Yesterday I was invited to a birthday party for a 3 year old little girl, Parisma, who lives in the house opposite us. So at the appointed hour Bhanja and I went. The family are an ex-British Army family, one of the many in our locality. However, Parisma's father is now in the Indian Army and currently stationed there, and mother is in America, so Parisma lives with her Grandparents.
Just as we walked across the road we heard Happy Birthday emerging from the house, and knew we were late. When we arrived, we were led into a room. There was Parisma stood behind a table. She was wearing a new dress sent from the UK, a cardboard pointy hat and a pair of Elton John-esque glasses. Her eyes were burning bright, looking around her at all the attention she had, confused yet enjoying it. On the table was a large plate of apples and bananas - prasad, an offering blessed during puja - one apple had 2 burning incense sticks stuck in it, a birthday cake already cut, and a small plate of rice and curd to be used later for tikas.
I was guided to a seat whilst Bhanja was given a pair of the Elton John-esque glasses and sat with the other children already there. On the chair next to mine was a pile of presents, to which ours was added. In my pocket was 50 rupees to give to Parisma as adults generally give money, not presents. Soon, one by one starting with her Grandparents, people came up, gave themselves a tika from the small plate and gave Parisma a tika before giving her their present and having a photograph. At this point I got concerned. I was going to be expected to give Parisma a tika, as well as myself. I had never given anyone a tika before in my life. The other matter of concern was that everyone seemed to be giving at least 100 rupees. As discretely as I could I pulled out 100 rupees from my wallet, and swapped it for the 50 note in my pocket.
My turn arrived. My heart was beating fast. By now, a small mountain of presents had built up on the table, and the tika on Parisma's forehead was threatening to feed a small nation for the next month. I asked Parisma's uncle to show me what to do, as I thought that would provide a good excuse for being lame. So he showed me. I gave myself a tika, missing the centre of my forehead, the traditional location for a tika, instead locating it just over my right eye. Then I knelt in front of Parisma and tried to give her a tika. However, the best I seemed to be able to do was to knock off a large part of the tika already on her forehead. Great. With the remaining rice that had adhered itself to my fingers, I sprinkled over Parisma's head, and then handed her the money. Our photograph was taken, and I returned to sit on the ground.
At this point Parisma's grandfather started to talk to me, just as a girl entered the room. "You see her," he said to me, "she's very clever. Just finishing a BS [Bachelor of Science] in Nursing. Works very hard too." I could tell where this was going. The next thing that would come is something about her being very pretty, didn't I agree, and not married yet. However, I was truly saved by the bell, as the phone rang, and Parisma's grandfather answered the phone. Soon after, the food was served and a huge variety of Nepali curry was put on a plate for me, along with some apple, banana and a piece of the cake. An interesting mixture. As I ate, following Nepali custom, my plate was filled several times more with other curries. I ate, drank and made polite conversation - my parents did a good job - and learnt quite a lot about all the people in the room.
After eating more than my fill, I was led upstairs where it was a bit cooler. In my previous 3 trips to Nepal I had never visited this house, although it is just across the road. It was strange to see our road from a slightly different angle. I felt enlightened, looking at the world from a different point of view. The house that had looked at for many hours from ours I was now stood in. I could see our house, a drab, concrete grey building with the sun setting behind it, giving the only colour to the scene. I could see the houses that were hidden behind Parisma's house, normally obscured from view in our house. These were slightly dirty, one or two floor houses that the light of day rarely entered due to large amount of 3 and 4 floor houses surrounding them, victims of the lazy Nepali town planning laws. Normally houses are built within a compound and built to within a metre of the land, trying to make the most of the available space. However, this leads to many houses loosing natural light, as you can reach from one house to a neighbouring house with ease.
After an hour, we were called back down again and once again food was served. I had no space left inside and a pained look appeared on my face. I reluctantly accepted my fate, as I knew I wouldn't be able to win if I said no to the food. Somehow I managed to avoid people adding food to my plate. Maybe they could see me struggling, and my quick response to the offers was an indication of how I felt. Parisma's grandfather started to talk to me again. After a few minutes chatting about his family and mine, the subject once more went onto weddings. I think someone had asked him whether I was married - a standard question in Nepali society, along with age, caste and education. I didn't quite catch everything that was said, but it was along the lines of needing to arrange me a marriage, I was getting quite old to remain single. Everyone laughed. I decided, as I do in these situations, to keep quiet and look embarrassed. Keeping quiet out of choice, looking embarrassed not as much. Once again, I was saved. Aama called from our house, saying it was time we should return. So we thanked everyone, and made our way back to the house.
