Outside the main entrance, vehicle movement is sporadic and Pradarshani Marg (Exhibition Road) seems to be enjoying lighter traffic than other evenings. [break] But on this side of the main entrance life is picking up, with the three who walked in earlier shelving their helmets and lazing out to a nearby fluorescent-lit hall.
One of them asks, “Will there be a game today?”
Zakaria Zainal/MyRepublica.com
6:30 and like streets waking up in the morning, a stall at Kathmandu Fun Park picks up pace. There are now six people inside as a young girl makes her way to the ticket counter and flashes out tickets and marker pens. Immediately, three people rise up from where they are sitting and hurry towards the counter. Another follows suit.
Ten minutes later, there is the buzz of a microphone testing as more people walk in through the side door and head for the ticket counter. Meanwhile, the first round of the evening is officially announced. “The game has begun,” says Karki as he lounges in one of the neat rows of empty plastic chairs, “Bingo is like a drug.”
6:40 and Kathmandu’s bingo enthusiasts find themselves scattered about with tickets and markers in their hands. Some braving the chill sit outside the hall while others shelter inside and in the cafeteria. As they keenly follow the random numbers being announced, our bingo players who come from different places and different age groups and occupations seem like cult followers.
“I have been coming here since 2054 [B.S.],” says Rajendra Baral, who used to be a regular. “Now, I come here thrice a week. It is a healthy way to kill time and make some money too,” he says as he pushes two chewing gums inside his mouth and adjusts woolen gloves. The numbers keep getting announced and Baral concentrates on the ticket.
“Bingo is better than casinos,” says Manoj Gurung, the man in charge of operations. “People don’t go bankrupt like they do in the casinos. Bingo has a limit and thus makes good entertainment,” he says as he inquires with his staff about live projection of the game on the wall. He adds, “There aren’t many options for Kathmanduites and lately we´ve had a lot of couples who are interested in the game.”
Begging anonymity, an army man who has come with his girlfriend says, “Initially, it was to kill time but now I am addicted.” The soldier adds, “Kathmandu does not offer enough recreation opportunities, and now there’s load shedding. Bingo is a good option for me and my friends.”
6:50 and Baral suddenly shouts out his claim and jumps off his chair. As the chair tumbles to the ground, he leaps towards the announcer and hands over his ticket. He wears a big smile, confident he’s won the first round, while other players comment on the remaining numbers that prevented them from claiming the game. Some remark, “Just three numbers.”
Zakaria Zainal/MyRepublica.com
Meanwhile, Baral collects Rs. 1,200 as his win. Tucking the money in his wallet, he says, “I´m going in for the second round.” The microphone alerts them to the beginning of the second round as Baral and others hurry to the ticket counter to buy a ticket for Rs. 100. The adrenaline is surely in the numbers on the tickets even as the number of players rise to 15. All of them, including the soldier’s girlfriend, buy tickets and sip warm cups of tea on the house.
6:55 and the second round starts. Players cock their ears and focus on the numbers again. “All kinds of people come for bingo. Some days, one can even spot newspaper vendors from Ratna Park trying their luck,” says Karki, “The turnout is huge on Saturdays when there are attractive bumper prizes and more players.”
6:59 and there’s a claim for the first line from someone in the front row. Baral sighs. A minute later, there’s a claim for the third line and the house starts to shout, “Snowball-snowball”. “If someone claims the game before 40 numbers are announced, it is a snowball,” says the soldier, “The player then wins Rs. 20,000, or if someone claims before 50 calls, he or she gets Rs. 3,500. But that’s rare.”
7:01 and three more people make their way in through the side exit. They’ve come to play too and there´s a claim in the house just then. This time it is the second line. Baral sighs again as he slaps his head. “Kasto tension bhayo (How stressed I feel),” he says as he gets his focus back on the numbers for the Full House claim, the final one.
Zakaria Zainal/MyRepublica.com
For seven minutes then, people shout out the numbers they wish were called. Scattered players yell their ups and downs as they scan the tickets for the numbers called. Baral is on a high. He wants to hear 42 called. Luck or not, the number is called but he is not the one who claims the game. Someone among the front row does so, to Baral’s disappointment. “Takdir can’t do, Kabhi Kathmandu, Kabhi Itthari (Oh! Fate),” he remarks as he takes out another Rs. 100 note for a third round.
Security guard Karki seems tired but smiles at what Baral just said. He carries his two little kids and moves out. The show must go on and the third round begins at 7:12. “Eighteen tickets have been sold,” says the girl as she shuts the ticket counter door, “Yesterday, we only had three people.”
