داستان هاي كوتاه جالب به زبان انگليسي با ترجمه فارسی

4603) I eat



4604) من می خورم









4605) I eat little



4606) من کم غذا می خورم









4607) I eat the apple.



4608) من سیب را می خورم









4609) I enjoy climbing montains.



4610) من از كوهنوردی لذت می برم









4611) I expect you to take this seriously



4612) انتظار دارم این مسئله رو جدی بگیری









4613) I feel an excessive fatigue



4614) احساس خستگی بیش از حد داردم.









4615) I feel an extreme agitation



4616) احساس بی قراری شدیدی دارم.









4617) I feel honored to have you as a friend



4618) از اینکه با شما دوستم احساس افتخار می کنم









4619) I Feel Like A Steak



4620) من دوست دارم استیک بخورم









4621) I feel like I've been re-born



4622) احساس می کنم دوباره به دنیا امده ام









4623) i feel pins and needle in my foot



4624) پا هام خواب رفته









4625) i feel sorry for you



4626) دلم برات می سوزه









4627) I feel with you in your sorrow



4628) مرا در غم خود شریک بدان.









4629) I feel you



4630) احساست می کنم









4631) I felt it in my bone



4632) به دلم برات شده بود









4633) I felt it in my bones



4634) به دلم برات شده بود









4635) I felt like a fool



4636) سنگ رو یخ شدم









4637) I felt sleepy



4638) احساس خواب الودگی کردم









4639) I gave him a piece of my mind



4640) شستمش گذاشتمش کنار









4641) I gave him a strong punch to his head



4642) یک مشت ابدار به سرش کوفتم









4643) i give you blessings



4644) نعمت از من









4645) I got cold feet



4646) دستپاچه شدم









4647) I got into my stride



4648) روی غلتک افتادم(عادت کردم)









4649) I got it from a very reliable source!



4650) من از یه جای مطمئن فهمیدم















4352) I always will be true



4353) من همیشه پابرجا خواهم ماند









4354) I am a bit drained



4355) یه ذره شل و ولم









4356) I am a diabetic



4357) من بیماری قند دارم









4358) I am all eyes



4359) چهار چشمی مراقب هستم









4360) I am allergic to adhesive plaster



4361) به نوار چسب (چسب زخم) حساست دارم.









4362) I am allergic to penicillin



4363) نسبت به پنی سیلین حساسیت دارم









4364) I am baffled as to how my daddy brought us up



4365) گیج شدم که پدرم چه طوری مارو تربیت می کرد









4366) I am bored because my job is boring.



4367) من خسته هستم چون كار من خسته كننده است









4368) I am caught in bad jam



4369) عجب گرفتاری شدیم ها









4370) I am dizzy



4371) سرم گیج میرود.









4372) I am feeling depressed



4373) احساس افسردگی میكنم









4374) I am fixing to go



4375) دارم اماده می شم که بروم









4376) I am flattered



4377) این لطف شماست-شرمنده می فرمایید









4378) I am full



4379) من سیرم









4380) I am glad to see you up and about.



4381) خوشحالم از اینكه شما را سرپا و سرحال می‌بینم









4382) I am going to put in stitches



4383) الان بخیه میزنم.









4384) I am going to stay here to night.



4385) من قصد دارم امشب اینجا بمانم









4386) I am in low water



4387) دستم تنگ است









4388) I am inundated with work



4389) هزار جور كار سرم ریخته









4390) I am just picking on you



4391) سر کارت گذاشتم









4392) I am not in a good mood today



4393) امروز زیاد حال و حوصله ندارم









4394) I am over the hill



4395) دیگه خیلی پیر شده ام









4396) I am scattered-minded



4397) تمرکز ندارم









4398) i am single_handed



4399) دست تنهام





















4952) I take back what I said



4953) من حرفم راپس میگیرم.









4954) I take my hat off to you.



4955) بابا ایوالله









4956) I take size 38 in my shoes



4957) شماره پایم 38 است









4958) I thanked him,



4959) من از اون تشکر کردم









4960) I think I had a very happy childhood



4961) من فکر می کنم دوران کودکی بسیار خوبی داشتم









4962) I think that you can do it easily.



4963) من فكر می كنم كه شما می توانید آن را به راحتی انجام دهید.









4964) I thought



4965) فکر کردم









4966) I thought the play was, dare I say it, boring



4967) فكر میكنم كه به جرات میتوان گفت كه نمایش خسته كننده بود









4968) I to die and you to live



4969) من می میرم و شما زنده می مانید









4970) I told him to his face



4971) جلوی چشمش بهش گفتم.









4972) I told mary to do her homework carfully.



4973) من به مری گفتم كه تكالیفش را با دقت انجام دهد









4974) I travel to Romantis



4975) به تخیلات سفر می کنم









4976) I try to tell you about I’m me



4977) سعی می كنم كه بهت بگم ولی من









4978) I try to tell you how I feel



4979) سعی می كنم كه بهت بگم احساسم چیه









4980) I used to own a bicycle.



4981) من سابقا یک دوچرخه داشتم









4982) I usually go to school by bus but today I am going to go by taxi.



4983) من معمولاً با اتوبوس به مدرسه می روم اما امروز قصد دارم یكشنبه فوتبال بازی كنیم









4984) I voted aye



4985) رای مثبت دادم









4986) I want make you happy



4987) میخوام خوشحالت کنم









4988) I want the donkey and the dates



4989) هم خر و میخواد هم خرما رو









4990) I want to break into a run



4991) دوست داشتم پا به فرار بذارم









4992) I want to know



4993) میخوام بدونم









4994) i want to make up my mind about it



4995) من می خواهم بیشتر فکر بکنم.









4996) I want to present my point



4997) من می خواهم نقطه نظرم رو متذکر شوم









4998) I want to press charges



4999) من می خواهم شکایت کنم















1) I don't intend to be late!



2) من قصد ندارم دیر بیایم









3) I don't know how to say



4) نمی دونم چجوری بگم









5) I don't know how will turn out



6) نمی دونم چه میشه









7) I don't know what is what



8) نمی دونم چی به چیه.









9) I don't know what's wrong



10) نمیدونم چی شده









11) I don't know why you keep chasing her around



12) نمیدونم چرا هی داری اون رو این اطراف تعقیب میکنی









13) I don't mean it



14) منظوری نداشتم.









15) I don't no the Jack



16) من گم شده ام









17) I don't think he is ill at all



18) خودش رو زده به مریضی



19) I don't want to be here, I'm much too tired



20) دیگه نمی خوام اینجا بمونم، خیلی خیلی خسته شدم









21) I don't want to ruin your face



22) نمی خوام آبروی تو رو ببرم









23) I don't want to teach my grandmother to suck eggs



24) به لقمان حکمت آموزی چه باشد!









25) I don`t trust you with my car



26) من به تو اعتماد نمیکنم ماشینم را به تو بسپارم









27) I don’t have a dog chance



28) شانس سگ و ندارم



29) خر شانس نیستم









30) I don’t have anything to do in return



31) نمی تونم محبت شما رو جبران کنم









32) I don’t have anything to give in return



33) نمی دونم محبت شما را چگونه جبران کنم









34) I don’t know.



35) نمی دونم









36) I don’t know what to do



37) نمی‌دونم چه گلی به سرم بگیرم









38) I don’t know when she left home



39) من نمی دانم او چه وقت منزل را ترك كرد









40) I don’t know who types the letters



41) من نمی دانم چه كسی نامه ها را تایپ می كند









42) I don’t mean to sound ungreatful



43) منظورم این نیست که از شما تشکر نکنم









44) I don’t mind at all



45) اصلا اشکالی نداره-اختیار دارید









46) I don’t want to be a burdon to you



47) نمی خواهم باعث زحمت شما بشوم









48) I dreamed



49) خواب دیدم









50) I dreamed I had an interview with god




جملات زیبای انگلیسی در مورد عشق با ترجمه فارسی...

