| Username |
Post |
| deep |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 11:09 AM
Aas Paas
There was this pati (shelter) in our heavily dominated by Newars tole where we used play Aas Paas (hide and seek). The pati was small or big enough to accommodate about ten people. Usually, after nine or ten o’clock at night it used to come into vibrant life with a constant bhajan (devotional songs) in Newari with Newari baja (music) for about three-four hours or may be more. I could hear bhajan and baja at my bed time and if I woke up around 1 or 2 o’clock I could still hear people bhajaning with the same tone but in the morning the pati usually would fall silent. I couldn’t figure out what the bhajan was about because I was pretty poor in Newari but I could tell what the bhajan was about by looking at the idol/picture they used to put there in the pati while bhajaning, or by the proximity of a particular jatra.
We, myself, Vijaya, paka (his real name was something else), Barmu (he was a newar dude, though. Don’t know how he got that name “Barmu”), Tiran (his name was Kiran but he was famous with Tiran), Anil and others, used to gather at the pati around 6 O’clock or right after twilight to play Aas Paas. After following a procedure to determine the doom we would out line the rules. The basic rules were always the same but Anil or Vijaya would stress on one particular rule every evening. If a doom quits the game then he will be punished by other players with a khotta (a khotta from each player). The only exception was the call from home. If a person from doom’s family comes there (no pagers, no cell phones then) to take him then the doom would be excused-no khotta.
The pati was about 13 feet tall and was vertically divided into rest area and attic by dalins (beams). The height of attic was about 5 feet. Players used to hide in the attic and doom would count superfast 100 standing on rest area platform. At night without a light source it was nearly impossible to see people in the pitch dark attic above. Our tole had some street lights but streets were poorly lit. Not all the light bulbs on street light poles were lucky to survive the guleli (catapult) target. Guleliwala friends were always on lookout for an opportunity to blow off those light bulbs and at night if their feet skided on dogs’ or children’s waste they would try hard to see what the hell did they step on and would say…yo ma****** nagar panchayat lai ta….sappai chorai chhor.
One fine evening I was counting hundred as fast as I could and others were climbing up in the attic and taking positions. Between the dalins there were nothing but the openings. So, one had to be real careful while moving around in the attic otherwise your sensitive part would hit a dalin marne garera before you could realize. I knew first hand how painful that(sudden impact of me vs. an allichhina dalin) was. In the beginning we all had gone thru at least once such bad experience. Later we were pro. on moving around the attic but still we used to cautious. Anyway, when I finished counting accelerated 100, I looked up. Couldn’t see who was where. Didn’t panic because that was expected. I was kinda disappointed though for being a doom. Je hos, I was trying hard to figure out who was hiding where. To my delight a truck was coming and they (hiders) also knew that so they started to shift their positions to better positions for them. The truck passed by and in it’s light I saw Vijaya trying to hold a better hiding place but it was too late. Vijaya aas paas, I said. He dropped to platform. After a while, I used my andazification and said Tiran aas paas. Anil decided to verify, “where is Tiran?” I gave them his position. I was lucky Tiran dropped. A car passed by and I saw Paka, Paka aas paas. “Shadel” paka screamed. All started to laugh. Paka, Barmu, and others came down. Barmu was wearing Paka’s clothes and Paka was wearing Barmu’s clothes. So, I wrongly identified Paka. It was Barmu not Paka whom I identified as Paka aas paas. Damn it! I started to count 100 again. They all climbed up. This time I was trying to be careful before calling out name. I correctly called aas paas to Barmu, Tiran, and Vijaya. Then I thought I saw ga cha (his name was Sunil but was more famous with ga cha). I was trying to filter darkness and taking foreward my sight nearer and nearer to ga cha. Before I could say Sunil aas paas. Anil lowered his legs and hit on my shoulder and said, “dhyappa”. Damn! Damn!! Damn!!!
Third time I was counting 100 that evening. I was little frustrated and irritated. Doom bhayera jane bho aajako sanjh, I thought. Finally, I got them all. Since I had identified Anil first, he was the doom. He started to count 100. We all others climbed up.
While in the attic, cloth changing process began. Bijaya got really aggressive and took off everything. Anil was trying hard to see us above and identify. Bijaya was still completely undressed and was waiting for Tiran to pass him his (Tiran’s) clothes. Bijaya was squeezing is clothes by his knees. He was screaming at Tiran for being late in giving his clothes. He started to curse him with all those readily available manpari words. Tiran was trying hard to maintain his balance and take off his clothes for Bijaya. Unfortunately, Bijaya’s older brother-Vikdai- who was one of the dadas in our tole heard Bijaya cursing with all the damn words. He approached our paty and called Bijaya with his sharp voice. Bijaya panicked and as he panicked his knees gave up on his clothes. Clothes dropped to the paty floor.
Anil disappeared within a couple of seconds sensing the anger at Vikdai voice. We started to jumpoff one after another and ran away. Tiran also ran away with pants on but holding is shirt in one hand. Vikdai also walked away with Bijaya’ s clothes, saying…”bhare ghar ma ta aaija…tero pooja garchhu ma….” Bijaya was all alone in the dark pati attic-naked-completely.
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| jira |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 11:53 AM
What a nice elaboration of Aas-Paas, I was almost forgeting that thing.
Brings back old memories.
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| High |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 12:09 PM
Dear Deep,
Is that what you submitted for your English writing class?? Too long.
High.
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| Parakhi |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 03:52 PM
Good! Did not you write the horse and mule episode before? Please keep it up.
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| E_Sajha |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 04:12 PM
Very well written, very narrow, and very interesting all the way. What ‘tol’ are you from?
E_Sajha!
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| deep |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 07:54 PM
Yes Parakhi, It was me who wrote Vituli mandal. Me and Anil in Ramailo Mela. Horse and Pony.
Thank you friends. Your words are highly regarded.
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| back in tha day |
Posted
on 05-Jun-02 11:38 PM
thanks for sharing your recollections of a simpler time when simple games were among the greatest pleasures in life.
you gotta fight
for your right
to pati!
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| NK |
Posted
on 06-Jun-02 09:15 AM
deep, enjoyed reading it.
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| Nhuchche |
Posted
on 06-Jun-02 01:14 PM
Aas Pass in the Monsoon:
Me and couple of friends were hardcode aas pas players. The most coveted game however was 'Kane kane pichcha'. The unknown always has certain charm. To be blindfolded and attempting to catch someone resembled a mythological quest. The mind blanked out everything but the thrill of the game. We used to lose any sense of time, hunger or any other natural functions even.
When playing aas pas, the mind was only seeing the places that was good to hide. Each game was a 'survival' episode on it's own. The things we could get away with. Mom calls for dinner, but we're busy playing. After calling us to come for dinner 10 times from the bhancha, she has to come down to bring us all up. And the best part is anyone scolding us at that age does not matter. Someone try scolding us now - oh no.. it could become a disaster.
I once remember this monsoon season when we were playing aas pas. One of the cousin was too young to play. (well too young to comprehend the complexities of the game). The hated 'dahi chiurey' status was given to him so that he really didn't count. Anyhow, I was counting 1 to 100 in a room and he remained with me. So I told him "bahira jau". Anyways, he did go out of the room and I continued counting up to 100 - then the game continued. All was good. Then the mom's scolding came after not responding to her calls. Then dinner time. The dahi chiurey was missing. Light drizzle. Search for the missing. Guess where he was? OUTSITE the house in the Street! He had complacently complied to what I had told him. He said "dai le bahira jau bhanyo". I was in trouble then!
Anyhow it's so much fun musing about our childhood, when life was so much easier and simple.
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