Our room became a popular hang-out place at the guesthouse with several of the travelers. Jeff, the chillum master, kept the mixes going while I jammed out tunes on Ms. Guitara, and people engaged in conversation. Jimmy was an interesting young man who had survived a minor stroke and used his disability money to travel.
Fashion Design
Since one could have virtually anything made in Kathmandu, Jimmy had taken up designing clothes. With plenty of decorative buttons, chains, and straps, his ideas were in line with something Michael Jackson might have conceived, only a bit wilder. Each outfit would surpass the extravagance of the previous innovation.
Disappearing for a few days, Jimmy would suddenly reappear some afternoon revealing his latest creation. The door would burst open as Jimmy stepped awkwardly into the room with his arms held up in a grand gesture. “Is it fuckable?” He would ask in his slurred speech. It certainly wasn’t our style, but we cannot deny that it was… interesting.
Surprise Guest
One day, Jeff wanted to show me something in his room that he had discovered in his walks around the city. When we arrived at his room he reached for the doorknob giving it a turn. As the door opened a young man in a motorcycle helmet tried to squeeze past us to exit the room saying, “Excuse me!” Although we were both shocked, we grabbed the young man by his shirt. “I didn’t take anything!” He quickly quipped. “I just happened to enter the wrong room!”
“Indeed you did!” Jeff said. “My door was locked so an accidental entry is unlikely!”
Jeff searched his small room to see if anything had been taken. Some items had been disturbed and displaced but nothing was missing. “See? I took nothing!” Cried the young man, still wearing the motorcycle helmet.
“Only because we arrived before you could complete the theft! What do we do with him? Throw him out the window?” We teased the thief.
“How high do you think he would bounce?”
Out of the Window?
“I don’t know, but we should remove his helmet before we do!” And we took his helmet off of him. There was some fear in his eyes now.
“No, maybe we better not toss him out the window. There will be questions and we don’t need the attention.”
So, with much wiggling and protesting of innocence, we escorted the would be thief downstairs to the front desk of the guesthouse and asked them to call the police. They protested a bit, as we think it may have been a friend of theirs, but we insisted.
The police finally arrived and asked if we wanted to press charges. Jeff did, and the police escorted the young man away. We saw him out on the street shortly thereafter. I’m sure that nothing was or would be done. His breaking into rooms was probably a regular occurrence. He stayed away from us while we were there, though.
A Stroll into the City
Donna and I decided to take a walk into town to explore some of the local sites. We passed through the nearly silent guesthouse ground floor tunnel. I had to keep my head down so I didn’t bump it on the beams which were graciously carpeted for tall people’s safety. As we opened the portal to the outside, it felt as though we were stepping into another dimension. The cacophony of sounds, the dust and the heat battered the senses as we stepped through the portal and into the street. We were immediately accosted by beggars and sales people hawking their wares. “No thank you! We don’t have room for that in our pack. No we aren’t shipping it home, thank you anyway.”
We walk on, passing the pitiful crippled beggar girl who tears at our heart. We really feel as though we should help her out. It is just so sad that her family has broken her so badly to make her a better beggar. I paused. Slowly my hand began to move to my pocket. Just as I touch the money resting deep within, I feel a hand on my shoulder and a voice from behind say, “I told you. Never give to the beggars! It will brand you!” I turned to see our friend from so many months ago on Om Beach in India.
“Yes, you told us and we have lived by that! It is amazing that at this moment of weakness you should appear out of nowhere to remind me!”
Tabla Lessons
He smiled and said, “Would you like to learn how to play the tabla? I have friends just here at the temple that could teach you the basics.” So we all went over to the nearby temple where a statue of Ganesh greeted us at the entrance. Ganesh is the one who clears all obstacles from your path towards enlightenment. Entering the temple, it seemed as though they were waiting for us to arrive. One man was sitting with his tablas and indicated I should sit with the other set of tablas beside him.
Slowly and methodically he showed me the proper way to tap on one tabla and thump the other while moving the heal of my hand. ‘Tan, Bawoomp,’ came the sound. My teacher was pleased I had pulled a lovely sound so quickly. The tabla’s rhythms are a spoken language. Each hit on the tabla corresponds to a distinct syllable, termed a bol. These syllables mimic the actual drum sounds, particularly when articulated in a series, due to their onomatopoetic nature. Although there is a vast number of compositions in classical tabla, there is a relatively small number of phrases. I only learned a couple of phrases in my short time at the temple.
Durbar Square
After a while, our friend bid us farewell and Donna and I left to continue our exploration of the city. We decided to walk through Durbar Square, a popular tourist destination very close to Freak Street where we stayed. Just as we entered the square a dozen pedicabs swooped in surrounding us. “Where you go? I can take you for the best price,” called out one driver. “No! I can give you the best price! Where do you go?” Then all the other drivers were calling out, “No, take me!” “No, me!” “Where do you want to go?”
Donna slyly said, “We would like to go to Durbar Square.”
“Yes, I can take you there for a very good price!” “No, I can make best price!” They all chanted out.
Donna took one step forward and said, “Oh, look! We’re here already!”
We all laughed at the joke and they pedaled off to find someone else.
Next: More Kathmandu Life