Some Children of Kathmandu

I lost my camera on the second day of my trip. Being a solitary traveler who relies on a camera especially when I am feeling lonely, I decided I had to get another one. I decided to buy one of the new point-and- shoot digital cameras to take it's place. I've always been against them in the past, but it seemed the best solution in this case, because of the price, weight, and number of pictures I could take .There are many reasons to take a picture; just to remember something you've seen or somewhere you've been like a diary entry, because something is different from other things you've seen, because something is beautiful, because you want to artistically express yourself, and as a remembrance of a nice moment or close connection. I always find it awkward to ask a person for a picture just because they look different or are doing something I've never seen. In that case I am prone to try to steal a picture, take it on the sly without the persons knowledge. I've gotten pretty good too at shooting from the hip. My new camera really made it easy. Also, I set my camera for the lowest range of density so I have a ridiculous number of pictures (8,273) left on my memory stick. But this last kind of picture, the one to remember a shared moment or closeness, is one that is never awkward to ask for, and is never refused. In fact, just the asking is an honoring of the other person, and a good way to culminate and celebrate the end of a moment together.
I ventured out on the streets of Katmandu to play jazz street music yesterday. I was unsure how the people would receive it. It went reasonably well. It allowed me to have contact with some people I normally wouldn't have had a chance to meet. Initially I just walked down about 2 minutes from my hotel and just sat on the side of the street and started playing. There was a cute little girl who smiled at me. With sign language I told her I was going to play. She gave me one of those ambiguous shakes of the heads that Indians also do, that means, I acknowledge you, but doesn't necessarily give you a yes or no. I took it for permission to play however. As I sat and prepared to play, a number of curious onlookers gathered. These people looked anything but friendly. One group of 3 looked like tough workers, with finely chiseled faces, grissly beards, some kind of turban wrapping on their heads, and a no nonsense look about them. I started to doubt whether it was proper to be playing here. I started playing along with my background tape. The first notes sent a shockwave through the group, like a knife plunging, ripping the worlld. Then it was absorbed and accepted. More people came. Most gave me that curious skeptical glare. A few people smiled. The pretty little girl just kept giving me the ambiguous nod. I didn't know what to do, but I figured I would at least finish the song. About 3 quarters of the way through the song, a boy of about 12 years of age appeared. He was covered from head to foot in grey dust. His shoes were covered with plastic, on his head a turban. He looked like a ghost. His face had a most amazing expression. He was smiling broadly. He was laughing at everything, me a tourist sitting on the street, me playing music, the strangeness of the music, the fact that the music WAS in a sense talking to him, and the fact that he was associating with a tourist at all. He was a poor boy and a construction worker. I had passed them before. I think i had never seen anyone work so hard before. They were making cement and separating the stones. It was like they were absolutely sprinting, working full out, 100%. I could work like that for perhaps 5 seconds, but they just kept doing it, and they seemed to be enjoying it. I didn't think the music would reach them, but it did. The boy listened and laughed with a kind of purity that you rarely see in people. I didn't feel like he was judging me, or was jealous of me, or wanted anything from me, he was just laughing at the absurdity of it all, at the absurdity of life at that moment. If for no other reason, playing the music to have a moment with that boy was worthwhile. I played to him for a few seconds and raised my eyebrows to fit the phrase. That made him laugh even harder. Then he turned and ran back to work. Another boy took his place. They were taking turns watching me until the boss yelled at them. I finished the song. I looked around. There was an uncomfortable silence. Everyone was giving me stern looks. Should I run? Should I pack up and walk away. What to do when everyone was just staring at me? I spread my hands apart and slowly started to bring them together in a kind of pantomime of a slow- motion clap checking around to see if anyone would join me, exaggeratedly encouraging them to do that. Maybe clapping wasn't a part of their culture. Finally one or two people got the message and went through the motions of clapping a little. I clowned being angry that the clap was so small and pointed at them and then myself clapping with only my index fingers, pretending to be annoyed. Then exaggerating clapped with only my pinkies, pointing to my ears and frustration because I couldn't hear it at all. Finally a few people smiled. It was like pulling teeth. I focused on one of the smilers. I pointed to myself than made the thumbs up sign and then made a shrug like a question. They smiled and made the thumbs up. That sign at least seems to be pretty universal, up is good. I