عشق اقیانوس وسیعی است که دو ساحل رابه یکدیگر پیوند میدهد



love is wide ocean that joins two shores

زندگی بدون عشق بی معنی است و خوبی بدون عشق غیر ممکن



life whithout love is none sense and goodness without love is impossible

عشق ساکت است اما اگر حرف بزند از هر صدایی بلند تر خواهد بود



love is something silent , but it can be louder than anything when it talks

عشق آن است که همه خواسته ها را برای او آرزو کنی



love is when you find yourself spending every wish on him

عشق گلی است که دو باغبان آن را می پرورانند



love is flower that is made to bloom by two gardeners

عشق گلی است که در زمین اعتماد می روید



love is like a flower which blossoms whit trust

عشق یعنی ترس از دست دادن تو



love is afraid of losing you

پاسخ عشق است سوال هر چه که باشد



no matter what the question is love is the answer

وقتی هیچ چیز جز عشق نداشته باشید آن وقت خواهید فهمید که عشق برای همه چیز کافیست



when you have nothing left but love than for the first time you become aware that love is enough

زمانی که همه چیز افتاده است عشق آن چیزی است که بر پا می ماند



love is the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen

عشق مثل هوایی است که استشمام می کنیم آن را نمی بینیم اما همیشه احساس و مصرفش می کنیم و بدون ان خواهیم مرد



love is like the air we breathe it may not always be seen, but it is always felt and used and we will die without it





--------------------------------------------------------------------------------









--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





In between







Let me apologize to begin with

Let me apologize for what I'm about to say



But trying to be genuine was harder than it seemed

But somehow I got caught up in between



Let me apologize to begin with

Let me apologize for what I'm about to say



But trying to be someone else was

harder than it seemed

And somehow I got caught up in between



[ Chorus ]

Between my pride and my promise

Between my lies and how the truth gets in the way



And things I want to say to you

get lost before they come

The only thing that's worse than one is none

[ End Chorus ]



Let me apologize to begin with

Let me apologize for what I'm about to say



But trying to regain your trust

was harder than it seemed

But somehow I got caught up in between





[ Chorus ]

Between my pride and my promise

Between my lies and how the truth gets in the way



The things I want to say to you

get lost before they come

The only thing that's worse than one is none

The only thing that's worse than one is none

[ End Chorus ]



And I cannot explain to you

And anything I say or do or plan



Fear is not afraid of you

But guilt's a language you can understand



I cannot explain to you

And anything I say or do

I hope the actions speak the words they can



[ Chorus ]

For my pride and my promise

For my lies and how the truth gets in the way



The things I want to say to you

get lost before they come

The only thing that's worse than one is none



Pride and my promise

Between my lies and how the truth gets in the way



The things I want to say to you

get lost before they come

The only thing that's worse than one is none

The only thing that's worse than one is none

The only thing that's worse than one is none

[ End Chorus

اولا بگذار عذرخواهی کنم



بگذار عذر خواهی کنم برای چیزی که دارم میگم



اما تلاش برای واقعیت سخت تر از اون چیزی بود که به نظر می رسید



اما یه جورایی من در وسط گیر افتادم



اولا بگذار عذرخواهی کنم



عذر خواهی برای چیزی که قرار است بگویم



اما تلاش برای کس دیگری بودن



سخت تر از آن است که به نظر می رسد



و یک جورایی من در وسط گیر افتادم



در میانه غرور من و قول من



در بین دروغهایم و طوری که واقعیت به آن میرسد



و چیزهایی که میخواهم به تو بگویم



گم میشوند قبل از اینکه بیایند(به زبان بیایند)



تنها چیزی که خیلی از اون بدتره هیچی نیست(هیچی از اون بدتر نیست)



تکرار



و نمیتونم برات توضیح بدم



و هر چیزی که میگم یا انجام میدم یا میخوام یا نقششو میکشم



ترس از تو نمیترسه



اما زبان بیگناه رو میتونی بفهمی



و نمیتونم برات توضیح بدم



و هر چیزی که میگم یا انجام میدم



امیدوارم کارهام با زبونی که میتونند صحبت کنم




I was walking down the street when I was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless woman who asked me for a couple of dollars for dinner.


در حال قدم زدن در خیابان بودم که با خانمی نسبتا کثیف و کهنه پوشی که شبیه زنان بی خانه بود روبرو شدم که از من 2 دلار برای تهیه ناهار درخواست کرد.


I took out my wallet, got out ten dollars and asked, 'If I give you this money, will you buy wine with it instead of dinner?'


من کیف پولم را در آوردم و 10 دلار برداشتم و ازش پرسیدم اگر من این پول را بهت بدم تو مشروب بجای شام می خری؟!


'No, I had to stop drinking years ago' , the homeless woman told me.


نه,من نوشیدن مشروب را سالها پیش ترک کردم,زن بی خانه به من گفت.


'Will you use it to go shopping instead of buying food?' I asked.


ازش پرسیدم آیا از این پول برای خرید بجای غذا استفاده می کنی؟


'No, I don't waste time shopping,' the homeless woman said. 'I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive.'


زن بی خانه گفت:نه, من وقتم را یرای خرید صرف نمی کنم من همه وقتم را تلاش برای زنده ماندن نیاز دارم.


'Will you spend this on a beauty salon instead of food?' I asked.


من پرسیدم :آیا تو این پول را بجای غذا برای سالن زیبایی صرف می کنی؟


'Are you NUTS!' replied the homeless woman. I haven't had my hair done in 20 years!'


تو خلی!زن بی خانه جواب داد.من موهایم را طی 20 سال شانه نکردم!



'Well, I said, 'I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you out for dinner with my husband and me tonight.'


گفتم , خوب ,من این پول را بهت نمیدم در عوض تو رو به خانه ام برای صرف شام با من و همسرم می برم.


The homeless Woman was shocked. 'Won't your husband be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting.'



زن بی خانه شوکه شد .همسرت برای این کارت تعصب و غیرت نشان نمی دهد؟من می دانم من کثیفم و احتمالا یک کمی هم بوی منزجر کننده دارم.


I said, 'That's okay. It's important for him to see what a woman looks like after she has given up shopping, hair appointments, and wine.'



گفتم:آن درست است . برای او مهم است دیدن زنی شبیه خودش بعد اینکه خرید و شانه کردن مو و مشروب را ترک کرده است!











There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.

The first day, the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.

He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.

You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.”




زمانی ،پسربچه ای بود که رفتار بدی داشت.پدرش به او کیفی پر از میخ داد و گفت هرگاه رفتار بدی انجام داد،باید میخی را به دیوار فروکند.
روز اول پسربچه،37 میخ وارد دیوارکرد.در طول هفته های بعد،وقتی یادگرفت بر رفتارش کنترل کند،تعداد میخ هایی که به دیوار میکوبید به تدریج کمتر شد.
او فهمید که کنترل رفتار، از کوبیدن میخ به دیوار آسانتر است.
سرانجام روزی رسید که پسر رفتارش را به کلی کنترل کرد. این موضوع را به پدرش گفت و پدر پیشنهاد کرد اکنون هر روزی که رفتارش را کنترل کند، میخی را بیرون بکشد.روزها گذشت و پسرک سرانجام به پدرش گفت که تمام میخ ها را بیرون کشیده.پدر دست پسرش را گرفت و سمت دیوار برد.پدر گفت: تو خوب شده ای اما به این سوراخهای دیوار نگاه کن.دیوار شبیه اولش نیست.وقتی چیزی را با عصبانیت بیان می کنی،آنها سوراخی مثل این ایجاد می کنند. تو میتوانی فردی را چاقو بزنی و آنرا دربیاوری . مهم نیست که چقدر از این کار ،اظهار تاسف کنی.آن جراحت همچنان باقی می ماند.ایجاد یک زخم بیانی(رفتار بد)،به بدی یک زخم و جراحت فیزیکی است







Jack worked in an office in a small town. One day his boss said to him, 'Jack, I want you to go to Manchester, to an office there, to see Mr Brown. Here's the address.'

Jack went to Manchester by train. He left the station, and thought, 'The office isn’t far from the station. I'll find it easily.'

But after an hour he was still looking for it, so he stopped and asked an old lady. She said, 'Go straight along this street, turn to the left at the end, and it's the second building on the right.' Jack went and found it.

A few days later he went to the same city, but again he did not find the office, so he asked someone the way. It was the same old lady! She was very surprised and said, 'Are you still looking for that place?'

جك در شهر كوچكي در يك اداره كار مي‌كرد. روزي رييسش به او گفت: جك، مي‌خواهم براي ديدن آقاي براون در يك اداره به منچستر بروي. اين هم آدرسش.
جك با قطار به منچستر رفت. از ايستگاه خارج شد، و با خود گفت: آن اداره از ايستگاه دور نيست. به آساني آن را پيدا مي‌كنم.
اما بعد از يك ساعت او هنوز به دنبال آن (اداره) مي‌گشت، بنابراين ايستاد و از يك خانم پير پرسيد. او (آن زن) گفت: اين خيابان را مستقيم مي‌روي، در آخر به سمت چپ مي‌روي، و آن (اداره) دومين ساختمان در سمت راست است. جك رفت و آن را پيدا كرد.
چند روز بعد او به همان شهر رفت، اما دوباره آن اداره را پيدا نكرد، بنابراين مسير را از كسي پرسيد. او همان خانم پير بود! آن زن خيلي متعجب شد و گفت: آيا هنوز دنبال آن‌جا مي‌گردي؟



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش



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A woman had 3 girls.
خانمی سه دختر داشت.
One day she decides to test her sons-in-law.


یک روز او تصمیم گرفت دامادهایش را تست کند.

She invites the first one for a stroll by the lake shore ,purposely falls in and pretents to be drowing.


او داماد اولش را به کنار دریاچه دعوت کرد و عمدا تو آب افتاد و وانمود به غرق شدن کرد.


Without any hestination,the son-in-law jumps in and saves her.


بدون هیچ تاخیری داماد تو آب پرید و مادرزنش را نجات داد.


The next morning,he finds a brand new car in his driveway with this message on the windshield.


