THE NEPALESE STORIES #13: BEFORE THE REVOLUTION: THE JOLLY ROGER AND THE EEJIT—PART ONE.

“What would be the colour of puddles if it were to rain multicolour?”

Aleix Vergés, DJ Sideral (1973-2006)

BCN/MAD/KTM 18th May 2006

On the last day of Life with your best mate in it, the Nepalese monarchy was also on the verge of extinction: King Gyanendra rule had already claimed the lives of over 14 thousand people during a ten-year Civil War against the insurgence, led by republican Maoists.

The infamous King had already jailed hundreds of dissidents and shut down Parliament, the same building that was burnt down to ashes in Kathmandu two weeks ago.

THE LATE LATE GIG, May 18^th 2006

Meanwhile, Andrea, your best mate, was ending things in Barcelona. She sounded hopeful and hilarious when you talked on the phone that evening. She was extremely excited, and you failed to read that her mania was peaking. Instead, you thought that she sounded better than she had in a long time, a classic.

She was great at disguising her emotions, although you know that you should have known better. But then again, you were also manic, on your way to meet The Kiddo. If only you had mentioned his name to her….

DICKENS

But you didn’t. You just said: “I’m about to meet the guy who made the scissor dick movie.” Andrea had never heard of it. It had become such a hype in Madrid, but only a few nerds knew about it in Barcelona, so instead of recognising him, she said: “I’m so proud of you, I always knew you were the one destined to celebrity-dick-glory. I should have read Dickends, maybe I would have found a better ending.”

You would only realise how dark the joke was in hindsight.

She said that she needed to keep rehearsing. She had a sold out gig to play in Bilbao the next day. “I’m going to play your song. It’s called “Dick cunt get no satisfaction.”

You both burst out laughing.

That was the last thing she would forever be saying.

The Lost King, Kathmandu, May 2006

Nepal had been under a state of emergency for almost a year, and the international outcry was deafening. In April, tension escalated just like it happened two weeks ago, and the folk took the streets of Kathmandu to ask for the abolition of Gyanendra’s grotesque kingdom. He deployed his security forces and 23 protesters were killed, the same casualty figure initially reported two weeks ago.

History repeating or just another coincidence called Life?

On the morning of May 18^th of 2006, knowing that there was no way back, Gyanendra was running around the corridors of his palace ordering to take down the artworks, chandeliers, and silverware from the agonizing residency, while he rang, talked, faxed, sweated and swore.

By noon he was breathless and dehydrated, and convinced of being suffering a heart attack, therefore he asked to talk to his lawyers, enemies and doctor —the unforgiving departing triumvirate in any dictator’s life.

May 18^th 2006, Madrid

During the last hours of Andrea in Life, you were out in Madrid, after a light dinner and a rocky nasal desert with an operator who reminded you of Mickey Mallory (Woody Harrelson) in Natural Born Killers —a younger version with an uncannily trimmed moustache and a non-shaved head.

He was known as The Kiddo, a former hairdresser and cab driver turned an underground sensation in the Spanish’ gore movie scene thanks to his first short, Manolo Polla-Tijeras (Manuel Scissors-Dick, 1997).

The Kiddo had just started a magazine called Corpofuckers, and wanted you to write a piece for it tackling and reporting the lack of independence in Spanish Journalism, as well as the big holdings operating behind the main four newspapers in the country.

You thought that everybody knew that. As it turned out, like most things, it made no difference.

“Rich adults have no ideology or beliefs other than money,” said the Kiddo.

ONE LOVE, ONE PIECE

After dinner, you decided that rather than write anything against people who didn’t know how to read, it would be better to take action.

The Kiddo had already started painting walls all over town with a stencil inspired by the Jolly Roger flag of his favourite anime, One Piece.

You were both in Plaza Callao, and the Kiddo’s massive head and thin body were outlined by the iconic glimmer of the Schweppes’ building neon lights, and you sprayed your first wall together with the exact same image that the Gen.Z’s were waving before burning the Nepali parliament two weeks ago.

History repeating or just another coincidence called Life?

The Kiddo grabbed your arm and said: “Are you in the mood for trouble.”

“I don’t know any other mood,” you replied.

