There is a certain excitement in the air these days. The great festival of Dewali is approaching and people are stocking up on ghee lamps and lights to brighten their homes at night, they are buying fruit and walnuts to give in exchange for tikka and blessings given by older sisters, and every once in a while a fire cracker goes off in impatient anticipation for the week of celebration to come.
Yesterday evening I sat by the neighborhood Mandir (hindu temple) where neighbors gathered for the weekly singing and dancing session. They sing songs to different gods with harmonium, tabla, another drum, and chimes. Many people sing along and old women dance and clap with great joy radiating from their faces. The singer, a skinny guy in his 50s probably, has a great voice that effortlessly weaves through complex melodies nuanced with tones foreign but so sweet to my western ear. One song ended with a small chant of oooommmm, oooommmn, ooommm, and then chia (chai tea) was served and people were just really having a great time. Those who tried to leave were forced to stay and drink tea, eat biscuits and shoot the breeze during that auspicious time just following the sunset. I thought of church groups in the States and other communities that get together to sing. I tried to think about how this was different but I cant really say. People in their own neighborhood and culture getting together to make merry.
This morning after the breakfast I went to go play basketball at a court hosted by a library / community center not to far from my house. On the way i passe by the Lama Family fruit stand unusually loaded with goods. As always I was invited to sit offered a banana or papaya. Its hard to say no to such offers, but they come so readily from these great friends that it wasn't too difficult to just sit for a minute and then be on my way. Basketball was alot of fun and I hope to make a habit of it. But school starts again after Tihar, so I will have to figure out the right time to go.
After a few games of 21 with guys ranging from 10 years old to late twenties, i noticed a Community health clinic just there next to the court. In the evening time this court also becomes a bustling bazaar with full layouts of produce on the carpets and people selling right out of their basket outfitted bicycles they ride around yelling what they are carrying- fruit, garlic, ginger, potatoes, maybe milk. The health clinic was closed at the time so i went upstairs where their is a government office that deals with water issues.
There people told the clinic would open in 20 minutes, so I should sit down. I was talking in half Nepali half English with a young Nepali guy who had recently returned from Australia where he is a student of business. He said if the political situation of his country did not improve he would surely take his family there to live. After talking a bit longer I found out that his father had just recently died. His father had diabetes along with high blood pressure and other related health problems. His father had eye problems, kidney problems and leg problems. In the US diabetes is the leading cause of both blindness and limb amputations. Another woman in the office herself had high blood pressure and was worried about a chance of having diabetes. Her husband suffers from the disease. She was very curious about what foods he should be eating because she said their doctor had not said very much about this.
Recently i have been reading a couple different books about diabetes and food. One book called "Syndrome X" claims that the introduction of processed foods in conjunction with a sedentary lifestyle is the cause of insulin resistance. This insulin resistance, caused mostly by overloading the system with simple carbohydrates, then is directly related to a series of symptoms including hypertension (high blood pressure), irregular blood fat levels, obesity, and glucose intolerance all of which induce diabetes and heart disease if not treated by adequate exercise and a diet which the human body is adapted for, namely a diet of unprocessed, unrefined whole foods.
Other books I have read are much more reluctant to even mention the phrases "whole" or "processed" foods. Even books released by The Johns Hopkins medical group or other big names will rather suggest 'counting carbs' regardless of the form of those carbohydrates. In such books diabetes is noted as one of the leading causes heart related illness, but the two issues are still compartmentalized and treated separately. One such book talks alot about the importance of legumes and fiber in the diet and also includes a large recipe section. The recipe for the bean soup is very hard to find and calls for mostly canned or frozen ingredients. Much more prominent in the recipe section of the book are recipes to appease the diabetic sweet tooth. This includes recipes for brownies and cup cakes all of which call for crysco, artificial sweeteners, and processed flours. I cant help but notice how these books might be purposefully trying to depoliticize the issue of health by ignoring the issue of processed foods as harmful.
