Wild haired man, coated in a thin layer of dust, t-shirt the colour of dust, trousers dust-coloured. Hair styled by the dust, into a permanent electric shock. The striking contrast of the white shiny technology in his hands, something like an iPhone. We, the circus students and I, were over here, by the pipal tree, traditional meeting place. He was over there, by the little shanty-shop, a familiar tarp-and-bamboo-pole kind of place, selling a weird assortment of items. Stationary could be bought there, and biscuits too. Also, no doubt, Chahi Kahi, or whatever it's called - the tobacco which is neither smoked, nor chewed, but slipped underlip. My German and Scandinavian friends are crazy about the stuff. The wild-haired man was filming my juggling with his white shiny device. When I noticed, I turned my back to the camera, he circled and I turned, and so we danced, what a charming moment, his friends were all laughing, but I noticed that the circus kids were beginning to get uncomfortable, so I stopped. Wild haired man approached me, with a smile, and a knife in his hand. I looked questioningly at his smiling, childlike face, and back down to the knife in his hand. A kind of kitchen knife, I thought maybe he didn't realise that the cutting part was pointed directly at me. Yes, he realised. He wanted me to keep juggling. "Or what, you'll stab me?", I asked, trying to maintain the humour of the situation, so that I wouldn't start shaking. He just kept telling me to juggle, kept pointing the knife at me, with that maddening smile. I fixed on the smile, smiled back, for the first time thankful for the super-polite Nepali taught to me by my lovely teacher. "Enough, brother, I'm finished." I told him. And again, bhayo bhaai, siddhiyo, siddhiyo. What happened? There was no climax, this situation just stretched out for an impossibly long time - although in reality it was probably only 5 minutes - me smiling at him, putting away my juggling balls, himself smiling at me, knife in hand, making stabbing motions, in case I didn't know what it was for.
I couldn't tell you how or why, but he went back to his friends, still looking back over at me occasionally and making little knife-stabbing gestures and smiling.
Less than two months left in Nepal. Time to bring in all of the heart's moments, the anecdotes and the realisations, and to try and form something out of them. A souvenir of Nepal, made out of interesting moments. Now that the end is in sight, the heart is lighter, the things which were frustrating are now funny. This could also be something to do with not being broke, or something to do with the return of sunshine. The salad days.
The other day, whilst I was walking through the labyrinthine alleys of old Patan, I saw an old lady lean out of the third floor window, and lower a key on a long piece of string, to the young lady waiting on the street below. As I got closer, I noticed that it was not one piece of string but many small pieces of string tied together. Indeed, this seemed like a perfect analogy for Nepal. It is incredibly difficult to find a long piece of string, but you can have all of the small pieces of string you like, so long as you have the time and patience to tie them together. If you get too attached to the idea of a nice, smooth, long piece of string, then Kathmandu will drive you absolutely mental.
Once you see past the unnecessary obstacles, the lack of materials, reliability, authentic information, you start to see that in some ways, the chaotic nature of this place grants a certain freedom unheard of in the places we know. Why, you could find some tarp and some old pieces of bamboo, build a little shop on the side of the road, and style yourself as a small-business retail manager!
Tomorrow, I will try and get some handstand chairs made up, To get something made out of wood here should be cheap and easy, as carpenter's shops are everywhere. All the same, I will remember about the string.
I couldn't tell you how or why, but he went back to his friends, still looking back over at me occasionally and making little knife-stabbing gestures and smiling.
Less than two months left in Nepal. Time to bring in all of the heart's moments, the anecdotes and the realisations, and to try and form something out of them. A souvenir of Nepal, made out of interesting moments. Now that the end is in sight, the heart is lighter, the things which were frustrating are now funny. This could also be something to do with not being broke, or something to do with the return of sunshine. The salad days.
The other day, whilst I was walking through the labyrinthine alleys of old Patan, I saw an old lady lean out of the third floor window, and lower a key on a long piece of string, to the young lady waiting on the street below. As I got closer, I noticed that it was not one piece of string but many small pieces of string tied together. Indeed, this seemed like a perfect analogy for Nepal. It is incredibly difficult to find a long piece of string, but you can have all of the small pieces of string you like, so long as you have the time and patience to tie them together. If you get too attached to the idea of a nice, smooth, long piece of string, then Kathmandu will drive you absolutely mental.
Once you see past the unnecessary obstacles, the lack of materials, reliability, authentic information, you start to see that in some ways, the chaotic nature of this place grants a certain freedom unheard of in the places we know. Why, you could find some tarp and some old pieces of bamboo, build a little shop on the side of the road, and style yourself as a small-business retail manager!
Tomorrow, I will try and get some handstand chairs made up, To get something made out of wood here should be cheap and easy, as carpenter's shops are everywhere. All the same, I will remember about the string.
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