‘Poetry is like pooping. If it is in you it will come out’, said a young American poetess to an adulatory Nepalese audience at American embassy here a few years ago. A graduate of creative writing from an American university, she was promoting the course here among the wannabe Nepalese youth with some cash in their pockets. She was wearing a low cut blouse and a skirt. Her words ring often in my ears and make me shiver.