Meeting diabetics in Nepal is not hard and I think my research has alot of potential to investigate the links between development, change in diet and diabetes. The holiday season is just ending now so I will finally get the chance to meet with professors and doctors to talk about the issues and get some guidance in this research project which weaves together immense fields of medical and social studies.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Lama Family Series, Entry #1
A couple minute walk down the street and just across from the Bhaatbhaateni mandir (Hindu temple) is a small shop that sells fresh fruits and vegetables and also makes fresh squeezed juices of pomegranate, pineapple and sweet lime. I remember the first time buying a couple pomegranates from the didis (older sisters) there and receiving the kindest smiles and encouraging remarks on how good these pomegranates were. I ensured them that if they were indeed good I would be back for more. That was a month ago and today the family that owns the shop has become my closest Nepali friends here in Kathmandu. I never seem to go a day without seeing them, and they become concerned if for whatever reason I don’t pick up my phone or don’t make it to their shop until later in the day. The way they have included me in their circle of friends and family is an incredible thing, and I will be forever grateful to them. It is now the holiday season so meeting with professors and other professionals to really get my diabetes reasearch going headstrong has been hard. In another week or so the holiday season will be wrapping up and i will find better direction within my proposed research field.
Spending time with the Lama family has given me an up close and personal experience from which I have learned so much about not only the intricacies of their family’s situation, but the general shared experience of Nepalis. They have opened up to me in ways I would have never imagined and treated me like family. I would like to share some of my experiences with them and their story that they have shared with me. This story has given me such a great insight into a sliver of contemporary Nepal. I say ‘a sliver’ because this is only one family of one ethnic group of a richly heterogeneous country. However going deeply into one story I think sheds light on thousands of others which have mismatching and overlapping shared experiences in this country and abroad.
After buying fruit from the shop a few more times, they started inviting me to sit and chat each time I cam by. One of the brothers, Rajan Lama Tamang, who is also in the family and works there is a very energetic, friendly guy who is also quite effeminate and a funny character. After chatting for a while one time with Rajan and his two older sisters Sharmilla and Besanti I learned that Rajan was headed for Dubai in two days. Despite this they invited me over for dinner the next day, I would eat there and they would also show me around Shwayambu (an incredible Buddhist Stuppa near their apartment).
That next day Jon and I had plans to go to Kajan Gumpa (another Bhuddhist temple) with a friend who works at the organic store nearby that sells organic, fair trade, and locally produced food and household items. So after going to Kajan Gumpa, seeing a beautiful view of the valley and walking through some of the more agricultural, smaller villages in the Kathmandu Valley, we were met again by the looming city where we took a bus to Swayambu and waited for Rajan to come pick us up. We waited as they instructed by the police station across from the entrance to the temple. But after an hour of confused phone calls and waiting, we learned that there are two entrances and two police stations so we took a cab to the other side of the enormous stuppa were we met Rajan and walked over to his family’s place.
The Lama (last name implying Buddhist monk) family stays in a typical city apartment building/house and just have two small, simple rooms. The rest of the house has other people living in it from their village a couple hours away- so their community stays together. Their family is huge, and at the time I couldn’t quite understand who was who but it don’t think it quite mattered. Informally, the word for cousin and brother / sister are the same (you call strangers brother / sister also). Rajan’s parents had seven children who now have children of their own.
In their apartment in Kathmandu there is a stereo and a TV that was on a lot- mostly showing music videos of American, Hindi and Nepali music. Nepali music videos are quite sappy with shots of people singing and dancing with the backdrop of beautiful terraced Himalayan foothills, others imitate western hip hop with girls ‘bumpin’ and grinding’ and guys in hip hop dressed flashing hand symbols. Hindi music videos are usually scenes of exotic women being admired by men in packed disco clubs.
They sat Jon (my roommate) and I down and offered us tea, roksi (locally made hard liquor), and snacks of cucumber, radish and peanuts while we waited for dinner- usually not eaten at their place until late, 9 or 10pm. There were a few younger boys, both students, one of them the ‘trickster’ who was too shy to showoff at the time, and a younger girl in the eighth grade. This girl spoke the best English of anyone in the family- she studied in a private school and apparently was at the top of her class studying on a scholarship (all free) and hoping to be a doctor I believe. The aamaa (mother of Rajan and grandmother of the younger kids) had just got in from the village and would be staying a few days in the city to see a doctor for her hurting leg. Dressed in traditional Nepali garb, she smoked cigarettes in the sitting room with everyone around and looked on silently as everyone did their thing. So we chatted with everyone, learning about the village and the city life. With their fruit and vegetable shop, very often they have to wake up at four or five in the morning to go to the wholesaler and buy produce before making it to the shop on the other side of town and have it open by seven. Then they work all day until 7 and come home and do it again.
