Irony is an excellent literary tool to combat the angst of being stuck in unpleasant situations. (Bathos is another widely used literary tool, but it is much less fun). A story, poem, or even conversation studded with a sly innuendo here, a witty repartee there can really get you through an insufferable day (or week, month, year, life). Now given that we are stuck facing an election that may not live up to our low expectations of election-time freeness and fairness, we might, for our own sanity, seek refuge in irony. To do, so, one need only turn to Nepal's oral tradition: spoken Nepali, even today, contains a vast storehouse of expressions that-whether or not you agree with them-help release pent-up frustration. Go to any wayside teashop, and you will overhear people tossing about the most artful expressions: colourful expressions are a way of life here. I have translated some often-heard expressions below as a public service to help us all get through the upcoming elections:

One useful expression for the months ahead is artha na bartha govinda gai, which roughly translates as neither meaning nor seaning Govinda cow. This expression cleverly exemplifies its message: it makes no sense in itself (Govinda being a male name, and a cow being, well, female), and it is hurled, usually in a tone of bewilderment, at anything that is essentially senseless. As in, 'The candidate has made yet another public speech of neither meaning nor seaning Govinda cow import.'

That expression competes with many for Nepali affections. Another good expression for the upcoming months a festival like no other is taking place in Handigaun. Why poor Handigaun- a respectable neighbourhood with deep cultural roots-gets blown off so, I could not say. Sure, its surplus wealth didn't build as many temples and palaces as in nearby Basantapur and Patan, but it was still respectable, way back when. (Handigaun native conservation architect Sudarshan Raj Tiwari is even writing a book about how respectable the neighbourhood was, way back when). This saying can be applied to many aspects of public life in Nepal. For example, throughout the campaign, you might consider saying, 'The way people keep urging me to go down to the voting booth, it's like a festival like no other is taking place in Handigaun.'

Now almost everyone I speak to is considering boycotting the elections. (If the elections even take place, they say, not wanting to give into irrational exuberance, Nepali-style). But keep this in mind: if you vote, and actually help elect a sober, chastised party which then forms an actually governing government, this will be a case of if it comes, it's a mango. If it goes, it's a stick. Meaning, why not make the effort? You stand to gain a whole mango (read actually governing government), and all you stand to lose is a stick (read vote). (Actually, I came across a brilliant adaptation of this expression recently, when a longtime NGO/INGO hand remarked, 'If it comes it's a project, if it goes, it's just a proposal.' I would credit this man for his brilliant adaptation, but I worry that his career will end).

In the spirit of if it comes, it's a mango, then, we must all vote (again, if the elections even take place). But I sympathise with those bitten by the boycott bug. It's hard to know which party to vote for, given that they have all spent the past twelve years shitting on the plate that they eat from. This is highly not recommended to do. We the voters, not being plates but people, notice when we are being sullied. This time around, we demand that the parties offer us candidates who know where their party offices' outhouses are.

Which brings us to the matter of party intellectuals. Sure, they at least know where the outhouse is. This doesn't mean they should run for office. Our intellectuals. Such intellectuals. Seven villages drown as the fishermen confer. While the country rapidly regresses to authoritarian rule, our intellectuals hold verbose thought-conventions (I'm sorry, the term bichar gosti is utterly untranslatable, so let's make do with thought-convention). And what our intellectuals say at these thought-conventions is: 'We must save democracy. Vote for my party,' or, less actively, 'Democracy must be saved. My party must be voted for.'

Yes. We must save democracy, and failing that, democracy must be saved. To do so (or to have this done), first we need qualified candidates. Otherwise our next inept government will bungle away our last remaining civil liberties, and then we'll have to sit around saying, in bitter tones, 'The creature of shit enjoys staying in shit. Our politicians prefer Panchayat-like rule to democracy.'

Now translating expressions is a failed mission from the get go. (For instance, from the get go would not fare well in Nepali translation). Too many local idioms, colloquialisms, and references remain stubbornly untranslatable, or they end up being so funny that their meaning is unduly eclipsed. (Example: aaskaashko fal aankhaatari mar: die looking at the fruit in the sky). None of the translations offered here captures the pithy zing of the original, so readers who understand Nepali must stop reading this column at once and strike up a conversation with
a nearby Nepali.

For those who do not speak Nepali, another expression that may come handy in November is like a chicken that has eaten salt. Now I have never seen one of these, but I am told, by others who likely also haven't seen one, that these creatures lack vigour: they are dehydrated, their necks droop, they squawk about weakly, looking unenviable. This is how I walk around most of the time. Anyway, readers might try throwing this expression about on especially bad days. For example in November, some might want to say, 'After I spent two hours in the sun waiting in line I found that somebody had already voted in my name, so I walked home in the manner of a chicken that had eaten salt.'

In the event that you do get your vote stolen, you can also say, 'I have been betrayed by workers of our political parties, all of who have Ram-Ram on the lips and a dagger in the pocket.' In fact it is always advisable to check the metaphorical pocket of any friendly politician near you to see if he is carrying metaphorical daggers.

If the parties reform their ways, we can still make democracy work, of course. (Who really wants to build alternatives to the existing parties? It would be so much easier for people to rally around a new, reformed Congress and UML. Or two new, reformed Congresses and UML. Whatever). Some will say that this is wishful thinking, otherwise known to Nepalis as indulging in eating the sweetmeat of the mind with clarified butter.

emocracy is already lost, they say. There will be no elections. Stop dreaming. There is no sweetmeat to eat.
To such people, one can only say: well, now we've burned down the house, so we won't lack for ashes.
Now there's a depressing thought.

There are limits, obviously, to the psychological release that irony offers.

These and hundreds of other Nepali expressions and riddles are collected by Krishna Prasad Parajuli in his illuminating book Nepali Ukhan ra Gaunkhane Katha (Royal Nepal Academy 2039 BS and Ratna Pustak Bhandar 2047 BS). This book would make an excellent gift for Nepalis living abroad, who must surely miss the verbal bandying that goes on every day among Nepalis.