OK, everyone, back to work. The fun and games are over for now. Or, are they? By the looks of it, we are headed for another four-day forced holiday, 16-20 November, to protest the fuel price hike. With a work ethic like that, it is a wonder that this country hasn't completely disappeared off the face of the earth.

Even at the best of times, official office time is nine. You saunter in around ten, nobody even notices because none of the colleague is there to notice; they come in at eleven. Just in time for the first round of tea on the terrace, to reminisce about the Tihar winnings. Or bitch about local transport: the stinking three-wheelers that run on kitchen gas, the diesel buses that run on kerosene, the Bajaj whose meter gallops faster than a four-wheel taxi, a microbus that is packed like a sardine can, the high-handiness of transport cartels.

An office is where the Nepali civil servant goes to relax, to get away from the tedium of housework. It all becomes a bit suspicious when someone is seen to be actually working these days. Why is he in his office, poring over files? What's in it for him? Why the motivation. is he on the take? The only honest civil servants these days may be the ones out on the terrace having tea. It's better than working for a living.