Rajan’s bai (younger brother) is in a Tamang hip hop group (whose album release program I recently attended as a guest of honor!- quite an experience to see these guys rapping and such with an audience ranging from grandmothers in traditional Tibetan attire to every day local Nepalis) and dresses fully decked out with G-Unit brand cloths, a dew rag, baseball cap with the shiny sticker and all. I got to see some of this guy's break-dancing moves which I was quite impressed by. They also had a didi (older sister) who once also in the Nepali pop music industry and who I saw in one music video and a poster they have hanging in one of their rooms.
One of their bais (younger brother) is a Lama, studying as a Buddhist monk as I had been told one day in the shop. While we were snacking, he came through fully garbed in his red monk garb and didn’t really say hello, he had an electronic gadget he was playing with which emanated the sounds of Nintendo Mario Brothers. He was probably 17 years old and I learned is also really into youth Nepali hip hop culture; apparently on some of his free days he will get out of his monk attire, get decked out in some baggy hip hop style clothes and go to the clubs in the city to rap, dance and chill. Another older brother, a bit fat and quite heavy set, speaking a good amount of sloppy English with alcohol reeking breath, is a taxi cab driver and has been one for many years- mostly for tourists he said.
We ate a fabulous meal of dal-bat (rice, lentil soup and veggies) with goat meat as well. Apparently they don’t like goat meat all that much- they would prefer water buffalo or chicken- but I had once said I like goat meat, so they cooked it just for us. Everything was delicious, but the meat was especially flavorful and rich- an incredible curry broth. The only difficulty is that goat meat is ordinarily butchered here with everything intact. Of course the organs and what not are separated out, but the meat is attached to bones, tendons, fat, and fairly thick skin. But this is customary, so I just chewed through it all putting only the bones back on the plate.
After we had finished eating and talking for a bit my roommate Jon was busy learning about Ayruvedic medicine and herbal plants from everyone in the family(who has at least some knowledge about such things). I was just sitting and chatting, greatly entertained by the hosts who were great jokers and laughers full of sass, sarcasm and love for one another. Soon it was 10 pm and time to start getting ready to sleep. It appeared as though it was being assumed we would sleep there that night. Jon said he had some work he needed to do the next morning. One didi said she would be going to Bhatbateni early, so we could just go with her, but Jon insisted it would be easier for him to leave now. But taxis, they said, were not really available at this hour. So they spent the next 20 minutes on the phone finding a friend taxi driver to take Jon home. I figured I would take their invitation and not be in a hurry to get back home. I made sure to ask of course that I was not disturbing anything, especially because Rajan would be leaving for Dubai the next day and maybe wanted family time. They said “what disturbing?” as though there was no such thing.
People started getting in their beds which had acted as couches and benches just minutes before. In the kitchen probably 6 people slept, in the sitting room maybe 7 or 8- four or five on mattresses on the floor, and in the room I was in four slept including myself. There really is no such thing as personal privacy in Nepali culture. No one has ‘their own room’ or hardly even their own bed. The room I is rented by some college students who are not blood relatives, just friends by default of proximity. After playing some music and singing songs in Nepali and English alike (they especially loved hearing me sing the Nepali songs I know and a flamenco rendition of Hotel California- the most infamous American song in Nepal) I undressed to my boxers and said goodnight. Rajan was in the bed with me and two other guys shared the other bed in the room. The fluorescent light was on, one guy was playing a mini electronic keyboard and the other talking loudly. When one of them finally got up to turn off the light 15 minutes later he asked me why I wasn’t asleep, seeming confused.
