Today is Maha Shiva Ratri--Lord Shiva's birthday. Shiva is the Hindu lord of cosmic destruction and dance. Many Shiva devotees fast and offer special prayers the night preceding this holiday. People also offer flowers and incense. According to some sources, the celebration originates from samudra manthan or churning of the ocean of milk. When the gods and demons churned the ocean of milk to obtain the drink of immorality, they discovered many unusual substances, including a deadly poison. The gods were terrified and approached Shiva for help. Operating out of compassion for all living beings, Shiva swallowed the poison. The poison was so potent that it turned his neck blue.
What more appropriate day for mountain biking? I had the day off work and figured it would be quiet outside of Kathmandu. I was surprised when just a few feet from my house, children blocked my progress by stretching a rope across the alley. They all had smirks on their faces and some chuckled under their breath. I was not allowed to pass unless I gave the children paisa (a small amount of money). I gave them a 5 rupee note which I'm sure was far more than they expected--but it was the smallest change I had. A few blocks away, another blockade. Different kids demanding the same thing. Fortunately, there were only half a dozen road blocks in the city. But unfortunately, there were many, many more once we left the confines of Kathmandu. I'm not sure what the connection is to the festival but the "ritual" reminded me of a cross between kids selling lemonade and trick-or-treaters being too coercive. Over the course of the next two hours, we encountered barrier after barrier--even small clusters of houses had children who set up such blockades. My 100 rupees didn't last long. Fortunately, my day guard (Roncit) who went biking with me successfully negotiated every subsequent roadblock. Usually the exchange was predictable. Roncit would explain to the children that we didn't have any money left, that we'd given it all to the children at the many, many roadblocks before theirs. With my limited Nepali, I'd chime in: paisa chai na (no money). At first, the children would throw us a doubting glance, knowing that we were just joking. It was only after 3 or 4 minutes of explanation on our part that the kids would finally recognize we truly had no money. Had I had any more money, I would have given it to each child. The look of disappointment on every child's face was enough to make one cry.
The bike ride itself is quite spectacular. Once I feel a bit more solid in my bike riding skills, I'll take my camera and share pictures on this blog. On clear days, I can see the Himalayas--not just the peaks but a substantial part of the base of each mountain. Even when the views aren't clear, it's great fun climbing up each hill, swerving around each bend and surveying the lush paddies, filled this time of year with yellow mustard plants. After climbing for some time, we descend to a very bumpy dirt road that follows a rather large river. Today everyone is out washing clothes (even men and boys wash clothes here), bathing and (once we got closer to Kathmandu), washing their cars. The little kids are exempted from work and allowed to swim. I am impressed by the unintentional but seamless integration of work and play. For the Nepalis by the river, they are no different.
A few years ago, I read a book by a couple who abandoned their material trappings to live among the Amish and last a full year without using electricity. They mostly succeeded. Of course, the Amish were incredibly welcoming and shared many skills needed to survive. The couple noticed, however, that the Amish didn't really take time for leisure. After several long months of plowing fields, gathering food and building houses, this couple realized that for the Amish, work WAS play and that the way we as "Westerners" compartmentalize work and play is a rather arbitrary division that leads to a great amount of stress: we work constantly under difficult conditions and then, for a two week period, all the stress is over. We take trips to the Bahamas to forget our work, then return to long days in the office as though we are leading two different lives. Needless to say, I'll be going back to the river to learn how Nepalis--most of whom have almost nothing to their names--are able to integrate work and play.