صبح روز بعد او یک ماشین نو "براند "را در پارکینگش پیدا کرد با این پیام در شیشهءجلویی.


Thank you !your mother-in-law who loves you!


متشکرم !از طرف مادر زنت کسی که تورا دوست دارد!


A few days later,the lady does the same thing with the second son-in-law.


بعد از چند روز خانم همین کار را با داماد دومش کرد.


He jumps in the water and saves her also.


او هم به آب پرید و مادرزنش را نجات داد.


She offers him a new car with the same message on the windshield.


او یک ماشین نو" براند "با این پیام بهش تقدیم کرد.


Thank you! your mother-in-law who loves you!


متشکرم!مادرزنت کسی که تو را دوست دارد!


Afew days later ,she does the same thing again with the third son-in-law.


بعد از چند روز او همین کار را با داماد سومش کرد.


While she is drowning,the son-in-law looks at her without moving an inch and thinks:


زمانیکه او غرق می شد دامادش او را نگاه می کرد بدون اینکه حتی یک اینچ تکان بخورد و به این فکر می کرد که:


Finally,it,s about time that this old witch dies!


بالاخره وقتش ر سیده که این پیرزن عجوزه بمیرد!


The next morning ,he receives a brand new car with this message .


صبح روز بعد او یک ماشین نو" براند" با این پیام دریافت کرد.


Thank you! Your father-in-law.


متشکرم! پدر زنت!!


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از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A blonde and a lawyer sit next to each other on a plane


یک خانم بلوند و یک وکیل در هواپیما کنار هم نشسته بودند.


The lawyer asks her to play a game.


وکیل پیشنهاد یک بازی را بهش داد.


If he asked her a question that she didn't know the answer to, she would have to pay him five dollars; And every time the blonde asked the lawyer a question that he didn't know the answer to, the lawyer had to pay the blonde 50 dollars.



چنانچه وکیل از خانم سوالی بپرسد و او جواب را نداند، خانم باید 5 دلار به وکیل بپردازد و هر بار که خانم سوالی کند که وکیل نتواند جواب دهد، وکیل به او 50 دلار بپردازد.



So the lawyer asked the blonde his first question, "What is the distance between the Earth and the nearest star?" Without a word the blonde pays the lawyer five dollars.



سپس وکیل اولین سوال را پرسید:" فاصله ی زمین تا نزدیکترین ستاره چقدر است؟ " خانم بی تامل 5 دلار به وکیل پرداخت.



The blonde then asks him, "What goes up a hill with four legs and down a hill with three?" The lawyer thinks about it, but finally gives up and pays the blonde 50 dollars


سپس خانم از وکیل پرسید" آن چیست که با چهار پا از تپه بالا می رود و با سه پا به پایین باز می گردد؟" وکیل در این باره فکر کرد اما در انتها تسلیم شده و 50 دلار به خانم پرداخت.
سپس از او پرسید که جواب چی بوده و خانم بی معطلی 5 دلار به او پرداخت کرد!!!!


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از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش



A 45 year old woman had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. While on the operating table she had a near death experience. Seeing God she asked "Is my time up?" God said, "No, you have another 43 years, 2 months and 8 days to live.


"Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have a Face-lift, liposuction, breast implants and a tummy tuck. She even had someone come in and change her hair colour and brighten her teeth!


Since she had so much more time to live, she figured she might as well make the most of it. After her last operation, she was released from the hospital.


While crossing the street on her way home, she was killed by an ambulance. Arriving in front of God, she demanded, "I thought you said I had another 43 years? Why didn't you pull me from out of the path of the ambulance?"


God replied: "I didn't recognize you .


یک خانم 45 ساله که یک حملهء قلبی داشت و در بیمارستان بستری بود . در اتاق جراحی که کم مونده بود مرگ را تجربه کند خدا رو دید و پرسید آیا وقت من تمام است؟ خدا گفت:نه شما 43 سال و 2 ماه و 8 روز دیگه عمر می کنید.


در وقت مرخصی خانم تصمیم گرفت در بیمارستان بماند و عملهای زیر را انجام دهد کشیدن پوست صورت-تخلیهء چربیها(لیپو ساکشن)-عمل سینه هاو جمع و جور کردن شکم . او حالا کسی رو نداشت که بیاد و موهاشو رنگ کنه و دندوناشو سفید کنه !!.


از اونجايي كه او زمان بيشتري براي زندگي داشت از اين رو او تصميم گرفت كه بتواند بيشترين استفاده را از اين موقعيت (زندگي) ببرد.بعد از آخرين عملش او از بيمارستان مرخص شد


در وقت گذشتن از خیابان در راه منزل بوسیلهء یک آمبولانس کشته شد . وقتی با خدا روبرو شد او پرسید:: من فکر کردم شما فرمودید من 43 سال دیگه فرصت دارم چرا شما مرا از زیر آمبولانس بیرون نکشیدید؟


خدا جواب داد :من شمارو تشخیص ندادم!!!"


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از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

چند ضرب المثل انگليسي




The Blood of soldier makes the glory the general



- معنی این مثل این است که حاصل رنج و زحمت و فداکاری زیردستان غالبا منجر به کسب قدرت و افتخارات فرماندهان آنها می شود .
- خون سرباز ریخته می شود افتخارش نسیب ژنرال می شود .
- خواجوی کرمانی می گوید :
رنج ما بردیم ، گنج ارباب دولت برده اند
خار ما خوردیم و ایشان گل بدست آورده اند
تمثیل :
چور گل بلبل کشید و بوی گل را باد برد
بیستون را عشق کند و شهرتش فرهاد برد








chinese food,japanese wife and American life




می گویند : غذا ، غذای چینی ، زن ، زن ژاپنی ، زندگی ، زندگی آمریکایی


به همین مضمون مثلی در زبان فارسی آمده است است : ظرف ، ظرف مسی ، فرش ، فرش قالی ، نان ، نان گندم و بالاخره دین ، دین محمدی


Cross the stream where it is the shallowest




ترجمه: «از کم‌عمق‌ترین محل رودخانه گذر کن!»
مترادف فارسی: «بی‌گدار به آب نزن!»







"Clothes don't make the man."



ترجمه: «احترام مرد به لباس نیست.»
مترادف فارسی: «آدم را به جامه نشناسند»
تمثیل: «لباس طريقت به تقوا بود// نه در جبه و دلق و خضرا بود»
تمثیل: «تن آدمی شریف است به جان آدمیت// نه همین لباس زیباست نشان آدمیت»






"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."



ترجمه: «زیبایی در چشم بیننده است»
مترادف فارسی: «علف به دهن بزي شیرین است»




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از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A man checked into a hotel. There was a computer in his room* so he decided to send an e-mail to his wife. However* he accidentally typed a wrong e-mail address* and without realizing his error he sent the e-mail.



Meanwhile….Somewhere in Houston * a widow had just returned from her husband’s funeral. The widow decided to check her e-mail* expecting condolence messages from relatives and friends.After reading the first message* she fainted. The widow’s son rushed into the room* found his mother on the floor* and saw the computer screen which read:
To: My Loving Wife
Subject: I’ve Reached
Date: 2 May 2006
I know you’re surprised to hear from me. They have computers here* and we are allowed to send e-mails to loved ones. I’ve just reached and have been checked in. I see that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you TOMORROW!


Your loving hubby.


مردی اتاق هتلی را تحویل گرفت .در اتاقش کامپیوتری بود،بنابراین تصمیم گرفت ایمیلی به همسرش بفرستد.ولی بطور تصادفی ایمیل را به آدرس اشتباه فرستاد و بدون اینکه متوجه اشتباهش شود،ایمیل را فرستاد.


با این وجود..جایی در هوستون ،بیوه ای از مراسم خاکسپاری شوهرش بازگشته بود.زن بیوه تصمیم گرفت ایمیلش را به این خاطر که پیامهای همدردی اقوام و دوستانش را بخواند،چک کند. پس از خواندن اولین پیام،از هوش رفت.پسرش به اتاق آمد و مادرش را کف اتاق دید و از صفحه کامپیوتر این را خواند:
به: همسر دوست داشتنی ام
موضوع: من رسیدم
تاریخ: دوم می 2006
میدانم از اینکه خبری از من داشته باشی خوشحال می شوی.آنها اینجا کامپیوتر داشتند و ما اجازه داریم به آنهایی که دوستشان داریم ایمیل بدهیم.من تازه رسیدم و اتاق را تحویل گرفته ام.می بینم که همه چیز آماده شده که فردا برسی.به امید دیدنت، فردا


شوهر دوستدارت



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GIFTS FOR MOTHER


Four brothers left home for college, and they became successful doctors and lawyers and prospered. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother, who lived far away in another city.


The first said, “I had a big house built for Mama. The second said, “I had a hundred thousand dollar theater built in the house. The third said, “I had my Mercedes dealer deliver her an SL600 with a chauffeur. The fourth said, “Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Bible and you know she can’t read it anymore because she can’t see very well. I met this monk who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took 20 monks 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge them $100,000 a year for 20 years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse and the parrot will recite it.” The other brothers were impressed.
After the holidays Mama sent out her Thank You notes. She wrote: Dear Milton, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway.