It took me a while to fall asleep, Rajan was coughing and I was nervous and uncomfortable. I suppose I was not used to sharing a tiny bed with another guy that I hardly know, but to them all of this is completely normal. It really shows how family and community are at the center of life here. The individual is nothing without the family and the group and the way many people live here really embodies this sentiment. “One spit dries quickly, a thousand spits forms a river” a Nepali saying goes.
The next morning I woke up and sat in the sitting room where people were getting ready for the day. One of the didis that works at the produce shop had said she would be leaving at 5 am but it was already 7:30, plans change, things are relaxed- her sister was there so she would go with me and Rajan after we ate dalbat a bit later. I sipped some chia (tea) and then was fed chow-chow (Ramen-like noodles popular for kajaa (non rice meals/snacks)). I watched as all the young students ironed their clothes for the day, they had to be presentable to be allowed in the private school. They studies for their exams that day by repeating monotone phrases they had memorized in an English language hardly decipherable to me, whether or not they actually understood what they were saying is debatable.
Rajan and I left and he showed me around the Swayambu Buddhist stuppa. At the top of 365 steps leading up through the forest is an incredible temple and worship place with a great view of the capital city below as well. The place seems so old, and so well used with hundreds of people coming everyday to worship and tour. We circled around spinning the wheels with ‘om mani paame hum’ inscribed on them which were implanted into the main temple. Rajan explains that he spins the wheel to relieve sadness and tension in the heart, to ask for a life of peace and to make good karma. We saw the monkeys jumping from goddess statue to rooftop and we saw vendors selling incense, and jewelry, beads, ornate miniature statues, singing bowls, and so on to locals and tourists alike. We went inside the monastery where Rajan’s little brother studies and stays and went inside a private prayer room where we made offerings of rupees. Rajan bowed and prayed to a golden Buddhist statue kept encased by glass. Then we paid rupees to light three ghee (clarified butter) candles each in a room radiating heat and light and a pleasant aroma from the hundreds of glowing candles inside.
We walked under hundreds of Tibetan prayer flags hung from temple tops to tree branches. Each flag hung as a prayer for a family member or for peaceful dwelling. The flags swayed gently in the wind, the whole place emanated a rare sense of calm and peace. We came to the other side of the hilltop where there were monks chanting and playing their drums and blasting their horns and konk shells in a way that, although sounds chaotic, loud, screechy and very strange, is actually quite enjoyable and mesmerizing.
We walked down through the forest and saw monkeys picking out little bugs from each other's fur with lightning speed. We passed students walking on their way to school and Rajan told me this was a popular place for college sweethearts to meet. Down at the bottom again, we circled around the entire base of the stuppa, spinning the hundreds of prayer wheels embedded in a wall the whole way around. On the path we walked by people living in nearby shacks of plastic and sticks begging for money and we passed by people castrating themselves by bowing all the way down to the ground, laying belly down, and then pushing and standing back up over and over again countless times in worship. We talked about karma, bhuddism, and his life.
Rajan began telling me parts of his life story, which is becoming more full and clear to me each day. He has been through a lot and yet still remains incredibly positive and joyful. I hope to share a lot of that story here but it may take some time. Rajan is the most educated person in his entire family history having studying one year in college and then having to quit for work and money. Of his peers in his home village, he is one of three to be educated past what is available locally and he says most of his friends are married with children. He is 22, like me, and says that marriage at 15 or 16 is not uncommon in rural areas. While walking around the stuppa spinning the prayer wheels I remember him communicating some of his troubles, how his family has the produce shop but it is not enough for a modern life of buying food, paying for gas, water, clothes, books, hospital trips and so on. Rajan and his family struggle living a poor, hard life and Rajan often carries with him the stress and tension that this life induced upon him he says. So Rajan is on his way to Dubai to make money, travel and see other parts of the world and then what he cant say. He hopes for more education and the ability to bring greater opportunity to his family and fellow Nepalis.
We got back to the flat and had a meal of dal bat- incredibly delicious once more. Rajan had some work to do near the produce shop in Bhaatbhateni for his plane ticket, one of the other sisters was sick and thinking about going to the hospital, so the four of us needed a bus or taxi to get across town.
