My lover Kelly and I are on our way from India to Nepal, and have decided to spend the night on the border before tackling the grueling 12-hour journey up and over the Himalayan foothills tomorrow. We’re staying in your basic low end Indian hotel, which means a small cinder block cubicle with an even smaller rope bed covered with only a thin bedspread and a ceiling fan spinning lazily above it. The toilet and cold water shower is outside. But what the hey, it’s only $3 a night and it’s just for one night. Tomorrow we’ll be in Kathmandu where we’ll us get us a real luxury place. One with a double bed and the bathroom with hot water. After unpacking the essentials, toiletries, bug repellant and hash which we smoke just a taste of, we go in search of some grub seeing as it’s suppertime.
We walk into the restaurant that’s attached to the hotel and ask the proprietress if she’s open for business. Although the place is completely empty she assures us she is. We sit down and she hands us the menu. Now here’s the thing about Indian restaurants especially out in the boonies. Even though they always have an extensive menu, sometimes running 2 or 3 pages long, the chances of getting anything that’s on it are slim at best. But it’s still always fun to try so we point to a few thing and ask, “Do you have____ tonight?” Each time we receive a negative shake of her head. Finally we ask her what does she have. She smiles then answers, “Oh, we have some very lovely rice and dal, and if you like I can make you some chapatis.” This is your typical Indian/Nepalese rural meal, something the locals eat almost exclusively. We tell her that sounds good to us but then just to harass her a little I ask her, “I see you have chicken on the menu. Would you happen to have any of that tonight?” She’s quiet. I can see that she’s thinking. After a moment she smiles again saying, “Oh, most certainly we have chicken tonight, but it’s very expensive. Why it would cost at least 60 Rupees ($2) a plate.” I ask Kelly if she’d like some chicken and she says sure. I tell the mistress 60 Rupees a plate is acceptable as long as it includes the rice, dal and chapaties. She tells us it does however, since chicken is a special order it’ll take an hour to prepare. Since we ain’t going anywhere we tell her that’s fine by us. She asks how we want it prepared. Kelly and I confer then say; “Boneless chicken chili would be good.” The proprietress gives us an affirmative shake of her head and proceeds into the kitchen.
A minute later we hear her hollering in Hindi. A few moments after that we see a teenage boy enter the restaurant then go back into the kitchen. Next thing we see is the boy out in the yard with a big butcher knife chasing the chickens around. Since he’s young and agile it only takes a couple minutes to snag one. As soon as he catches one the other chickens split. They’ve seen this trip before. He walks over to a wooden table that’s in the yard, lays the chicken down on it and with one swift downstroke of the knife severs the chickens head from its body. He then lets the chicken go and we all watch it flop around the yard until it run out of energy. The boy tosses the head on the ground, picks up the body the guts and skins the carcass. He throws the chickens’ feather skin on the ground next to the head and walks into the kitchen. Pretty soon Kelly and I hear the sounds of dinner being made.
True to her word about an hour later the proprietress walks out of the kitchen bearing two steaming plates covered with rice, yellow dal and boneless chicken chili. Her son is right behind her with another plate of hot chapatis. They lay the food before us, smile then take their leave. We sample our meals and it was well worth the wait. The food is delicious. Now hears a funny thing about fresh killed chicken for those of you who’ve never had it, it don’t taste like chicken. Instead it has a clean fresh light meaty flavor and unless you’re eating some old rooster or layer, it’s real tender.
Well, it’s just about sundown, Kelly and I are sitting at the table enjoying our meal and we’re not the only ones. We can see the proprietress and her son having the rest of the chicken for dinner in the kitchen. And outside in the yard we see that the other chickens have returned, along with some crows, they are pecking at the skin and head of their fallen comrade. Insects are buzzing around patiently waiting their turn so that all gods’ creatures are being fed. Thank you for your life my friend, for it I am truly grateful.