Just as we walked across the road we heard Happy Birthday emerging from the house, and knew we were late. When we arrived, we were led into a room. There was Parisma stood behind a table. She was wearing a new dress sent from the UK, a cardboard pointy hat and a pair of Elton John-esque glasses. Her eyes were burning bright, looking around her at all the attention she had, confused yet enjoying it. On the table was a large plate of apples and bananas - prasad, an offering blessed during puja - one apple had 2 burning incense sticks stuck in it, a birthday cake already cut, and a small plate of rice and curd to be used later for tikas.
I was guided to a seat whilst Bhanja was given a pair of the Elton John-esque glasses and sat with the other children already there. On the chair next to mine was a pile of presents, to which ours was added. In my pocket was 50 rupees to give to Parisma as adults generally give money, not presents. Soon, one by one starting with her Grandparents, people came up, gave themselves a tika from the small plate and gave Parisma a tika before giving her their present and having a photograph. At this point I got concerned. I was going to be expected to give Parisma a tika, as well as myself. I had never given anyone a tika before in my life. The other matter of concern was that everyone seemed to be giving at least 100 rupees. As discretely as I could I pulled out 100 rupees from my wallet, and swapped it for the 50 note in my pocket.
My turn arrived. My heart was beating fast. By now, a small mountain of presents had built up on the table, and the tika on Parisma's forehead was threatening to feed a small nation for the next month. I asked Parisma's uncle to show me what to do, as I thought that would provide a good excuse for being lame. So he showed me. I gave myself a tika, missing the centre of my forehead, the traditional location for a tika, instead locating it just over my right eye. Then I knelt in front of Parisma and tried to give her a tika. However, the best I seemed to be able to do was to knock off a large part of the tika already on her forehead. Great. With the remaining rice that had adhered itself to my fingers, I sprinkled over Parisma's head, and then handed her the money. Our photograph was taken, and I returned to sit on the ground.
At this point Parisma's grandfather started to talk to me, just as a girl entered the room. "You see her," he said to me, "she's very clever. Just finishing a BS [Bachelor of Science] in Nursing. Works very hard too." I could tell where this was going. The next thing that would come is something about her being very pretty, didn't I agree, and not married yet. However, I was truly saved by the bell, as the phone rang, and Parisma's grandfather answered the phone. Soon after, the food was served and a huge variety of Nepali curry was put on a plate for me, along with some apple, banana and a piece of the cake. An interesting mixture. As I ate, following Nepali custom, my plate was filled several times more with other curries. I ate, drank and made polite conversation - my parents did a good job - and learnt quite a lot about all the people in the room.
After eating more than my fill, I was led upstairs where it was a bit cooler. In my previous 3 trips to Nepal I had never visited this house, although it is just across the road. It was strange to see our road from a slightly different angle. I felt enlightened, looking at the world from a different point of view. The house that had looked at for many hours from ours I was now stood in. I could see our house, a drab, concrete grey building with the sun setting behind it, giving the only colour to the scene. I could see the houses that were hidden behind Parisma's house, normally obscured from view in our house. These were slightly dirty, one or two floor houses that the light of day rarely entered due to large amount of 3 and 4 floor houses surrounding them, victims of the lazy Nepali town planning laws. Normally houses are built within a compound and built to within a metre of the land, trying to make the most of the available space. However, this leads to many houses loosing natural light, as you can reach from one house to a neighbouring house with ease.
After an hour, we were called back down again and once again food was served. I had no space left inside and a pained look appeared on my face. I reluctantly accepted my fate, as I knew I wouldn't be able to win if I said no to the food. Somehow I managed to avoid people adding food to my plate. Maybe they could see me struggling, and my quick response to the offers was an indication of how I felt. Parisma's grandfather started to talk to me again. After a few minutes chatting about his family and mine, the subject once more went onto weddings. I think someone had asked him whether I was married - a standard question in Nepali society, along with age, caste and education. I didn't quite catch everything that was said, but it was along the lines of needing to arrange me a marriage, I was getting quite old to remain single. Everyone laughed. I decided, as I do in these situations, to keep quiet and look embarrassed. Keeping quiet out of choice, looking embarrassed not as much. Once again, I was saved. Aama called from our house, saying it was time we should return. So we thanked everyone, and made our way back to the house.
Parisma and her Grandfather (December 2007) SAM
No comments:
Post a Comment