First Impressions

Tibetan stupa in the old part of KTM

Date: June 19th, 2009

I have been in Kathmandu now for just over two weeks, which feels like a lifetime. A disclaimer here on my choice of phrasing: It is usual when one refers to a relatively short period spent somewhere as an era in and of itself that it denotes a negative experience. It is not the case here; merely I feel more has been crammed into this fortnight spent in the cradle of the Himalayas than I realized time passed. In its signification as my first travels to the Asian continent, coming to Nepal has been an awakening, though one more akin to a hazy, groggy, too-early-in-the-morning-bereft-of-coffee sort. In other words, the wealth of new encounters is still tempered by discombobulation.

Last week I was wracked with ‘Kathmandu belly,’ and spent two days sprinting between bed and bathroom, wracked with nausea of the head and queasiness of the bowels; a generic ‘rights of passage’ (no pun intended) for being in Nepal. The rest of the students had by that time arrived, and the week was spent coming to terms with our new situation as adoptees in Nepali families, and adjusting to the pace at which things happen (or don’t) in this country. We have all had to readjust where and with whom we will be interning, due to misunderstandings on both sides. Similar to the attitude found in Caribbean climes, punctuality and a strive to conduct business in a timely manner are scarce in Nepal. “Boli, boli,” they say, meaning “Tomorrow, tomorrow.” So I return to my home stay, where I am living with a mellow older couple (and my host father’s older sister) who occupy the top 2 floors of a house in a central neighborhood of the city. Fed breakfast and dinner, I am fortunately left to my own devices at other times; a blessing compared to some of my fellow New School classmates who are woken up at dawn, and forced to iterate all the movements to their host mothers, many with grown children and deep ennui who relish having something to do and someone to take care of. I am left to sit on the roof garden and gaze at the distant hills, watch old reruns of television shows on my laptop, read and nap.

I find it difficult to spend time wandering about the city, much to the dismay of my New York-er restless feet. However, the heat coupled with belching black exhaust from so many vehicles alongside the complete disregard for the environment means being outside for any extended period of time can be unbearable. To cope I wear a blue bandana around my face, resembling a robust, white, female version of Subcomandante Marcos.

Desperate to escape the cloying confines of the city, last Saturday I joined our group coordinator and all around awesome person Anshu on a motorcycle trip to the hills north of Kathmandu. A devotee of Osho (a philosophical/spiritual leader who was apparently one of the most photographed faces of the 20th century), Anshu travels weekly to a yoga and meditation retreat center about 15 miles from the city, but a million more in terms of the peace and tranquility of the environs. Saturdays at Osho Tapoban Center are open to the public, so I was welcomed to join in on their morning ‘dynamic meditation.’ Curious to participate in any form of Eastern practice, I donned my maroon pashmina, and stood with about 25 others in a wide open hall, and danced to what I am limited to describe as South Asian club music. During dynamic meditation, one is meant to let go of self-conscious behavior and dance to your heart’s content. There were people whooping and yelling and running jumping boogy-ing all over the place, oblivious to their fellow ‘meditators’ and lost in the beat. During the middle of the song, then, the music stops; you are meant to freeze in position and be conscious of your body, your thoughts and your feelings. As you can imagine, this entails the being aware of the strangeness of one’s dance moves, the sweat running down your back, the euphoria of dance in and of itself, and the random thoughts that drift through the mind. This continues for an hour, and upon completion I lay down and conked out. The rest of the day was spent wandering through the grounds, and relishing being able to take a deep breath and smell trees, not trash. I’ve decided that my sanity will be saved by getting out of Kathmandu at least once a week.

Monday I ate two bags of potato chips washed down with a warm Pepsi. This poor diet (sorry Mom) was a necessity caused by the closure of all businesses (bar tiny neighborhood shops) due to a valley-wide bandh; one of frequent strikes called by various factions to ostensibly garner political attention to a cause. I say ostensibly, because it seems that every other day a bandh is called somewhere in Nepal, and little really comes from it other than the debilitation of the daily lives of ordinary Nepali citizens. Nothing moves, no businesses are open, all cars and motorcycles are banned, and thus people cannot work or conduct their day with any sort of normality. Such events assault the appetite if one does not plan for it, but there is one respite, however: in a city teeming with scores of vehicles, it is wonderfully refreshing to be outside and breathe the air without the harassment wrought by the constant traffic.

I joined the throngs on foot and made my way to Jagaran Media Center (JMC), where I will be working for the duration of my time here. JMC, founded in 2000, initiates awareness campaigns regarding Dalit (“untouchable”) issues through the use of different means of media for the promotion and protection of their basic human rights. Dalits, for those unfamiliar with the term, refers to those in the lowest varna or caste in the Hindu hierarchical system. Historically discriminated against, Dalits have been systemically exploited in many forms, including labor, education, religion, land-ownership and political participation. JMC is involved primarily in a Dalit journalist training program to document and disseminate human rights abuses. They run a radio station with correspondents based in almost every district of the country. They also produce the immensely popular television soap opera “Dalan” following three generations of a Dalit family. JMC also serves as a resource center for a variety of books, articles, and research associated with the Dalit movement in Nepal. Given my background in media and my interest in Dalit issues, JMC served as a better fit than where I first believed I would be working (the indigenous human rights lawyers’ NGO named in my last posting).