The Newari family with whom I reside consists of Mama and Papa Maharjan, three sons, and a daughter-in-law (note: the Newars are an ethnic caste that dominate the central hills of the Kathmandu Valley). The older sons are studying abroad while Niroj, age 19, flunked out and spends his days playing computer games and listening to heavy metal. At 21, Reena, the daughter-in-law, is the most hard-working soul I have ever met and gets up at 6am everyday to begin her inexorable routine of washing, cooking, gardening, and cleaning for the entire family. The father, a driver, is gone most of the day and the mother helps Reena or visits with her relatives.
All were overwhelmingly gracious and warm but let me have my space, expecting me to spend most of my time with other volunteers. It seems that, though many a foreigner has come and gone, most of the people in Chapagaon have had little to no contact with the outsiders. A majority of volunteers come in pairs or meet up with other American/Europeans and stick together. Luckily, I’m the only foreigner working at the PHCRC right now and had become desperate to make some human connections. Seeing this, Mama Maharjan began taking me with her to different family gatherings and Newari festivals.
These gatherings were, in hindsight, the turning point of my time here in Nepal. On Friday, I attended my first festival held in honor of the Hindu god, Vishnu and during the meal, I used my camera to get to know first the little children, then the adults, and finally the teens and twenty-somethings. By sunset, I’d met at least 40 uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, and grandchildren. I particularly bonded with two boys Sahil (19) and Milan (22), who could speak English well and were bewildered by this girl whose parents allowed her to traipse around the world alone. As I was getting ready to leave, Sahil’s little sisters, Rosie and Lileo, slipped their hands into mine and asked me to come and visit their home. There, I met their older sister, Sarita (26) as well as their parents and grandparents. After two cups of chiya and an hour of broken English, clumsy pantomime, and laughter, I found myself being invited to dine with them the next day and to
get my measurements taken so that Sarita, a dressmaker, could make me a special Newari sari. Needless to day, I was staggered by this wholehearted acceptance, especially when I woke up the next morning to the following text from Milan: Hi jeni godmoring r u wake up or not. Jeni u so good everybody love u 2much. Have a nice day.lov you
(Please note that boys here use “love” in a very unromantic context. It is not uncommon to see men walking hand-in-hand, and Milan refers to his affectionate and caring cousin Puru as his “romantic, love-brother.”)
Over the course of the weekend, I attended three more festivals with Niroj, Milan and Sahil and quickly began to regard them as my own brothers. At Jhatra (festival for Vishnu’s wife), Sahil bought me a carved necklace, Milan plied me with paan (sweet jellies/powders wrapped in betel leaf), and Niroj took us to various relatives’ homes to stuff ourselves with mouthwatering festival foods. These three helped me to integrate myself into the community and continue to take amazing care of me. For instance, I got this concerned text from Milanwithin hours of leaving for a weekend of sightseeing: Hi jeni r u easily reach there & how u feel, r u feeling tired, have u eat dinner or not. Two minutes later, I got this from Sahil: How was your day 2day.i think u r tired but however travelinz gud form of learning.miss your smile.
Even now, I marvel at the unabashedly sincere nature of the Nepalese. What was once a 10-minute walk home from work has now become at least 30-. Rosie’s mother insists on feeding me every time I pass by; random shopowners beckon me into their stores for a cup of chiya; old ladies bob their heads and smile toothlessly from rooftops; and boys gambling in the street holler “hello-howareyou-whereyougoing-comeplaywit’us.” Most amazingly, everyone seems to know my name. Children scream “Hi Jeni!” as I walk past their schools, and once a trucker whose face I didn’t recognize yelled out “Jeni, Namaste, remember me?” as he drove past. As if this wasn’t enough to make my “cup overfloweth,” I receive almost nightly calls from Sarita wishing me “good night and sweetie dream.” Never in a million years could I have foreseen this outpouring of love and affection; I feel so grateful and indebted to these people and have no idea how I am ever going to repay them for taking me under their wing.
All were overwhelmingly gracious and warm but let me have my space, expecting me to spend most of my time with other volunteers. It seems that, though many a foreigner has come and gone, most of the people in Chapagaon have had little to no contact with the outsiders. A majority of volunteers come in pairs or meet up with other American/Europeans and stick together. Luckily, I’m the only foreigner working at the PHCRC right now and had become desperate to make some human connections. Seeing this, Mama Maharjan began taking me with her to different family gatherings and Newari festivals.These gatherings were, in hindsight, the turning point of my time here in Nepal. On Friday, I attended my first festival held in honor of the Hindu god, Vishnu and during the meal, I used my camera to get to know first the little children, then the adults, and finally the teens and twenty-somethings. By sunset, I’d met at least 40 uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, and grandchildren. I particularly bonded with two boys Sahil (19) and Milan (22), who could speak English well and were bewildered by this girl whose parents allowed her to traipse around the world alone. As I was getting ready to leave, Sahil’s little sisters, Rosie and Lileo, slipped their hands into mine and asked me to come and visit their home. There, I met their older sister, Sarita (26) as well as their parents and grandparents. After two cups of chiya and an hour of broken English, clumsy pantomime, and laughter, I found myself being invited to dine with them the next day and to
get my measurements taken so that Sarita, a dressmaker, could make me a special Newari sari. Needless to day, I was staggered by this wholehearted acceptance, especially when I woke up the next morning to the following text from Milan: Hi jeni godmoring r u wake up or not. Jeni u so good everybody love u 2much. Have a nice day.lov you(Please note that boys here use “love” in a very unromantic context. It is not uncommon to see men walking hand-in-hand, and Milan refers to his affectionate and caring cousin Puru as his “romantic, love-brother.”)
Over the course of the weekend, I attended three more festivals with Niroj, Milan and Sahil and quickly began to regard them as my own brothers. At Jhatra (festival for Vishnu’s wife), Sahil bought me a carved necklace, Milan plied me with paan (sweet jellies/powders wrapped in betel leaf), and Niroj took us to various relatives’ homes to stuff ourselves with mouthwatering festival foods. These three helped me to integrate myself into the community and continue to take amazing care of me. For instance, I got this concerned text from Milanwithin hours of leaving for a weekend of sightseeing: Hi jeni r u easily reach there & how u feel, r u feeling tired, have u eat dinner or not. Two minutes later, I got this from Sahil: How was your day 2day.i think u r tired but however travelinz gud form of learning.miss your smile.
Even now, I marvel at the unabashedly sincere nature of the Nepalese. What was once a 10-minute walk home from work has now become at least 30-. Rosie’s mother insists on feeding me every time I pass by; random shopowners beckon me into their stores for a cup of chiya; old ladies bob their heads and smile toothlessly from rooftops; and boys gambling in the street holler “hello-howareyou-whereyougoing-comeplaywit’us.” Most amazingly, everyone seems to know my name. Children scream “Hi Jeni!” as I walk past their schools, and once a trucker whose face I didn’t recognize yelled out “Jeni, Namaste, remember me?” as he drove past. As if this wasn’t enough to make my “cup overfloweth,” I receive almost nightly calls from Sarita wishing me “good night and sweetie dream.” Never in a million years could I have foreseen this outpouring of love and affection; I feel so grateful and indebted to these people and have no idea how I am ever going to repay them for taking me under their wing.
ahahahah this post is too hilarious seriously.
ReplyDelete"make my 'cup overfloweth'" - these people you're working around sound so wonderful.