Dear Mike, you gave me an expensive theater with Dolby sound, it could hold 50 people, but all my friends are dead, I’ve lost my hearing and I’m nearly blind. I’ll never use it. But thank you for the gesture just the same.


Dear Marvin, I am too old to travel. I stay home, I have my groceries delivered, so I never use the Mercedes … and the driver you hired is a big jerk. But the thought was good. Thanks.


Dearest Melvin, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you.”


هدايايي براي مادر


چهار برادر ، خانه شان را به قصد تحصیل ترک کردند و دکتر،قاضی و آدمهای موفقی شدند. چند سال بعد،آنها بعد از شامی که باهم داشتند حرف زدند.اونا درمورد هدایایی که تونستن به مادر پیرشون که دور از اونها در شهر دیگه ای زندگی می کرد ،صحبت کردن.



اولی گفت: من خونه بزرگی برای مادرم ساختم . دومی گفت: من تماشاخانه(سالن تئاتر) یکصد هزار دلاری در خانه ساختم. سومی گفت : من ماشین مرسدسی با راننده کرایه کردم که مادرم به سفر بره.
چهارمی گفت: گوش کنید، همتون می دونید که مادر چقدر خوندن کتاب مقدس رو دوست داره، و میدونین که نمی تونه هیچ چیزی رو خوب بخونه چون جشماش نمیتونه خوب ببینه . شماها میدونید که مادر چقدر خوندن کتاب مقدس را دوست داشت و میدونین هیچ وقت نمی تونه بخونه ، چون چشماش خوب نمی بینه. من ، راهبی رو دیدم که به من گفت یه طوطی هست که میتونه تمام کتاب مقدس رو حفظ بخونه . این طوطی با کمک بیست راهب و در طول دوازده سال اینو یاد گرفت. من ناچارا تعهد کردم به مدت بیست سال و هر سال صد هزار دلار به کلیسا بپردازم. مادر فقط باید اسم فصل ها و آیه ها رو بگه و طوطی از حفظ براش می خونه. برادرای دیگه تحت تاثیر قرار گرفتن.
پس از ایام تعطیل، مادر یادداشت تشکری فرستاد. اون نوشت: میلتون عزیز، خونه ای که برام ساختی خیلی بزرگه .من فقط تو یک اتاق زندگی می کنم ولی مجبورم تمام خونه رو تمییز کنم.به هر حال ممنونم.


مایک عزیز،تو به من تماشاخانه ای گرونقیمت با صدای دالبی دادی.اون ،میتونه پنجاه نفرو جا بده ولی من همه دوستامو از دست دادم ، من شنوایییم رو از دست دادم و تقریبا ناشنوام .هیچ وقت از اون استفاده نمی کنم ولی از این کارت ممنونم.


ماروین عزیز، من خیلی پیرم که به سفر برم.من تو خونه می مونم ،مغازه بقالی ام رو دارم پس هیچ وقت از مرسدس استفاده نمی کنم. راننده ای که کرایه کردی یه احمق واقعیه. اما فکرت خوب بود ممنونم


ملوین عزیزترینم، تو تنها پسری بودی که درک داشتی که کمی فکر بابت هدیه ات بکنی. جوجه خوشمزه بود. ممنونم.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

از بهاران كي شود سرسبز سنگ
خاك شو تا گل برايد رنگ رنگ
سالها تو سنگ بودي دلخراش
ازمون را روزگاري خاك باش


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks a lot

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John lived with his mother in a rather big house, and when she died, the house became too big for him so he bought a smaller one in the next street. There was a very nice old clock in his first house, and when the men came to take his furniture to the new house, John thought, I am not going to let them carry my beautiful old clock in their truck. Perhaps they’ll break it, and then mending it will be very expensive.' So he picked it up and began to carry it down the road in his arms.



It was heavy so he stopped two or three times to have a rest.


Then suddenly a small boy came along the road. He stopped and looked at John for a few seconds. Then he said to John, 'You're a stupid man, aren't you? Why don't you buy a watch like everybody else?


جان با مادرش در يك خانه‌ي تقريبا بزرگي زندگي مي‌كرد، و هنگامي كه او (مادرش) مرد، آن خانه براي او خيلي بزرگ شد. بنابراين خانه‌ي كوچك‌تري در خيابان بعدي خريد. در خانه‌ي قبلي يك ساعت خيلي زيباي قديمي وجود داشت، و وقتي كارگرها براي جابه‌جايي اثاثيه‌ي خانه به خانه‌ي جديد، آْمدند. جان فكر كرد، من نخواهم گذاشت كه آن‌ها ساعت قديمي و زيباي مرا با كاميون‌شان حمل كنند. شايد آن را بشكنند، و تعمير آن خيلي گران خواهد بود. بنابراين او آن در بين بازوانش گرفت و به سمت پايين جاد حمل كرد

آن سنگين بود بنابراين دو يا سه بار براي استراحت توقف كرد.


در آن پسر بچه‌اي هنگام ناگهان در طول جاده آمد. ايستاد و براي چند لحظه به جان نگاه كرد. سپس به جان گفت: شما مرد احمقي هستيد، نيستيد؟ چرا شما يه ساعت مثل بقيه‌ي مردم نمي‌خريد؟


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Blockade

The blockade started quietly enough, on a rainy day in mid-March. It was the first rain of the year. People breathed in the smell of wet earth as if it was a long-forgotten blessing. In the bushes, the last remaining springs of yellow winter forsythia bloomed side by side with dusty spring jasmine. This flowering was troublesome, highlighting the nature of a world in which time had lost its moorings – spring had arrived early, too early, two months before winter's end.
The Maoists had called the blockade. The idea was to choke off the landlocked country, slowly choke off its food, medicine and other essential goods until the people, hungry and full of rage, would come out on the streets and stage a mass protest that would bring the absolute monarchy on its knees.
The Democrats, cornered by the King, imprisoned, bullied, and made to flee, were desperate to prove they still had a constituency. There was nothing to be gained from holding more talks between the infinite bifurcations, divisions, diversions, ruptures, fissures and splinters of the political parties. Unable to agree between themselves, the Democrats did the next best thing – they decided to agree with the rebels. This 12 Point Agreement between the two sides was marvelous, showing solidarity between the democratic and revolutionary impulses of Nepal. People as far away as New York and London applauded this coalition of the people's forces. The agreement only had one minor flaw – the Democrats had forgotten to lay out exactly how and when the Maoists would lay down their guns.
Petition-writers in the West, who had not lived through five years of absolute monarchy, ten years of the People's War, and fifteen years of democratic anarchy, wondered if that small and minor point –violence – could be overlooked to support this historic breakthrough. While they wondered, a young boy named Ram Bahadur Bomjom, who had been meditating beneath a tree for half a year without food or water, decided to get up. He got up because the white cloth that covered his body was on fire.
"I am not a Buddha," Ram Bahadur said. His face was troubled, and he appeared to be slightly feverish. People who had hoped that this young man might bring peace to a troubled land watched agape as the cloth turned to charred ash and floated from his young body. The birth of a new Buddha would have solved the conflict, but instead here he was, on fire.

< 2 >

He asked his young assistant to take the blackened cloth off his back. "I don't want white cloth anymore. Give me red cloth from now on," he said. Expatriates living in Nepal, gathering in lush garden Holi parties, talked about the press conference they had just attended, the video of Bomjom they had just seen. The press conference, called by a self-appointed committee that had moved into the area to start regulating the throng of pilgrims, aimed to explain the miracle of cloth combusting from internal heat. "He took the cloth off and added it to the fire. It burnt for a remarkably long time. Well, he figured he would make the bonfire burn for a while, right?" The journalist joking was a long-term resident, used to the freaky phenomena of Nepal, but also skeptical and wary about the seeming magic realism of this unexplainable country. Exposing the boy as a fraud, he had decided, was going to be his contribution in this ongoing saga.
Ram Bahadur became a national and international sensation after making a decision to meditate for six years. Curiosity seekers flooded down where he sat. The crowd swelled from ten to ten thousand. Before long, the meditator had to battle not just his hunger and the spontaneous combustion of his clothes, but also thousands of gawking spectators. Reporters wrote stories about him. He appeared with a perfectly manicured head of curly hair on websites, on DVDs with bad sound, and on the BBC. Observers said he sat for sixteen hours every day, and that he didn't eat or drink at all. The most asked question about him was: does he piss? Medical doctors dealt with this apparent paradox of modern science by claiming he seemed to have lost a bit of weight. Others said his face had a red glow around it. Others, who knew the Maoists on intimate levels, said that the young rebels who sat guard were blinded by sensations of brightness at midnight, and were unable to see what Ram Bahadur did after he got up from his seat.
One of the people who came to see the meditator was a young man from Kalikot. Hastabahadur Kathaya was seventeen – a young man on a life or death mission. "How can a man a year younger than me sit like that for six months without food and water?" he said to the woman next to him, as he peered through the thick crowd.

