Shringara Nepal

On Tuesday night we were privileged with a private concert by a well-traveled Nepali group called Shringara Nepal. It was the coolest thing. The group is made up of sitar, played by a woman who got her music degree at the Tribhuvan University here in Kirtipur (of which the Cornell Nepal Study Program is a part), tablas (Asia's bongos, made up of a treble and a bass drum played simultaneously), and a violin and sarangi, a fiddle-like instrument. It was so cool.
The musicians sat on a stage made up of the foot-high tables that we use for eating and for class, and we sat on rows of chakati (cushions) on the floor in front of them. They began by introducing their instruments and the styles of music they'd be playing, much of which was improvised. The violin was tuned to A, D, and then a higher A and a higher D, where my violin has G, D, A, and E. It's held with the but at the musician's heart instead of on his shoulder (part of which, he explained, stems from the improvisational style in which the music, too, comes from the heart), and the scroll rests on his right foot as he sits cross-legged. The playing style is made up almost entirely of slides, which are much more difficult to produce from the traditional Western position. The sarangi  is different yet. It has an A string on the far sides, and a set of two D strings--like on a mandolin--set lower in the middle, and its held like a cello and played by placing the fingernails to the right of the string, instead of the fingertips on top of them. Ana and I introduced ourselves to the guy afterward and he was delighted to know that there were violinists in the audience. He showed us and some others more closely how to play the instruments, and he tried out my travel fiddle. He was trained in  both Western and Asian styles, and you could tell. He also instructed me on where to get a sarangi for a good price...Pokhara here we come!
In any case, the music was just fascinating. The drummer in particular was incredible. He played a range of time signatures including both 7 and 16 beats, and his hands moved so fast, it was impossible to get a recognizable picture of them. It was amazing to see how the three worked together and played off of each other during improvised pieces.

a typical view

pugyo: we have arrived!

I sit on one of the many prayer flag- and laundry-strung rooftops here in Kirtipur. I look out at Kathmandu Valley and the great, green mountains which surround it, leading to the snow-capped majesties beyond. I see a student smoking on the roof next door for the second time since a sat down. I see small children biking on another roof across the way. I see a man washing greens in a tub of water, and a family washing clothes in another. I see birds flying from roof to roof and people walking from path to path. Everything I don't see, I hear, as I did all night. I hear cars revving and honking up on the road, at a much slower frequency than in Kathmandu, Delhi, and even Amritsar. I hear music coming from the building next door. I hear the clanging of pots and pans and smell the fragrant output. I hear children whining, shoes scuffling. I hear birds and dogs trying to converse over the incessant sound of human activity, with which they did not have to deal late last night--for the most part. I smell urine, petrol, and breakfast, and I feel the hard stone banister beneath me. I taste only the saliva of sleep, but that is soon to change. Mmm, kasko miTho! How delicious!

the golden temple

Yesterday evening, dear Professor Baljinder Singh--who had previously given us a lecture on Sikhism at the beautiful Khalsa College--escorted us through the golden temple, where we spent a long time soaking in the incredible glory of it all, taking pictures of the water and the night-lit temple, watching the people bathing in the holy water, prostrating before it, and sitting alongside it. We walked through the eating hall and shared a couple of servings of rice pudding, dal, and chipati, and then waited in line to see the temple itself. The hymns inside, which echo from speakers throughout the area, might have been the most beautiful thing I've heard. This morning, a smaller group of us was fortunate enough to visit the temple a second time and help wash dishes. The entire experience was more than words can express, and even more than my humble heart could fully feel, at least all at once. My attempt at sharing some of it in writing follows:

    The Heart of Amritsar

Not because of the splendid white gates or the age-old water into which humble learners dip their bodies and their prayers. Not because of the floating wonder of that glowing edifice, or the hundreds of seekers bent in prostration on the burlap where our watered feet walk or the marble thresholds over which we step. Not even because of that heavenly music-the sweet, sweet voices, the gentle drumming and pumping, singing an endless and most beautiful song: the word of waheguru. No, not because of any or all of these alone. But because of those who give the food, because of those who stoke the fires, because of those who stir the rice in the biggest pots you'll ever see. Because of those who turn the dough, because of those who slice the onions, and because of those who wash the dishes, one after another, again and again, in the long metal troughs frequented by many a pruny finger. And because of the tireless, uplifted souls who spend every day in selfless, nondiscriminatory service to humanity, who dedicate their lives, or any part thereof, to that highest service to God. Because of all of these together, this will remain the most beautiful place I've been.

first days

Three days into the program, this whole experience remains surreal. I figured that once we actually got to where we were going I'd start believing it, but I still have to remind myself where we are and what's going on. I have a feeling that that will change once our schedule really gets rolling.

Early Sunday morning we arrived in Hong Kong--tired, hungry, and stoked. We spent the day touring the bay on a big boat and walking around near the mall that connected us to the airport by train. Hong Kong is so huge. The crane-infested shipping yard reminded me of Seattle, except that all of the shipping containers were from the states instead of from China. Meanwhile, the clouds all around were amazing, and remained full and dark until we began our search for dinner, when they let it all loose, turning all the sidewalks into rushing rivulets. We seized the opportunity to hide under a tiny overhang off the sidewalk and sing "Country Roads," among other things. Passersby, or rather runnerswithumbrellasby got a kick out of it. After squatting for just long enough and with much deliberation, we re-routed to a so-so Chinese restaurant in the airport before our flight. Before we knew it, we were boarding a big white plane emblazoned with "Dragon Air" and headed for Nepal.

Upon arrival, we got our Nepali visas and then were escorted to the Park Village Resort on the outskirts of Kathmandu. On Monday morning we walked through the streets to a sort of indoor/outdoor Hindu temple. We saw babies being bathed, dogs, beggars, shopkeepers, funny Pepsi ads and lots of laundry hanging on rooftop clotheslines. The rest of the day we spent relaxing around the grounds. This resort is just a magical place: an enchanting pond, a beautiful, blue-tiled swimming pool, fascinating architecture, flowers, and trees, and hidden treasures like a life-sized chess set with wire pieces and a horse riding club next to an amphitheater and dirt tennis court. We were reminded of the sensitive modesty required especially in India when workers marveled at our bare ankles emerging from the water during a series of hand-stand contests.

To be continued...