After walking a block from the apartment we hopped over a long pit being dug in the road- some kind of plumbing work maybe. Next we walked passed a plume of black smoke, the hot day was hotter next to a burning tire in the middle of the road. Continuing along, a few young men walked by dragging large smoldering logs behind them which left a smeared, charred black sooty trail behind. At the next intersection was a thick bamboo pole across the whole width of the road, a couple large pieces of cement had been placed there as well. This is how we found the city for the next 45 minutes as we walked toward Bhatbhateni- where their shop is and my flat.
That day there was a baanda, and so it would not be possible to take a taxi or bus. But walking through the city that day, I felt as though I experienced what it was like here thirty years ago, before the streets were overflowing with constantly honking, swerving, exhaust blowing automobiles. It was a nice walk and the city was quiet for once. The only other time you don’t hear traffic is early in the morning or late at night.
We walked through Asan- a very old part of the city where there is a huge busy bazaar- street vendors and shops selling all sorts of household goods and foods- almost everything what shut down. As we had walked I saw people posting up signs written in Sanskrit, I can’t read that too well yet (I still have to slowly sound it out like a first grader) but I got the jist from talking to people.
The baanda that day came from the Newaris. They have a certain festival they have been celebrating annually for thousands of years and it involves animal sacrifice, dancing, feasting, singing and so on. In the recent budget proposal from the Maoist government they felt their minority group was not well enough represented because their ancient festival was not getting enough funding. So most of the city was shut down, the next day the budget was reappraised and the Newaris got their funding.
When we got to a more open part of the city I was up on a pedestrian bridge when I saw a group of several dozen people marching down the street screaming “haamro sanskriti, haamro desh!”- “our culture, our country!” and some other things I didn’t understand. Just beneath where I was, I saw a mob of people form around an army officer on a motorcycle. They surrounded him and started throwing rocks and hitting him for no apparent reason that I could notice. Then a nearby group of police fully dressed with riot shields and batons broke up the mob and they continued down the street. Then the police seemed to say that the crowd couldn’t go the way they wanted so for a few minutes they negotiated and the crowd got their way and they marched along chanting “our culture, our country”, the riot police marched along side the crowd.
Not too far away we were able to catch a bus and we crammed into an impossibly tight squeeze. We made it to the produce shop and they fed me bananas, papaya and carrots as usual. Rajan met his other sister at the office for his travel business, and I found out later in the day that Rajan would not be leaving for Dubai for another month. Rajan was supposed to be leaving with a group of 10 other Nepalis, but with their big Nepali festival of Dossain coming up and the current festival of Ramadan in the Middle East, the journey had been postponed. “No big deal, just a month, plans change, things are relaxed.”
Spending time with the Lama family has given me an up close and personal experience from which I have learned so much about not only the intricacies of their family’s situation, but the general shared experience of Nepalis. They have opened up to me in ways I would have never imagined and treated me like family. I would like to share some of my experiences with them and their story that they have shared with me. This story has given me such a great insight into a sliver of contemporary Nepal. I say ‘a sliver’ because this is only one family of one ethnic group of a richly heterogeneous country. However going deeply into one story I think sheds light on thousands of others which have mismatching and overlapping shared experiences in this country and abroad.
After buying fruit from the shop a few more times, they started inviting me to sit and chat each time I cam by. One of the brothers, Rajan Lama Tamang, who is also in the family and works there is a very energetic, friendly guy who is also quite effeminate and a funny character. After chatting for a while one time with Rajan and his two older sisters Sharmilla and Besanti I learned that Rajan was headed for Dubai in two days. Despite this they invited me over for dinner the next day, I would eat there and they would also show me around Shwayambu (an incredible Buddhist Stuppa near their apartment).
That next day Jon and I had plans to go to Kajan Gumpa (another Bhuddhist temple) with a friend who works at the organic store nearby that sells organic, fair trade, and locally produced food and household items. So after going to Kajan Gumpa, seeing a beautiful view of the valley and walking through some of the more agricultural, smaller villages in the Kathmandu Valley, we were met again by the looming city where we took a bus to Swayambu and waited for Rajan to come pick us up. We waited as they instructed by the police station across from the entrance to the temple. But after an hour of confused phone calls and waiting, we learned that there are two entrances and two police stations so we took a cab to the other side of the enormous stuppa were we met Rajan and walked over to his family’s place.