< 3 >

The young woman looked around and saw the speaker — a young man with burning, intense eyes. She told him that her own uncle had walked through the woods at night to see Bomjom. He had walked through the darkened undergrowth and brush, through the thick branches and the sibilant whispers of hidden animals, before they reached the gigantic tangle of roots which blocked their path. "The roots are so enmeshed a fat man thinks he can't pass through. But they all pass through," she said in hushed awe. "My uncle did too."
"What made him want to sit for six years?"
"I heard his sister came home one day with a chicken to sacrifice for the festival, she wanted to celebrate. They are Tamangs, after all. They love chicken and alcohol," she said as tactfully as possible, trying to denude this statement of ignominy. "He was so disturbed by the sacrifice he argued with his sister, but she wouldn't listen to him. So he rushed out of the house."
Hastabahadur had come with one specific purpose – to find out if the young boy was indeed not drinking or eating, as the reports claimed. If a sixteen year old boy could do that, then he held the key to the suffering that plagued Hasta's village in Kalikot. Then all he had to do was ask Bomjom to reveal the secret. The people of his village, facing a famine, would be saved. People would no longer die from hunger because they would no longer need to eat.
Hasta craned his neck. A cordon held off the people from the charmed figure of the boy. All around him was a sea of people – old men counting beads, old women chanting hymns in internal rapture. Young mothers with infants in tow came to be blessed by his presence. Young men held motorcycle helmets — many of them had ridden for hours on dusty tracks to witness the miracle. Some were reposeful as they waited, some dubious and derisive. A hum of commerce rose in the air. Committees of various genres, and businesses of various species, had set up shop. They were busy offering water to the pilgrims, hawking religious literature, selling popcorn and soya beans, and asking for donations.

< 4 >

"I don't see him," Hastabahadur said. He turned and saw that the young woman was no longer besides him. She had left without saying goodbye.
Hasta looked around till he spied an important looking monk. This monk was sitting on the side, counting his beads in a yellow silk outfit. He had a beneficent look on his face, and, as he counted, he seemed to chant powerful mantras.
"Rimpoche, is it possible to have a personal meeting with the meditator? I have an urgent question." The monk looked up to see a young and wild-looking man, disturbed by something beyond the ordinary.
"I am sorry. The boy is sitting for world peace. He cannot be disturbed."
"But my question is very urgent!" Hasta felt the benefit he would get from meeting the meditator far outweighed any bad karma he might acquire arguing with a monk.
"It is not possible." The monk, counting his beads, walked away.
Hasta ran after him. He had now joined a group of other monks, wearing large hats that blossomed on their heads like tea-cosies. They were holding colorful flags and were walking around a circle. "This is a ritual for long life, don't push me," an ancient, wizened woman muttered to Hasta as he tried to push her aside. The monk was now seated underneath a glittering yellow satin umbrella.
"Rimpoche!" Hasta implored. "My village is dying of a famine. Can you please ask the meditator how he survives without food? How does he manage to stay alive? Maybe he can teach them how to live without eating! All they need to do is survive for the winter. We grow enough for the rest of the year!" Two monks, brawny, young, and with beautiful, compassionate eyes, dragged him away so that he couldn't disturb the ceremony.

Hastabahadur threw himself down on the ground in supplication. Perhaps the gods would help me meet this boy, he thought. As his cheek touched the dust, he smelt wetness and realized he was crying. Nothing could redeem him now. He had spent a year in India and only had seventeen thousand rupees to show for it. The phone call from his brother had warned him that the circumstances were dire. "Hasta, the whole village is dying," he had said in a quiet voice. The blockades of food had slowed down the food delivery. But more damaging had been the demolition of the food depot, which the state used to run. Once upon a time. But then the Maoists had come and blown that up, and now, in the lean season, there wasn't even a sack of rice to beg from the depot. His brother's voice held the echo of prophecy.

< 5 >

The only thing Hasta could do now was gorge, and forget hunger. In a roadside stall, smoky and squalid, Hasta found a woman with bouncy breasts and a loud laugh selling quail eggs, roasted chicken and fermented radishes. The chicken was so spicy it made his nose run. In his hand, she put a glass of rakshi. He downed it lightly, one after the other, like lemon sherbet. Two hours and two hundred rupees later, Hasta stumbled down the road. He had to buy a bus ticket to Kathmandu.
An ascetic was sitting below a tree as Hasta walked by. "Do you know where I can find a bus office, Babaji?" Hasta asked. He was slurring his words but was excessively polite.
"No bhaiya." The Babaji, with dreadlocks and grey ash on his body, seemed to be the figure of an unknown apostle.
"Do you know how to get rid of famine?" Hasta asked in drunken hopefulness.
"No, I don't know how to stave off famine. But here, have a sweet," the apostle said, rifling through his cloth bag. "Experience dissolution. Hunger won't touch you then."
The green square of sugar and bhang grass crumbled in his mouth like a sweet blessing. The Baba seemed to feel sympathy for him, so Hasta asked for more. A strong sensation of life floated up through his body and into his head. The sound of flutes, the ringing of bells, the burning of incense, and the lilac spread of twilight entered him like a benediction. He felt like he was seeing the world with a clarity that he never had before. As he walked off into the woods, the darkness felt interminable.
Hasta lay down on the ground and tried to sleep. As he watched the vines twist around the trees, and the leaves shift in the wind, and stags jump through the creepers, he saw the unsubstantial figure of a young man come floating down the jungle. He seemed to dissolve; he shook and shivered. There were no seams in his cloth, and it flapped in the wind like the riggings of a ship. Hasta leant up on his elbow, wondering why he felt so slow. But before he could get up and verify if the figure was real, or just the figment of imagination, the figure vanished in spectral stillness.

< 6 >

Hasta went to sleep, awoke, saw sunlight, fell asleep again for what felt like an endless string of time. He saw corpses lining the ground of his village. Shrouded in white, the bodies lay on the ground – his entire clan. There was his grandmother, shrunken in death. There was his mother, small and empty. And there – wait, no, was that his child… Time seemed to pass - although the same bird twittered the same note over and over, and the same motorcycle revved up behind him, with the same sequence of sounds, repeatedly.
A hummingbird hummed near his ears. It was a different sound from the twitters he had heard before. Hasta opened his eyes and noticed that the constellations on the sky had gotten brighter. Now there were many stars, all seemingly joined to one another in endless patterns. He went to sleep again. The next time he awoke, he realized that he was sleeping under a large banyan tree. Just like the Buddha, he thought. Then he smelt the fetid smell, looked down, and saw vomit all over his the ground. His gullet burnt from the taste of regurgitated alcohol. He remembered the big plate of chicken and the glasses of rakshi, and couldn't suppress a rumble of laughter in his belly.
"Why are you laughing?" The voice came from the tangle of undergrowth. Hastabahadur looked up and realized he was staring at the faces of five policemen. They were carrying guns.
"Because I am not the Buddha," Hastabahadur said.
"Oh? Are you sure?" His confusion made them curiouser.
"Never been more certain in my life." Hasta's humble voice preempted derision.
"How long have you been here under the tree?" The policeman's bluster, threat and reverence confused Hasta.
"It's the full moon. Isn't it?"
"No, Bhai. That was a week ago," the policeman said. "We are searching for a young man who was meditating under a tree. He has disappeared. Is it you?"

< 7 >

"The meditator has disappeared!" Hasta was surprised at the solace these words brought him. Now that the young man was out of the cordon, perhaps Hasta could find him and ask him about his secret.
"Did you see him anywhere?"
"I saw a young man in white walking that way. He was shivering."
"How long ago?"
"Last night."
"Bhai, the boy disappeared a week ago."
"But I was with the crowd when he was sitting under the tree yesterday!" Hasta realized his mistake. The policemen looked at him strangely. He had compromised his claims to sanity. Then he realized what it was – the old ascetic had given him something so potent it had put him to sleep for an entire week.
"Where are you from?"
"Kalikot."
"You're not a Maoist, are you?"
"No, sir. I just got back from Gharwal."
"Doing what?"
"Construction."
"Well, if you're lying and you're really Bomjom, you better go back. Business is suffering. People collected millions of rupees in the seven months you sat, you know?"
"But I am not Bomjom." Hasta panicked. The police in Nepal never took the time to ensure they had the right culprit. What if they took him back and made him sit under a tree for sixteen hours every day? "Dai, please believe me."
"Maoists may have abducted the boy so they can set him up and collect cash that way," another policeman said. "Heard anything about this?"
"No." Hasta was at a loss for words. He had spent the last year building houses for rich Indian businessmen. He had no idea about Nepal's complicated politics. The image of timber, lime, the smoothness of beams, returned to him with a visceral pang. He wished he was feeling mortar beneath his fingers.