“We are still young. And people are only equal when they are young. We will soon turn into the zillion mental disorders called adulthood. And we will never have this chance again, so should we burn the city?”

“To the ground and beyond the underground”

You saw his cheeky grin and his crystal eye waving like a smoky planet, and you knew the night would go on for a good while.

Meanwhile, in Barcelona, Andrea cancelled the gig in Bilbao, put on the orange jumper (her favourite), played a number of vinyl, watched The Night of the Hunter on repeat, chased the dragon, never went to bed and wrote the last song of her posthumous album, and a number of text messages —including a death threat.

Kathmandu, Tuesday, September 10^th 2025

It is your first morning in Patan and you wake up alone in a tiny apartment in the heart of the oldest Nepali city, five kilometres southwest of Kathmandu.

You arrived last night on a 12-hour bus. You spent most of the way dozing off and cracking your tailbone with the bumps and the rocks of the broken road. Whenever you opened your eyes you saw people looking at screens. Many were shouting and you thought that you were in Vietnam for most of the journey.

You woke up at the bus station looking for signs that read Hanoi. Instead you read Kathmandu.

It was quiet and your phone was dead, and while you were looking for a cab on the deserted streets you saw the stencil of the Jolly Roger sprayed on a wall.

BLUE YES

You wake up not knowing how you got here. You pull the curtains open and the giant blue eyes of the Tibetan Stupa outside your room are staring at you.

It is the first time that you make eye contact with a building. You put your glasses on to make sure you are not hallucinating, peer out the balcony, stumble, and your spectacles slide your wet hair and take a five stories fall.

They seem unscathed before an army vehicle runs over them.

You look down and cry out. You need to start working now and you don’t have an extra pair. You ask Google for the closest shop, get Olive, your obnoxious backpack, and walk out the building.

It is so quiet and breezy outside, and, overall, entirely empty.

THE LAST CAMERA

It might be super early, you haven’t checked. This could be a dystopian movie set. You walk around the block and you encounter as many stunning monuments as in Rome. It is mind-blowing. Gargles, lions, snakes, stupas, pagodas, ancient inscriptions in burnt walls and columns, collapsing shrines….

All the Roman Catholic Icon Porn turns here into polytheism, hundreds of gods multiplying their profiles like psychedelic holograms depicting eternity. They have non-crucified gods with dreadlocks or massive dicks, goddesses with multiple arms and eyes, meditating gods, standing-up goddesses, sitting ones, you name it.

There are fresh orange marigolds and red carnations spread all over the religious sites and many candles burning, and a few fires, random, empty bonfires in the middle of the roads and squares, as if the citizens of the world were having a BBQ outside before something wiped them all.

IS IT?

It is probably now when you realise that this is not like any other day.

Is this Apocalypse?

This whole area is a UNESCO world heritage site, and you happen to be the only person walking it, the only camera, and it is now when the panic starts to flirt with your paranoia, the best lovers you have ever produced with your hormones.

Still, your rational self thinks that it could be a national holiday, but Google says it isn’t.

You reach Durban Square, a UNESCO world heritage site, and you see NOONE. You start looking for zombies when you see a group of motorbikes storming into the heart of the square. There are waving flags and beeping their horns and shouting. One of them is waving the same Jolly Roger as The Kiddo so long ago. The guy jumps off the bike and starts running towards a patrol car and…sets it on fire! Total Kiddo style!

P&P

Your panic and paranoia have already grandchildren at this stage, all of them named after an irreversible mental pathology. You keep walking and taking photos as if there’s no tomorrow, knowing that, somehow, this anomaly should be recorded, perhaps for repatriation purposes or as your famous last image.

You get into a tiny street leading to a bigger one, and you find a massive smiley Buddha next to a building in flames.

You follow the smoke, look up and see hundreds of people, almost everyone looking out the window. Upon seeing you they start waving and shouting.

What the hell is going on?

You raise your arms and then, as if rehearsed, perfectly synchronised, the entire army of bodies say first NAMASTE and then REVOLUTION.

In the roof terrace of the building across from you there is someone waving a massive Jelly Roger flag, and you look up, and although you can’t see shit, you feel the eye contact, and then the shiver in the spine: the crack in the story of your life shining against all odds.

Oh my Buddha. Is he?????

(TO BE CONTINUED…)