The Lama (last name implying Buddhist monk) family stays in a typical city apartment building/house and just have two small, simple rooms. The rest of the house has other people living in it from their village a couple hours away- so their community stays together. Their family is huge, and at the time I couldn’t quite understand who was who but it don’t think it quite mattered. Informally, the word for cousin and brother / sister are the same (you call strangers brother / sister also). Rajan’s parents had seven children who now have children of their own.
In their apartment in Kathmandu there is a stereo and a TV that was on a lot- mostly showing music videos of American, Hindi and Nepali music. Nepali music videos are quite sappy with shots of people singing and dancing with the backdrop of beautiful terraced Himalayan foothills, others imitate western hip hop with girls ‘bumpin’ and grinding’ and guys in hip hop dressed flashing hand symbols. Hindi music videos are usually scenes of exotic women being admired by men in packed disco clubs.
They sat Jon (my roommate) and I down and offered us tea, roksi (locally made hard liquor), and snacks of cucumber, radish and peanuts while we waited for dinner- usually not eaten at their place until late, 9 or 10pm. There were a few younger boys, both students, one of them the ‘trickster’ who was too shy to showoff at the time, and a younger girl in the eighth grade. This girl spoke the best English of anyone in the family- she studied in a private school and apparently was at the top of her class studying on a scholarship (all free) and hoping to be a doctor I believe. The aamaa (mother of Rajan and grandmother of the younger kids) had just got in from the village and would be staying a few days in the city to see a doctor for her hurting leg. Dressed in traditional Nepali garb, she smoked cigarettes in the sitting room with everyone around and looked on silently as everyone did their thing. So we chatted with everyone, learning about the village and the city life. With their fruit and vegetable shop, very often they have to wake up at four or five in the morning to go to the wholesaler and buy produce before making it to the shop on the other side of town and have it open by seven. Then they work all day until 7 and come home and do it again.
Rajan’s bai (younger brother) is in a Tamang hip hop group (whose album release program I recently attended as a guest of honor!- quite an experience to see these guys rapping and such with an audience ranging from grandmothers in traditional Tibetan attire to every day local Nepalis) and dresses fully decked out with G-Unit brand cloths, a dew rag, baseball cap with the shiny sticker and all. I got to see some of this guy's break-dancing moves which I was quite impressed by. They also had a didi (older sister) who once also in the Nepali pop music industry and who I saw in one music video and a poster they have hanging in one of their rooms.
One of their bais (younger brother) is a Lama, studying as a Buddhist monk as I had been told one day in the shop. While we were snacking, he came through fully garbed in his red monk garb and didn’t really say hello, he had an electronic gadget he was playing with which emanated the sounds of Nintendo Mario Brothers. He was probably 17 years old and I learned is also really into youth Nepali hip hop culture; apparently on some of his free days he will get out of his monk attire, get decked out in some baggy hip hop style clothes and go to the clubs in the city to rap, dance and chill. Another older brother, a bit fat and quite heavy set, speaking a good amount of sloppy English with alcohol reeking breath, is a taxi cab driver and has been one for many years- mostly for tourists he said.
We ate a fabulous meal of dal-bat (rice, lentil soup and veggies) with goat meat as well. Apparently they don’t like goat meat all that much- they would prefer water buffalo or chicken- but I had once said I like goat meat, so they cooked it just for us. Everything was delicious, but the meat was especially flavorful and rich- an incredible curry broth. The only difficulty is that goat meat is ordinarily butchered here with everything intact. Of course the organs and what not are separated out, but the meat is attached to bones, tendons, fat, and fairly thick skin. But this is customary, so I just chewed through it all putting only the bones back on the plate.