< 8 >

"Well, young man, looks like you're the only suspect we got for the missing meditator." The policeman, who looked just a bit older than him, smiled with satisfaction. "Right age, right ethnicity."
"How can I convince you I am not him?"
"Got any money for us?"
"Not much." Hasta fished in his pockets and came up with a dirty fifty rupee note. The rest of his savings – seventeen thousand rupees - was tucked inside a sweaty belt around his waist.
"Are you carrying anything else? Gold? Drugs?" The youngest policeman asked.
"Nothing of value." A trickle of sweat fell down Hasta's face. He felt nauseous. All of a sudden, he remembered that he was indeed carrying something that the policemen would love to get their hands on. He leaned over the side, and vomited. A stream of green grass mixed with chicken came out of his mouth.
The young policeman stretched down, grabbed the note, then kicked him on the side of his body. "Go, drunk, go." He's drunk, one of them said as they walked away. Some men return to Nepal, get drunk and sleep for days.

Hastabahadur had left his employer's home in India, ostensibly to go see Bomjom. But an equally urgent mission awaited him at Kathmandu. Hasta had lied – or at least, not told the whole truth - to the policemen. At Gharwal, he had not just worked in construction, but had also been a security guard of an Indian politician, at whose house one of the historic meetings between grumpy Girija Koirala and the fabled Prachanda had been held. Girija Prasad, the bald-headed flag-bearer of democracy, had been instrumental in calling thousands of strikes over fifteen years. Most of his eighty years as leader of the Nepali Congress party had been spent berating the king for being an autocrat – and ignoring protests from young leaders who protested his lifetime stranglehold over the party. Prachanda, the father of Maoist revolution, had called his fair share of blockades. The two found common ground when they met and agreed on this final blockade.

< 9 >

Combined, the two had effectively destroyed the Nepali economy, and had given an inadvertent hand to the King in keeping Nepal chained to an older and more autocratic time. The evil trinity – the King, the Career Democrats, and the Maoists – all benefited from a low intensity conflict that hurt no one but the poor. The never ending conflict was turning into Nepal's begging bowl – there were rumors Army officials had built mansions paved with marble, politicians drove around in SUVs, and Maoists had bought penthouses for their daughters in Bombay. All were paying out of pocket to educate their children in expensive schools as close as the Philippines, and as far away as England and the United States.
Hasta had heard rumors about all this. But when his employer asked him if he would drop off the first version of the 12 Point Agreement, handwritten and with tea-stains on it, he had agreed without hesitation. This would be his ticket to the den of leaders. Hasta had a secret agenda - his own Three Point Demand, which he aimed to put in front of the leaders as soon as he got in front of them. He would ask them to start relief efforts in famine-stricken Kalikot. He would request them to reconstruct the food depot the Maoists had bombed in the district headquarters, and he would plead with them to ask the rebel cadres not to take the meager rations.
"Be careful, Bahadur. You are carrying a historic document." His employer, an old man with a Nehru cap, handed over the white envelope and patted him on the arm.
Hasta took the white envelope, and smiled.
Hasta arrived in Kathmandu just as the rains stopped. The two days of cold rain been enough to put the few remaining trees of the city in verdant greenery. Flora climbed up dead-looking trees. Ivy, with the fullness of monsoon growth, suddenly covered decrepit buildings. Young women were riding pillion on motorcycles through dense traffic.
"I've never been in Kathmandu before," he said to the owner of Himchuli Restaurent, a few minutes' walk from Ratna Bus Park. The Restaurent had chicken chilli, Chinese chow mein, burgers and pizzas. Hasta, who had decided to practice eating very little in order to prepare for food shortage, felt a rumble in his stomach as he got off the bus.

< 10 >

"First time?" The man had facial hair that would have warmed the heart of Genghis Khan, and a warm smile.
"A plate of momo, Dai. Then I have to find the house of Girija Prasad Koirala," Hasta said.
"All seven parties are meeting there today, the newspaper says."
"They are?"
"Yes. They failed to agree."
"So what's going to happen?"
"The 12 Point didn't work, so they are working on a sequel."
"A sequel!" Hasta said. "But they haven't agreed on the original document yet, have they?"
"Don't ask me. Nobody seems to know what is going on."
"What does the newspaper say? Can you read it?"
The owner picked up the newspaper in front of him and read:
"‘There is a need to make several corrections in the document we are about to publicize. Moreover, complications are arising out of a stampede to use each other in meeting selfish interests.'"
"I have an urgent request for the leaders of our country." Hasta made the Restaurent owner smile. He pointed to the front page.
"See this?" Two photographs, of two impassioned men giving speeches, were printed on the front. "This man is the Home Minister. This man is the leader of an Opposition party. They are calling each other criminals. This is the state of leadership in our country."
"Can you tell me where Koirala-ji's house is located?" Hasta said. He felt a sinking in his stomach, as if he could tell at once what he could expect from his trip. At the same time, he had to try.
Hasta ate the dumplings slowly, feeling them open in his mouth in spurts of juicy delight. "Up in my village, people are starving," he said as he put another momo in his mouth. It felt like his last meal. He would go to meet the political leaders, urge them to meet his Three Point Demand. That would be his last hope. He had no other plans to fight a famine.

< 11 >

How did Ram Bahadur Bomjom not eat for almost seven months? "He must have been lying," Hasta said aloud.
"Who?" the Restaurent owner asked.
"Ram Bahadur Bomjom."
"The Buddha?"
"He said he wasn't one."
"That trickster, then."

On the tenth year of the People's War, the only certainty was that an indefinite blockade had been called by the Maoists from April onwards. The Democrats seemed to be in an uneasy alliance with the Maoists. Because they were Democrats who specialized in ambiguity, some of their statements appeared to say they were in alliance, some of them appeared to say they were not. There were accusations of fabrications, deceptions and inventions from all sides. To be fair, there was no conspiracy. Even the ones at the top would were unable to say what was going on, because they themselves did not know. Helicopters sent by the King droned overhead, making it difficult to think.
Hasta arrived at Koirala's residence at noon. "They're in a meeting, Bhai," the party activist, a young man in grey pants, blue shirt and an obsequious manner. "Is it urgent?"
"I am carrying an old version of the 12 Point Agreement," Hasta said. "It's a historic document."
"I am sorry, but the leaders are working on a sequel of that Agreement. They can't be disturbed." The young man gave him a stack of newspapers and seated him at a desk. "Please wait."
"I also have a Three Point Demand," Hasta blurted.
"Of course," the young man soothed. He walked to the door and greeted a large, bearish man with a great deal of beard with an extravagant "Ramesh-ji! How wonderful to see you! Everything going well? Come in, come in. Neta-ji will be out soon."
Hasta waited. Inside, a roomful of Brahmin men and a few others debated the finer points of a document whose particularities seemed to shift, moment to moment. Even leaders adept in slippery statements could not keep track. A constituent assembly? A constitutional monarchy? A republic without the king? A republic with the Maoists? A constitutional, constituent… One of them leaned over and whispered to his neighbor: what would the republic be constituted of, exactly? The neighbor muttered at him to be quiet. The original questioner felt that his neighbor was just as much in the dark as he was. After a while, they rubbed their eyes and asked for sweet, hot tea.

< 12 >

The Restaurent owner, after hearing his story of hardship and sorrow, had kindly told Hasta that a plane for Jumla was leaving tomorrow morning. If he could deliver the letter and his Three Point Demand, the Restaurent owner could ask his brother to book Hasta a seat to Jumla. The flight was overbooked, but the brother was a travel agent, and he was entitled to complimentary seats as a member of the Travel and Tourism Industry. Hasta waited for the next twelve hours, but none of the leaders came out.
Hasta returned to the residence at six the next morning. The same young man seated him by the newspapers. Hasta picked up the newspaper and pretended to read. By this time, the King had sacked three judges, Maoists killed two people in Surajpura Bazzar, students locked the principal's office in Tribhuwan University because the administrators refused to implement the student-authored 14 Point Agreement, two children aged five and eight were hurt playing with socket bombs, and a teacher whose property had been grabbed by his partner threatened self-immolation. But Hasta did not know all this, because he had never learnt to read. He had slept at the Restaurent at night, where the owner had kindly left a red and portable electric light on to fight the blackout. The machine had a FM radio, which the owner had left on – but Hasta had not understood, because the news was read in the Newari language.
Hasta pleaded with the young man: "Dai, I need to see the leaders."
"They are at a meeting right now, Dai." The young man was apparently used to fending off desperate supplicants. He exuded a large and empty smile, filled with sympathy and understanding.
"There's a famine in my village. My mother says my family has not eaten in a month. I have to go see them – my plane leaves at ten."
"Why don't you leave the letter with me, Dai? I will deliver it, and also your Three Point Demand."
"Will you remember all three points?" Hasta asked.

< 13 >

"I will," the young man promised, taking the letter and stuffing it in his back pocket. "Now hurry, you don't want to miss your plane."
"Be careful with that document. It's historic," Hasta admonished.
"Yes, yes," said the young man, edging him towards the door. "I will take care of it, don't worry."

