story man! many twists, and I liked the ending too. Great!

thank u so much.

Ladies and gentlemen, this man's a genius!!

Sum_off that was quite a treat for Friday morning.

I am sure there are many Dipesh, Nirmal and Pratibhas in our society. Morality is a thing of the past. People are left with intertwined logic like Suman to deal with the consequences and principles.

Such a great story..as good as always. good job Sum_off!!

Good one, Sum_off.

Awesome.

Wow!! Great great story Sum_off...

I always read Sum_off's writings ... and this one, for me, is the best. Made me write few lines in appreciation.

I even googled to see whether it is based on real-events or is fictious.

Great one

for all your 'understanding' of the world, your characters are characterized in the following way:

your male characters, who are good and bad....

your female characters who are mostly always bad, especially if they hold centerstage in your stories.

for one married woman who was having an extramarital affair....there was one man who was betraying his friend and having an affair with a married woman.....

Morality (i am NOT saying this in reference to the above paragraph) is what feels right AND good. I dont think one negates the other. Because if it makes you happy it can't be wrong. (although i know it was the character speaking and not u.....but doesnt the writer always speak through the voice of the protagonist)?

But what the heck? these are your stories....you have all the right in the world to sketch characters the way you want and write things the way u want. I should mention however that i was speaking about the story and not about you as a writer.

You are an amazing writer....and nobody is as good as you in sajha ( and i read them all). Keep writing sum off coz nobody does it better than you.

I sincerely hope you stop taking a moral high ground though.

Nepalonmymind, are you having an affair? Is that why the plot bothers you a little bit?

All I can say is, I have three favorite writers: Khaled Hosseini, Ken Follet and Sum_off.

Man, this guy is hell of a writer.

Sum_off, if your time permits please keep on coming with such excellent writings. Sajha basi are always waiting desperately for your writings.

its awesome.
Hats off on you Mr. SUM_OFF.
your story seems to be real than just a story.


Happy Firday the 13th.

Damn crazy twists man...I love it...keep on writing....
-peace-

The first reaction to truth is hatred ~ Tertullian quotes.

I would rather leave the man grieving for his wife than have it replaced by anger.

What would you choose?

To kill yourself because your lover is dead, makes me wonder, she must have truly loved the man, hmm.

PS: Nice story.

.Sum_off, how could you.. how could you express so well? The power that you have on how to bridle your horse of imagination is a gift that everyone would die to have. You have made use of the gift in a very special way, touching the heart of readers. Thank you Sum_off.. Your work is just beautiful!
(just whisper me if you have a magic wand (or pen) to create stories)

Usually, when I am ready to thank all who read my stories, I can’t find my story in the first page. So, this time, I want to make sure I thank everyone before the thread vanishes.

Samsara – Genius? Wow? Isn’t that word reserved for those who teach at the Aero-Astro Department of MIT? I am not deserving. It gave me goosebumps. Thank you for reading, sir.

Gahugoro – Thank you again. The translation is ‘olive’—correct? Try telling that to an American; chances are he has not even heard of it. You have always encouraged me to be better. Bless your heart.

SNDY/ Tamang_lady – Sometimes, when I am in a theater watching a bad movie with bad acting, bad plot, and bad dialogues, I think about all the compliments I have gotten in Sajha—and I wonder, what those people would think of this movie?

I wish I believed in me as much as you guys do. And, I wish I believed that I am a writer. I seriously don’t. God bless you and your family for being kind to me. I always wish you the best. I know you two are friends. I browse Sajha here and there. I find your Nautanki Land and Chautaari to be the two most peaceful places in Sajha. Too much harmony there.

Nepalonmymind – Your opinion is very important to me. The reason is simple: You are the only person in Sajha who has constructively criticized me four times. All those four times you were right on the money. I love the way you tell me how I can be better. Besides, you care enough to decipher the tone of the story—and you have never dismissed me as a loser who freelances in Sajha.

But, here is a big but … why didn’t I talk about Dipesh in the end? Just read the second part of the story where the three men talk about ANA. You will read Dipesh’s desperate attempt to guard himself. Dipesh knows he is not as proper as Nirmal; so he accepts (or pretends to accept) what is not as good as Nirmal. I did not feel like spelling that out. Through those young people at ANA, he defends himself.

Also, women are women’s biggest enemies. Suman is not judgmental. The only thing that bugs him is that Pratibha did not do ‘eeni mini mini mo’. It was Amrita who was judgmental. If I am taking a moral high ground by saying what Amrita says, then why not give me some credit for Suman Joshi’s neutrality? I really don’t believe there are antagonists in this story. This story, in my opinion, is totally faith-driven (most probably, even the affair part that does not concern the story).

Please don’t fight with me. I can’t afford to lose you.

Ratobhaley – Thank you as always. So, you could not provoke nepalonmymind? She is tough to crack open.

Khusi – Thank you for reading my ‘In Sequence’. You were one of the 11 people who read that piece. When people dismiss something that you truly believe in; for lack of a better phrase; that sucks.

Cowboys – Thank you. I can only hope you are not what I think you are (NFLwise). Like most football fans, I can’t stand them. Seriously.

Dissident – ‘Good one’? Is that it? Isn’t that what you say when your co-worker tells you a lousy joke? I want more.

YACC – Thank you. You have always been there. I can always count on you.

Prakash_ji – lau na lau google maa testo ke phelaa paarnu vo ta? 2, 3 din kurnu vayo vane, ehi story nai return garchha google le. Thank you. Drop by more often. San likes that too.

Kina_kina – If you keep on commenting, I will keep on writing. Thank you for taking your time to drop a line.

Meera – People don’t kill themselves out of love, they commit suicide out of confusion. Have you ever read a suicide note? You will be surprised to know how little sense it makes. Thank you for reading.


[Comments are unedited, I apologize in advance for typos.]

Keep it up. good job sum off.