After we had finished eating and talking for a bit my roommate Jon was busy learning about Ayruvedic medicine and herbal plants from everyone in the family(who has at least some knowledge about such things). I was just sitting and chatting, greatly entertained by the hosts who were great jokers and laughers full of sass, sarcasm and love for one another. Soon it was 10 pm and time to start getting ready to sleep. It appeared as though it was being assumed we would sleep there that night. Jon said he had some work he needed to do the next morning. One didi said she would be going to Bhatbateni early, so we could just go with her, but Jon insisted it would be easier for him to leave now. But taxis, they said, were not really available at this hour. So they spent the next 20 minutes on the phone finding a friend taxi driver to take Jon home. I figured I would take their invitation and not be in a hurry to get back home. I made sure to ask of course that I was not disturbing anything, especially because Rajan would be leaving for Dubai the next day and maybe wanted family time. They said “what disturbing?” as though there was no such thing.
People started getting in their beds which had acted as couches and benches just minutes before. In the kitchen probably 6 people slept, in the sitting room maybe 7 or 8- four or five on mattresses on the floor, and in the room I was in four slept including myself. There really is no such thing as personal privacy in Nepali culture. No one has ‘their own room’ or hardly even their own bed. The room I is rented by some college students who are not blood relatives, just friends by default of proximity. After playing some music and singing songs in Nepali and English alike (they especially loved hearing me sing the Nepali songs I know and a flamenco rendition of Hotel California- the most infamous American song in Nepal) I undressed to my boxers and said goodnight. Rajan was in the bed with me and two other guys shared the other bed in the room. The fluorescent light was on, one guy was playing a mini electronic keyboard and the other talking loudly. When one of them finally got up to turn off the light 15 minutes later he asked me why I wasn’t asleep, seeming confused.
It took me a while to fall asleep, Rajan was coughing and I was nervous and uncomfortable. I suppose I was not used to sharing a tiny bed with another guy that I hardly know, but to them all of this is completely normal. It really shows how family and community are at the center of life here. The individual is nothing without the family and the group and the way many people live here really embodies this sentiment. “One spit dries quickly, a thousand spits forms a river” a Nepali saying goes.
The next morning I woke up and sat in the sitting room where people were getting ready for the day. One of the didis that works at the produce shop had said she would be leaving at 5 am but it was already 7:30, plans change, things are relaxed- her sister was there so she would go with me and Rajan after we ate dalbat a bit later. I sipped some chia (tea) and then was fed chow-chow (Ramen-like noodles popular for kajaa (non rice meals/snacks)). I watched as all the young students ironed their clothes for the day, they had to be presentable to be allowed in the private school. They studies for their exams that day by repeating monotone phrases they had memorized in an English language hardly decipherable to me, whether or not they actually understood what they were saying is debatable.
Rajan and I left and he showed me around the Swayambu Buddhist stuppa. At the top of 365 steps leading up through the forest is an incredible temple and worship place with a great view of the capital city below as well. The place seems so old, and so well used with hundreds of people coming everyday to worship and tour. We circled around spinning the wheels with ‘om mani paame hum’ inscribed on them which were implanted into the main temple. Rajan explains that he spins the wheel to relieve sadness and tension in the heart, to ask for a life of peace and to make good karma. We saw the monkeys jumping from goddess statue to rooftop and we saw vendors selling incense, and jewelry, beads, ornate miniature statues, singing bowls, and so on to locals and tourists alike. We went inside the monastery where Rajan’s little brother studies and stays and went inside a private prayer room where we made offerings of rupees. Rajan bowed and prayed to a golden Buddhist statue kept encased by glass. Then we paid rupees to light three ghee (clarified butter) candles each in a room radiating heat and light and a pleasant aroma from the hundreds of glowing candles inside.
We walked under hundreds of Tibetan prayer flags hung from temple tops to tree branches. Each flag hung as a prayer for a family member or for peaceful dwelling. The flags swayed gently in the wind, the whole place emanated a rare sense of calm and peace. We came to the other side of the hilltop where there were monks chanting and playing their drums and blasting their horns and konk shells in a way that, although sounds chaotic, loud, screechy and very strange, is actually quite enjoyable and mesmerizing.
We walked down through the forest and saw monkeys picking out little bugs from each other's fur with lightning speed. We passed students walking on their way to school and Rajan told me this was a popular place for college sweethearts to meet. Down at the bottom again, we circled around the entire base of the stuppa, spinning the hundreds of prayer wheels embedded in a wall the whole way around. On the path we walked by people living in nearby shacks of plastic and sticks begging for money and we passed by people castrating themselves by bowing all the way down to the ground, laying belly down, and then pushing and standing back up over and over again countless times in worship. We talked about karma, bhuddism, and his life.
