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Sunday, April 24, 2016


Jip jip is no Sanskriti for rip rip...neither ripping nor resting.

This is the story of an errand.

We had just returned to Thamel, Kathmandu a day ahead of our flight to Bangladesh. Checked into our hotel, changed and showered and went out on an errand.

Flashback to Pokhara: "What are these guys whispering into your ears," asked M. 

Every 200 yards, a variety of Pokharans would inquire if I needed to restock on hash. I would politely decline or ignore their concerned offer.  

There was this one time, just by the lakeside, where a gangly Nepali youth approached me and said:

"Do you want a tourist car?"


"A guide?"


"A taxi?"



"No I don't need any hash, but ask the lady," I replied pointing to M.

He looked incredulous but did not approach her.

Out in the Thamel streets, nondescript passersby would whisper in my ear what sounded like "Jip, jip."

First couple of times, I smiled back at them and said "Jip, jip."

But after a while it got tiresome. Both of us had no clue what these strangers meant by "Jip, jip."


Fast forward to our return to the hotel room and a visit to the bathroom. As I tried to unzip, I discovered that the zip was already unzipped.


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