The plane was a small Twin Otter, seating ten people. Hasta sat in by the window, carrying two nylon bags filled with Wai-Wai noodles, powdered milk, sugar, salt, flour, spices and oil. In his coat pocket, he had a small bar of Cadbury chocolate he had bought for his one-year-old son.
The plane seemed to drop straight out of the sky into the airport in Jumla in a heart-stopping landing. Hasta almost dropped his bag in panic. "I am dead," he thought, as he watched the plane drop straight through the surrounding cliffs.
In Jumla Bazzar, he was surrounded by what he had forgotten – men in tattered, smoke-blackened clothing, holding jute straps, with sullen looks on their faces. The anger in their faces shocked him. One of the men detached from a group of observers and came towards him. He tried to grab one of the nylon bags. Hasta resisted.
"That's all you got?"
Hasta gasped. It was his brother – bone-thin, with scars on his face, wearing a smoke-blackened coat.
"Mother's in bad shape," Resham, his brother, said. "It's good I joined the People's War, or else they wouldn't let us through with these rations."
As he climbed through the hills, Hasta told his brother about the sixteen-year-old boy who had sat for months without food and water. The story itself was the only sustenance he could offer, besides his two small bags of food, to his hungry brother. "Imagine! Months and months without food. Or even water. People kept asking if he pissed, but apparently he sits for sixteen hours every day," Hasta chattered gaily, desperately, trying to break through his brother's morose silence. Resham walked ahead, coughing every once in a while, lost in his own world.

< 14 >

He broke his silence when they were stopped by three young men dressed in fatigues and carrying rifles. "It's for my mother, comrades," Resham explained. The rebels walked in twos and threes – hardened by tough mountain terrain, proud as bandits.
"You are back from India, are you? What are you going to donate to the People's War?" one asked. He looked at Hasta with a calculating look. The young men were carrying rusty rifles. Hasta took one look at them and took out his money belt. By the time they reached home, it was eleven at night and all the packets of instant noodles had been appropriated by the rebels. Hasta's seventeen thousand rupees had gone down to sixteen thousand. He had a receipt printed in red ink, showing he had contributed a thousand rupees to the People's War. Hasta felt tired.
Then, as he climbed up the final slope to the village, he saw the scene he had dreamt in his jungle stupor. Outside his wooden house, there were three corpses, lined up. They were covered in ragged sheets. A rug, black and white, smelling of mountain goats, and covered with flies, was laid out outside the door. He put his two nylon bags on that old and familiar rug.
Resham sat down on a ledge. "They're dead."
Hasta knelt down and threw back a sheet. Below was his grandmother, dried and shrunken. He threw back another sheet. It was his mother. She too, looked empty, as if all the sawdust had come out of a ragged doll. Then, drawing an unsteady breath, he threw back the other rag. It was a small body. His son.
"Where's my wife?" The world seemed to ring with an echo of sounds that repeated mockingly. Hasta heard a motorcycle reverse. Then a hummingbird hummed, along with the uneven whine of a helicopter. But there were no motorcycles or helicopters in this remote part of the world. He shook his head, but the sounds did not disappear.
"She ran away with a trader. He said he would take her to India and they could live there together," Resham said. "She left a month ago."

< 15 >

"Why didn't she take him?" Hasta pointed to the corpse of the baby.
"Food was running low," Resham said. "She could barely walk."
Hasta took out the chocolate. He walked up to the doorway of his house, and looked up. Festooning the lintel was a number of dried herbs and tiny pouches of grain, that their father, the village shaman, had put off to ward evil. Inside was a hearth full of spirits. He put the chocolate down as an offering in front of the spirits, then came out.
"Where will you go now?"
Hasta shrugged. He watched a dung beetle roll a neat ball of dung down the broken granite rocks. A giant mushroom grew in red splendor in the cracks. "Maybe I will stay here," he answered.



top


The Heebie-Jeebies

Barry took the tab at breakfast with his coffee. He skimmed through the mail: now he was fifty he could have £100 off his next car insurance and might win a trip around the world. He didn't drive. He had timed everything perfectly but the delivery - expected at 9 - was late. The drug was already kicking in and he was beginning to feel light and strange in his own room as the man with the large ears and little nose unpacked boxes and complained about yesterday's customers.

‘Not a jot on the floor, naked kids running about and the latest wide screen and all the works.' Barry tried to keep up with the man's dark eyes, which shifted around too quickly in their sockets. ‘Have you got sweets in?' Barry thought he heard and when he shrugged was told, ‘for the kids tonight. Little beggars won't leave you alone.'

Barry said there was no need to set it up, he worked in an electrical shop and could manage but by then the man was on all fours laying cable and squatting to demonstrate the various sound options.

‘Hall. Live. Rock. You name it. Orchestral.' He waved the remote like a baton. He talked as if he lived here and Barry was the visitor.

Wasn't it good now though to hear Hendrix as he'd never heard him, from five speakers. The lazy guitar of Hey Joe. He lay back on the sofa and dropped through to other sofas and rooms he'd lain in and been at ease. Way back on the green settee with Nina, his girlfriend for two months, when her parents were out. Parties where everybody reclined on scatter cushions, conversation limited by the bass heavy reggae and not much dancing either, you had to be cool, only getting up to kneel over the huge bong when it came round. At weekends there was sometimes dancing, after acid or mescaline in pills or on blotting paper. He remembered tripping on the flare of his loons (which had to touch the floor) and making it into a dance move. Girls had whirled skirt and hair out in circles to Zep or Cream or Caravan; and later under stairs or in bathrooms he got handfuls of tit and tastes of them.

< 2 >

The re-grouping in pubs and cafes the following weekend, pubs closed at 2pm, to discuss what happened after, how they got home in such a state, breathless and dodging skinheads. How they had outwitted drunken lungers, and negotiated dangerous roads where cars were out to eat you. How this one spent the night in the brand new toilets of the motorway service station – ‘excellent facilities', and that one was nearly fucked by a donkey when he slept in a barn; how all somehow had seen the sun rise from the side of a road or under a hedge, the fields and back lanes, the edge of town of his youth.

When Barry and Maxine moved in together, they tried to get more sophisticated: instead of getting out of their heads immediately they would have dinner parties with candles, meals of nut roast and sweet potatoes and play Dylan and Roxy Music until they finished the Viennetta and got out the big rizlas and put on Peter Tosh or Burning Spear.

He remembered Maxine's fads, how she grew out of fringed leather jackets and boots quickly, on to the multicoloured waistcoats. When she only wore that. How she got into Greek food when the restaurant opened in town; the stray cats she fed out the back; her languor on Sundays lying the length of the sofa, like him now, bringing her chocolates and drinks and rewarded with sex.

He tried to read the free paper pushed through the door but the headlines merged: Queen Eats Ambassador's Son; Freed Man Topples Bridge, and little wavering flames flared up from between the lines of print to print him with burns.

He lay on turf with dripping water nearby and a hidden but throbbing power station, the leaning tower of Nina helped him with his tea.

The doorbell rang a second time and it was Tom. ‘Howdy pardner.' He was panting from the bike ride across town and pushed his vehicle in straight through to the kitchen.

< 3 >

‘Didn't know if you'd be in.'

‘Coffee? Bong? Pills?'

*


‘"I'm from the National Blonde Service," she said to me,' Tom said to him leaning back on his chair and stretching out long legs. Barry could hear the faint pops and cracks of sinews and gristle and saw how they coloured the air around Tom. His friend's head went back when he exhaled as if pushed back by the smoke, an elephant's trunk of it, he still had hanks of hair hanging either side of his head, left from the days when it was abundant and flowing.

‘People on top of the world,' said Tom, ‘how do they keep their balance?' Then he stopped to lift and blow into an imaginary saxophone as Mirror in the Bathroom broke out; nodding in praise of the new system.

They tried to make packet soup but ended up eating rubble with gulps of warm water. Luckily there was a lot of chocolate.

‘You prepared well, captain,' said Tom, eyeing bars in the fridge, and turned to salute him.

‘Danke-shun, mein heir.' He didn't know why he'd turned German.

They bumped into each other on the stairs. They talked as if they'd met in the countryside, on the stairs there, as if wind was ruffling their hair and they had ruddy complexions.

Finally Barry bundled him out, bike and all, both vowing they would grow up soon, glancing up and down a street that seemed to come out of fog and concertina in and out around him, for the next interruption. The second phase of the drug was settling in, one that went right to his extremities, and he wanted to wank, wank longly over Maxine and Nina both. Maxina. Mixed up together for him and with only his pleasure in mind. But he'd only got to the first imaginings, Maxine with Nina's legs, when the doorbell rang again.

< 4 >

Maxine. She walked in as if out of a cubist painting both eyes on the same side of her angular face, which was wrong because if Maxine was known for anything it was the roundness of her face. He couldn't be sure it was her who he'd been picturing so recently. A voice came from her that was the same, similar, but he couldn't place the tone or manner, even the accent.

‘OK, OK,' he heard himself say to himself and turned away from her dark maroon patterned clothes with yellow buttons like beams of light, torches into his room. First time he'd seen her she was in a yellow top, blouse with wide cuffs, some kind of matching hair band too, in the days when those things were worn.