ventured to some of the non smilers. Good? They wouldn't give me the sign. I pantomimes horror and gave the down sign. They shook their heads smiling. I exaggerate relief and point the thumb at 90 %. They give me the Indian head shake. I goof around with that, shaking my head and showing I grudgingly can accept that. I focus on the kids. If they give me the thumbs up I try to get a high five. Some will give it and others are too scared. Soon all the kids want to give me high five. Someone in the audience speaks English and asks the standard questions; "Where are you from? How long have you been here? How long will you stay here? Is this your job? Is Nepal good?" I answer the questions. Everyone else is leaning in, straining to understand. I encourage the brave one to translate to the crowd. At first he doesn't understand. Then shyly, reluctantly he does and now I have a translator. Someone yells out in Nepali, "Why did you come here?" "I am a tourist and playing street music is my hobby. I want to learn about Nepal and I want to share my music with you.". A murmur runs through the crowd. "One more time sir". I've been waiting for this. Hoping for this. "One more time"? I look all around. Everyone is smiling and nodding. I repeat it again getting very excited." One more time? One more time?" almost leading like a chant. Then when it's at its peak, I pout and sit down and say "No." as if I am mad about something. Then "ha-ha. Just joking." they are with me now. The ice is broken. I play "Over the Rainbow" they don't know the song, but they seem fascinated by the melody, very sensitive to each nuance I am able to put into it. I try to play freely with feeling. I try to find the joy in my music. I know if I can feel joy in my music, they will feel joy in it as well. I try not to think, but let my inner voice guide me. What will be the next note? Where does it come from. It comes when I am not thinking, just feeling. When my feeling mode takes over for a second, I am out of my mind. When they hear that, they are also out of their minds and experiencing the moment without mind, reflected through me. We are directly connected at those moments, both feeling the same thing, the same joy, the same feeling that came from somewhere outside of mind. When we are both feeling that, we are connected, and for a moment there is a closeness. It's not about me, it's about the music. If at that moment I can focus on the music and not on what I want or my needs or my personality, there can be a bonding, beyond language, beyond culture. At that moment we can experience ourselves fully, not through the mind, but as beings existing in time in space. That's my ultimate highest purpose here. That and to get laid. No just joking. I hope to also use the attraction of the music to make some friends too. I finish the song. One interesting looking man is smiling openly at me. "Sir, your music massages my lower mind and awakenings in me a clean spot of higher consciousness." I can't believe I am hearing this. "who are you?" "I sir am a gypsy." "a gypsy? There's no gypsies in Nepal" "That may be sir but nevertheless, I am a gypsy" I nod impressed. "I like that. Gypsy. I think'ill use that. Can you teach me to be a gypsy?" "Sir, I can not teach you to be something you already are. We are all gypsies. Most of us just don't know it" I nod impressed. Wow, this guy is good. I try to make arrangements to meet him again. He is so positive and fun, but he is busy he says and can't meet again. He does agree to give me his email though. Some street children are standing there beside me in the front row. They are caring large paper sacks full of what appears to be trash. Their faces are grimey. As they stand there, they don't put the bags down, they just stand there holding them, transfixed. I start to play another song. One of the kids is sniffing glue. He has a small paper bag which he is holding over his mouth pumping with his hand. These are the ones I want to reach. I play, hoping my music will find a clear space and touch these kids, make them feel joy for a few moments, . take them to a place they've never been, turn their day around. My desire to move them helps to focus my mind. As i play I watch them peripherally, looking for some reaction on their faces. The small shoeless boy in blue is just staring blankly. I can't say he is enjoying the music, yet I have to consider this a victory because he is listening, transfixed. The other boy with the snotty nose is looking around, seemingly bored, but he is still there. I've lost him though. His attention is skipping here and there. The little girl, standing between them, is listening and nodding and smiling at me. I've won her over. I smile back at her, a wonderful music motif pops out, I go with it, repeat it, vary it, go away from it, come back to it. Snotty comes back to me, I have everyone's attention now. We are all feeling the magic of the music. It would be difficult to say exactly why but the music just feels good right now. That vain now seems exhausted and i wait for something else. I play something else but it sounds boring. The crowd is with me though as I try, experiment, search for the nugget. It can't be forced, it just comes sometimes, if I listen. I keep playing, sometimes finding sometimes waiting. I finish the song. I hi-five the kids. They are in beggar mode. Pointing to their stomachs and feigning fainting with hunger. Right. These kids are probably stronger