 the book reader of pokhara by f harvey anderson was it twelve or one i didn t wear a watch and my vintage mobile was dead i was walking home along lakeside the tourist strip in pokhara nepal the street lights had gone out hours ago the power cuts made sure of that the only illumination was from the flashing neon signs of the hellish dance clubs the trekking shops bookshops bars and the last remaining internet shops had all shuttered up or is that down for the night mohammed my kashmiri jeweler friend had probably been in bed for hours although he was worried about his eldest she s got a bad chest infection and sits her school leaving certificate soon in the standard chartered bank atm booth two streets kids and a dog were curled up asleep where you insert your bank card they had placed a piece of cardboard over the flashing yellow light up the street i could see the lights of the fast foods center it was still open or rather it is always open the fast foods center is a couple of planks on top of four bicycle wheels with glass on three sides and folded out ghee tin cans for a roof on a steel burner was a perfectly crafted mound of bright orange lentils the centre hollowed out where the lentils liquidized into dahl this was surrounded by deep fried samosas onion bhajees and sticky pointy sweets during the day he moves his cart up and down our street you know when he s coming because he rings a bell i don t think he s taken to me even when i read the nepali signs on the side of his cart that doesn t seem to impress him he beckoned me to sit down bas bas under the cart he keeps a number of blue and red plastic stools i was soon joined by four offduty barmen as they sat and relaxed i could see their shoulders shrink down two of them were giggling they told me they always get good tips from japanese women one winked at me it was probably best just to leave it at that we were handed small chrome saucers of dahl chickpeas and crushed red onions the sweet smell of the dahl reminded me of being a child back in glasgow and my mother s bright orange lentil soup why are you are always carrying a book i am learning about nepal is it making any sense not really in the middle of the street under the pipal tree three other barmen and a couple of cooks still with their tall white chefs hats on sat on the stone slabs of the chautara they were swinging their legs back and forward joking and slapping each other on the back no doubt glad another long day was over they flicked their cigarette butts into the gutter and ambled across to us ordering dahl and a side order of samosas our little gathering was turning into a convention for hospitality staff hey asked one of the new guys are you not fergoose rajiv s friend he s always asking about you and he s worried that he hadn t seen you for a couple of years fergoose that s why i prefer to be called fergie over here i told him i hadn t been able to come to nepal because my mother back in scotland had died earlier this year expired yeah i replied she left us back in march nepalese always say expired rather than died  we all fell silent only the hiss of the cart s hurricane lamp provided any sound then from the shadows just beyond the white glare of the lamp came a voice the circle is complete now your mother for a short time was a guest on this earth she s moved on  issue 3 f harvey anderson 