He sat opposite her and momentarily his back slipped into place so that the pain he'd been experiencing, even through the drugs, seemed turned off. The room stopped tilting. Maxine's presence seemed to tighten the paintings above her, colours began to brim, the carpet seemed to breathe too, beneath its crust of dust, as if someone had finally cleaned it properly now she ran her eyes over it and around the crowded, smoky room. Each object she looked at sprang to attention.

‘Good sound system.'

‘Came today.'

She had long curtains of hair then, everyone did, John Lennon style. He could see her coming through a crowd. Her large pink mouth, slight Elvis curl to it, her little blue eyes, magnified by glasses, too little she said but he liked them, cheekiness there and something else besides, held back in them. Now her hair is a bob, shortish but still thick, grey dyed out, curling at the ends. Her glasses almost invisible. Her mouth pursed, thinner of course, but not as thin as his, like lines drawn he'd been told.

< 5 >

The I'm fine thank yous put out into the room, the settling down of each, the drawing of herself upright as if drawing a line for him to look at, slumped, unshaven and drugged across from her.

Of course after awkwardness they got deep into everyone they mutually knew and how they were doing and who had died, heart attack, lung cancer, overdose, starting with their inner families and working outwards. When he talked back to her he kept tonguing the inside of his front teeth, the curve of the gum, that's where the taste was. They laughed about his mother, still singing Shirley Bassey songs off key and scowling at the clatter of the letterbox, the ring of the doorbell. I do that, he said, did it when you called, must be hereditary. They went through friends, married and divorced, rich, relatively, and poor. Did she still see Stephen and Alice? She didn't.

She'd cut herself off, self-employed, when her new husband and then her lover left. Craft job, did some teaching at an FE college. Teaches the poor darlings to bury treasure he thought he heard her say. He said he was doing the same as when she left which was almost true. Same job, slight promotion, different shop.

Next was books and films they'd watched and read and snapped fingers over the same things like Alice Sebold and Goodfellas, even Blade Runner – had you left by then? He asked incredulously. Aaa-ceed! Chemical Brothers – they both put their hands in the air. She didn't get on with Britpop though, Oasis, turned her nose up.

To make her wrinkle it again he said he liked jazz but he only had one compilation, ‘Music For Pleasure' at that, and he laughed at her reaction and confessed straight away that he didn't, but got out Sufjan Stevens and Sparklehorse CDs to show he'd kept up. He played Chicago, but said he should play something from then, maybe the group Chicago (postcard of Chicago he'd had, Sears tower in his head), something you could think of as their song, something off After The Goldrush, but he couldn't find it, and she said anyway their song had to be Slade, C'Mon Feel The Noize because that's the first song they'd danced to.

< 6 >

‘At the Y.M. disco?'

‘At the Y.M. disco.'

She accepted a joint from him confessing it had been a while as their fingers touched, thumbs and indexes. She had come, she didn't tell him, to hear him play music again, smell and see him across a room, to put a box around a past that was coming up from pavements and found around corners, how pictures were forming of him and them all the time.

There was a sweet oil in the room she must have brought with her. Perfume maybe. There were bright two-foot beings sat either side of her bathing the room in light from their smiles. He could see the shape of her silhouetted in the light. Her shin the same, the one visible, and her knees, just showing below her dress. The calves too looked familiar, behind the shin and the knee never changing.

He put on Setting Sun to ‘change her mind about Noel Gallagher' and the room was full of the sweeping music. He had to blur his fingers and wave his arms and she laughed and got up to join him. They danced in slow motion/fast motion like the crazed cops on the video, falling into one another at the end.

When she sat down he put on Curved Air's Back Street Luv, which he'd found again recently and downloaded. ‘Wow!' she said and when he put on Gregory Isaac's Loving Pauper and the voice started up she said, ‘you bastard.'

*


When he got up to shuffle to the kitchen he moved as if Rebel Rebel was still playing even though the music had stopped and she followed to the room where little sunlight penetrated but which seemed sun-filled now. It had leaked in from the angels who were dissolving away in the other room. She tapped his shoulder and touched his side, was to the front of him, to the side of him, helping him with cups and kettle and turning on taps, tutting at his fridge, moving with jar and spoon as if she'd often done that here. As if he'd opened his eyes in a place where things persisted.

< 7 >

They ate toast in there and recalled their cat, not the strays, the one that stayed with its fat stripy tail like a racoon's. At the door at night they'd call ‘here, child substitute, here subby, subby.' He remembered it wasn't long after its flattened death on the road that she left, some guy had been parked up around the corner for months, some guy she went to meet in a lounge bar of a near-empty pub on the newly built ring road.

The taste of it like soap and salt came back to him and he turned away, pretending to cough, particles of Marmite and crust spat into his hand. Then he started back and collapsed, shaking. The floor tiles where so many things had smashed cooled the length of him. He shuffled up, back against the wall and drew his knees up.

She leant to him. ‘You OK, Bas? Bas, speak to me.'

‘It's OK, OK,' he said, his body had shuddered at her touch but now calmed. ‘I'm OK. It's the drugs. I'll be there in a minute.'

*


When they got back in the front room and put down drinks and food, she sat on the sofa and asked if she could take off her shoes which he helped her do and felt again the slopes of her feet and the knobs of her toes and the curl under them.

The light had diminished, fog-rain at the window, the house swaddled in cloud. He felt for her leg then and she let him.

His fingertips were alive with this new Maxine, the same Maxine, the same stretch of moles and freckles along the inside of her thigh to the centre of her. She moved to let him try things, to move her back and undo and sit back to take her in, what was the same, what was different, nipples grown and spread the same pink as her lips, her skin generally darker though and the belly protruding, nicks and bumps acquired without him, marking her up but under it the same Maxine that he put his fully clothed arms around and felt contact with along the length of him, the same Maxine he clung to back in days more raw and fresh.

< 8 >

They moved upstairs, why had he taken her to the box room that smelt of damp and had crumbled or coming apart books on the windowsill and ledge, posters stacked in cracked frames in a corner, ash and dust laden, the bed cold and resisting as they tried to get in but lay on top of instead, shivery and laughing while she leant to undress him finally.

Would she keep from laughing when she saw his uncut toenails, his patch of grey pubic hair? Maybe his beer belly will hide it, that new fixture he'd built on himself since she'd been gone. He hadn't flossed since 1992. Only now did he worry about the toilet she would use, the spider in the bath, the ring of dirt, the odour from the towel, the soap she would have to tug free of its recess.

He moved into her embrace, her breasts so much bigger now burgeoning under his ribs, he'd forgotten just how small she was. He looked down at her eyes clear as ever but with that depth, looking up at him through blackened lashes, the subtle pinkish eye shadow on the creases of her lids when she blinked.

He remembered fucking her how she joined in his conceits pretending to be his secretary – very bourgeois, they'd laughed – or strangers meeting in a pub, maybe that planted the seed, the boots and lingerie she wore for him, but now was nothing like that, it was her wrapped around him strongly, pulling him deep as she could. It was a feeling out beyond the drugs but taking those with it, pushing him deep and flat out, everything in him. Their bones bumped, their flesh stuck together; smells of him and her, seaweed and baked bread, sweet sweat, deodorant entered the sterile unadorned room and made it different. Every time he came into this room, he was thinking, as he felt her all over him, her grasp and thoughts and flesh around him, she would be there.

< 9 >

He didn't want to collapse on her, but felt like it after climax like a flare gun going off in him, ripped him up, and he managed to fall back away from her. Everything in him was suddenly mute, gone, and he woke up to find his ex-wife and recent lover slapping him gently. ‘You blacked out,' she said, and for the second time, ‘You OK?'

They lay back then side by side, eventually covering up their aged and pushed out, mottled and dented body and flesh, half covering up: he could still see and touch her grown, flopping breasts. How the bulb light curved around her face, that cheek-and-nose shape, the tiny point of the nose like an apple pip in sight again.

‘I remember when you got the heebie-jeebies,' she said, ‘you wouldn't let anyone talk to you, not even me.' He nodded at it, but they didn't pursue any obvious trails of mutual memory, meeting, special signals, parting, not past one or two sentences about a place and a time.

It had puzzled her this insistence on him she'd thought she'd left behind, but in the clinch she couldn't kill it. She had shaken him because she couldn't, he must have noticed the change in her, she thought, but she saw how he was oblivious, high and away from her. She hadn't got what she'd come for, and couldn't name it anyway and now felt content to have him coming down beside her, his speech and movement slowing down.

‘Thought of you on your 50th,' she did tell him, ‘was out of the country but you know can't forget the date.'

They moved together again, him stroking her, and promising to cook a curry later, a skill he hadn't lost, when there were three rings on the bell downstairs. Maxine laughed when she realised it was trick-or-treaters and curled into him when he complained about Americanisation, and lay like grace had descended in a warmth remembered and different. Outside the fog thickened as groups of skeletons and monsters and vampires laid siege to the street. Barry and Maxine got closer, balled up in each other, intertwining rough old flesh as kids outside started egging the house, spraying it with paint and flour, and letting off early fireworks, jumping jacks and bangers.
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