than I am. Still, I can't help wondering when was the last time they had a proper meal. I motion to them that in a while i will take them out to dinner. Another man helps me translate to them that if they will wait around, they will get a free dinner in a restaurant. The street urchins are excited beyond belief. It's starting to get late. One more song, I announce. At the end of the song, the kids stand there, not believing I will really take them. I motion to them, let's go and they happily come along. It only takes a few minutes before the little girl reaches up and takes my hand. That really touches me. I take her grimy hand in mine and we walk along, the two boys walking arm in arm talking excitedly. We have to walk off the pedestrian mall of Darbar Square through the hellish streets of Katmandu, jammed with cars, motorcycles, horns blaring at painful volumes, bicycle rickshaws taking up vast quantities of precious space, humans trying to squeeze through the mechanical mess, a centimeter at a time. Everyone pushing forward, believing they have to get through. Finally we puncture through onto a less busy street. There is a restaurant. I walk up to the counter. "We want to eat here" the owner looks at me like I am crazy. The kids are still holding their bags. This is a nice restaurant, with some tourists and respectable looking Nepalis. The manager looks at the owner who shakes his head. I just stand there like it's the most normal thing in the world to want to bring 3 street urchins in for a meal. Fianally they say, " yes of course sir, you can eat ....in here", and they usher us to a small room to the side. I nod, impressed. What a wonderful solution. We all sit down and I order a vegetarian thalbat for everyone. Thalbat is related to an Indian thalli, which means combination. It's just a large metal disc with raised sides. In the middle is a large mound of rice and around the edges are little mounds of different curries, vegetables, pickled radishes, yogurt, and of course Dahl which is a curried lentil dish that is the staple here. I figured, hey its a free meal for them, and I'm going to order something healthy for them and cheap for me. No drinks either. They are just sugary and expensive. The kids look at me, uncertain what to do. They don't know how to act. They are all orphans. They are not related except through the street where they look after one another. They sleep together in piles for warmth. They claim they are from India but I doubt it. They look at me. "Hands. We have to wash the hands." they hold up their hands. You can barely see any skin. The waiter directs them to the sink. I stay and watch the table. They come back 5 minutes later, hands holding up hands gleaming. They seem so proud. I clap excitedly and they beam. As I clap I slowly look at my hands and then clowning allow my face to fill with horror as i realize my hands are dirty. I make a silent scream. The girl and Snotty crack up. Blue shirt just frowns. He's a tough customer. This is how we communicate, through signs and pantomime. I get up and go to wash. I come back clowning, showing off my sterile and still wet hands like I'm a doctor. Then I flick the moisture into their eyes. A game they've never played before I guess, because they think it's so fun. There's a tourist couple behind us. I point to them and then pretend to kiss the back of my hand romantically. The kids get it and laugh it up. I kiss more passionately then turn my back to them and wrap my arms around so it looks like an embrace. We are in stitches. We play hand games and fool around until the food comes. After 10 minutes, the waiter brings out 4 identical trays of hot steaming food. The kids eyes get almost as big as the trays. When was the last time they got to sit down and eat, had their own plate, ate in a restaurant, had a napkin. We all dig in. There's no need to entertain them now. We eat silently, only punctuated by my quiet "mmmmm. Thats good". The kids mimic my "mmmmmmm" but not to be funny but because that DOES express the feeling. Mmmmm. We eat wholeheartedly for the next 15 minutes. The kids eat all their rice and Dahl. Blue shirt doesn't seem to like his curried vegetables and none of them want to eat the greens, which I thinkare delicious. Oh well, kids will be kids I guess, anywhere in the world. We finish and feel like kings, gladly holding our full stomachs. Ahhhhh...life is good. We walk outside and it's a little awkward. I wish I could take them with me. I wish we could all go back to my hotel and snuggle up in the same warm bed (it would be warmer with three hot little bodies in it) but I know that the hotel owners wouldn't allow it, people might wonder what I am doing with those kids at night (ala Michael Jackson) and even if I could get the kids to take a long shower, how could I get their clothes clean. So we just stand there a minute, knowing this is the end of our nice evening. I wish I could do more, provide a safe home for them, start an orphanage for street children in Kathmandu, start a school where they can use art and music as an alternative to sniffing glue, I wish I could do great things .....but I just sadly say, "I go this way, you go that way". We gaze at each other for a moment and then something clicks and they go back to being little beggars, "please sir gives us rupees, we are hungry." but now we all realize it sounds ridiculous. We can't go back. We all laugh and walk on our separate paths.