Rajan began telling me parts of his life story, which is becoming more full and clear to me each day. He has been through a lot and yet still remains incredibly positive and joyful. I hope to share a lot of that story here but it may take some time. Rajan is the most educated person in his entire family history having studying one year in college and then having to quit for work and money. Of his peers in his home village, he is one of three to be educated past what is available locally and he says most of his friends are married with children. He is 22, like me, and says that marriage at 15 or 16 is not uncommon in rural areas. While walking around the stuppa spinning the prayer wheels I remember him communicating some of his troubles, how his family has the produce shop but it is not enough for a modern life of buying food, paying for gas, water, clothes, books, hospital trips and so on. Rajan and his family struggle living a poor, hard life and Rajan often carries with him the stress and tension that this life induced upon him he says. So Rajan is on his way to Dubai to make money, travel and see other parts of the world and then what he cant say. He hopes for more education and the ability to bring greater opportunity to his family and fellow Nepalis.
We got back to the flat and had a meal of dal bat- incredibly delicious once more. Rajan had some work to do near the produce shop in Bhaatbhateni for his plane ticket, one of the other sisters was sick and thinking about going to the hospital, so the four of us needed a bus or taxi to get across town.
After walking a block from the apartment we hopped over a long pit being dug in the road- some kind of plumbing work maybe. Next we walked passed a plume of black smoke, the hot day was hotter next to a burning tire in the middle of the road. Continuing along, a few young men walked by dragging large smoldering logs behind them which left a smeared, charred black sooty trail behind. At the next intersection was a thick bamboo pole across the whole width of the road, a couple large pieces of cement had been placed there as well. This is how we found the city for the next 45 minutes as we walked toward Bhatbhateni- where their shop is and my flat.
That day there was a baanda, and so it would not be possible to take a taxi or bus. But walking through the city that day, I felt as though I experienced what it was like here thirty years ago, before the streets were overflowing with constantly honking, swerving, exhaust blowing automobiles. It was a nice walk and the city was quiet for once. The only other time you don’t hear traffic is early in the morning or late at night.
We walked through Asan- a very old part of the city where there is a huge busy bazaar- street vendors and shops selling all sorts of household goods and foods- almost everything what shut down. As we had walked I saw people posting up signs written in Sanskrit, I can’t read that too well yet (I still have to slowly sound it out like a first grader) but I got the jist from talking to people.
The baanda that day came from the Newaris. They have a certain festival they have been celebrating annually for thousands of years and it involves animal sacrifice, dancing, feasting, singing and so on. In the recent budget proposal from the Maoist government they felt their minority group was not well enough represented because their ancient festival was not getting enough funding. So most of the city was shut down, the next day the budget was reappraised and the Newaris got their funding.
When we got to a more open part of the city I was up on a pedestrian bridge when I saw a group of several dozen people marching down the street screaming “haamro sanskriti, haamro desh!”- “our culture, our country!” and some other things I didn’t understand. Just beneath where I was, I saw a mob of people form around an army officer on a motorcycle. They surrounded him and started throwing rocks and hitting him for no apparent reason that I could notice. Then a nearby group of police fully dressed with riot shields and batons broke up the mob and they continued down the street. Then the police seemed to say that the crowd couldn’t go the way they wanted so for a few minutes they negotiated and the crowd got their way and they marched along chanting “our culture, our country”, the riot police marched along side the crowd.
Not too far away we were able to catch a bus and we crammed into an impossibly tight squeeze. We made it to the produce shop and they fed me bananas, papaya and carrots as usual. Rajan met his other sister at the office for his travel business, and I found out later in the day that Rajan would not be leaving for Dubai for another month. Rajan was supposed to be leaving with a group of 10 other Nepalis, but with their big Nepali festival of Dossain coming up and the current festival of Ramadan in the Middle East, the journey had been postponed. “No big deal, just a month, plans change, things are relaxed.”
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