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Most of my essays on Nepal are of a more serious nature but not this one, however, I must be careful how I tell this story since this is a family forum -- and kids might want to skip this one.
Although a poor country with many problems, sadness and misery the Nepalis generally have a fine sense of humor and much of it can be quite lusty in nature.
That said, now time for a little language lesson.
The Nepali word for fry bread (not unlike a good crispy fried flour tortilla you'd get in Mexico or some good fry bread on the rez) is PURI. The R is pronounced in a quick rolled manner something like burro in Spanish.
The slang Nepali word for that part of the female anatomy which I (and most other men I know) spent a great deal of my youth chasing is PUTI. Pronounced pretty much as it's spelled.
Background set.
When Yangdu and I had our apartment in Swayambu we rented from the Royal Programmer (he worked on the first computer in Nepal installed in the Palace), a very nice and well educated Newari fellow named Hari Gopal Shresta, and his wife who I called simply "Sauni" -- female landlord.
One day Sauni brought me a big dish of fresh PURI with a side dish of diced pototoes, boiled eggs and onions nicely spiced. Great stuff and I ate it promptly (PURI best eaten while fresh and hot), washed the dishes and returned them to Sauni.
I said, "Sabai ma kao ra tapaiko PURI dheri, dheri mito cha. Dheri dhanyabad."
Roughly translated: I ate it all and your fried bread was very delicious. Thank you.
Sauni looked at me and grinned. Then she started to giggle. Then laugh. And the laugh took on a life of it's own. She slapped her thigh, threw her head back and let out a huge HEEHAW. Tears started running down her face and she leaned over shaking with laughter. This must have gone on for five minutes.
I knew what had happened but didn't know what to do or say. Once spoken words can never be erased.
What Sauni had heard was not what I had tried to say. Because of my poor pronunciation she heard PUTI rather than PURI which changes the context of my statement considerably.
When Yangdu got in from her appointed rounds Sauni hollered at her. "Hey, Bhohini, come over. I've got a story to tell you about your husband." A couple of minutes later here came that laughter again. When Hari got home from work the laughter came again.
I was thoroughly embarrassed.
Next day when I went to the little pasal next door to buy some cigarettes the Sauni there looked at me and started laughing.
In just two days when I'd walk up the street to the temple the gals would point at me and laugh and a few of the more agressive types would yell at me, "Hey, Queerie, mero PURI dheri mito cha. Kanne?"
Translation: Hey, White Monkey, my PURI is very delicious. Want to eat it?
Five years later when I visited they would still point at me and laugh and my guess is some of them would still do the same today.
Some things you never live down.
Although a poor country with many problems, sadness and misery the Nepalis generally have a fine sense of humor and much of it can be quite lusty in nature.
That said, now time for a little language lesson.
The Nepali word for fry bread (not unlike a good crispy fried flour tortilla you'd get in Mexico or some good fry bread on the rez) is PURI. The R is pronounced in a quick rolled manner something like burro in Spanish.
The slang Nepali word for that part of the female anatomy which I (and most other men I know) spent a great deal of my youth chasing is PUTI. Pronounced pretty much as it's spelled.
Background set.
When Yangdu and I had our apartment in Swayambu we rented from the Royal Programmer (he worked on the first computer in Nepal installed in the Palace), a very nice and well educated Newari fellow named Hari Gopal Shresta, and his wife who I called simply "Sauni" -- female landlord.
One day Sauni brought me a big dish of fresh PURI with a side dish of diced pototoes, boiled eggs and onions nicely spiced. Great stuff and I ate it promptly (PURI best eaten while fresh and hot), washed the dishes and returned them to Sauni.
I said, "Sabai ma kao ra tapaiko PURI dheri, dheri mito cha. Dheri dhanyabad."
Roughly translated: I ate it all and your fried bread was very delicious. Thank you.
Sauni looked at me and grinned. Then she started to giggle. Then laugh. And the laugh took on a life of it's own. She slapped her thigh, threw her head back and let out a huge HEEHAW. Tears started running down her face and she leaned over shaking with laughter. This must have gone on for five minutes.
I knew what had happened but didn't know what to do or say. Once spoken words can never be erased.
What Sauni had heard was not what I had tried to say. Because of my poor pronunciation she heard PUTI rather than PURI which changes the context of my statement considerably.
When Yangdu got in from her appointed rounds Sauni hollered at her. "Hey, Bhohini, come over. I've got a story to tell you about your husband." A couple of minutes later here came that laughter again. When Hari got home from work the laughter came again.
I was thoroughly embarrassed.
Next day when I went to the little pasal next door to buy some cigarettes the Sauni there looked at me and started laughing.
In just two days when I'd walk up the street to the temple the gals would point at me and laugh and a few of the more agressive types would yell at me, "Hey, Queerie, mero PURI dheri mito cha. Kanne?"
Translation: Hey, White Monkey, my PURI is very delicious. Want to eat it?
Five years later when I visited they would still point at me and laugh and my guess is some of them would still do the same today.
Some things you never live down.
