Kathmandu's karmasutra

Now that Nepal is in the news for all the wrong reasons, I thought one could look at it from a traveller's point of view...
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I could have done a Madhuri Dikshit and claimed Nepal as my own. It is the kind of place over which you can claim proprietary rights, since no one seems to show any enthusiasm about owning it.

Besides, it does remind you of home. Dust, cows in the streets, and the familiar disenchantment. If the hippies had once found their haven here, it was because no one cared. Ironically, they escaped to this place becausenobody cared back home. But in the anonymity and induced haze, they foundthe permanent siesta invigorating. Flower-power came from poppy seeds. The ephemeral became the eternal.

"Time is a stick of incense that burns without being consumed. One day can seem like a week, a week like months... There is time enough to do everything," so wrote Jeff Greenwald in the eponymous book Shopping for Buddhas.

Why Buddhas in a Hindu country? Because they have international appeal. Itis a great selling point in a country which strives to be ostensibly liberal. Beneath it all, however, the kingdom of Nepal is a Hindu rashtra.But unlike say Europe, where religion plays a subliminal and subtle role, in this part of the subcontinent it imbues people's everyday actions. They believe they are fated to be what they are.

Like the security guard at the Pashupati temple. You walk through a dirty pathway, trample upon people's discarded offerings, and then there is a loud declaration: "Only Hindus allowed inside." We are yards away from the sanctum, and since I don't feel any religion really wants me, I can convert to any faith. And becoming a Hindu wouldn't be difficult, since I come from a land where it would raise my status considerably. But the security man lunges menacingly towards me and giving me a shove with his hand just below my shoulder blade, screams, "Not allowed."

Why?

"Foreigner," he pronounces.

Much as I would have delighted for the sake of variety to pass of as an Italian mafia don or a Brazilian salsa dancer or even a Maori tribal, I felt strangely humiliated. I then spoke in Hindi and there seemed to be a bit of a thaw, till I was again asked to get out.

I wondered how 'different' and how holy the devotees were. Did they feel transported to heaven when the pujari broke a coconut and looked at their wallets? What kind of double standards forbid you to enter wearing any leather items, but may allow you to witness or participate in the sacrificial slaughter of animals? And what culture is it that says a man can manhandle a woman to save his bhagwan from the unholy sight of a non-Hindu woman?

The 'Way of life' theory of course hits you via Royal Nepal Airlines itself. Fatalism rules as four to eight hour delays are not announced but you are expected to report early, lest you are off-loaded even with a confirmed seat! Bhagwan ki marzi! Here, hospitality means announcing that they do not have vegetarian meals on board. Uparwala has ordained that all those who took the trouble for the darshan have to munch salad. As a small concession a surly air sundari plonked a different salad on the trays. I was told later, it was dessert. But if your soul is burning with the flame of dharma, all this is inconsequential.

Like the chap at immigration must have felt when he saw the embarkation card of a friend, who happened to be on the same flight. "Muslim, hanh?" he spat out as he read the name. This sets the tone and all the wonderful mountain air cannot blow away the stink. Why go through this charade?

Because tourism is the only business they know. And this they do better than us. Though again, the attitude is one of indifference. So when we decided to splurge on a Sunrise Balloon Ride, we were taken when the sun was happily smirking away. We had to wait for the balloon to be inflated, for as soon as we had got into our baskets it went 'phus'. After another long effort we were finally high up, but without butterflies in the stomach, or wind lashing the face. It was pure stasis and a reasonable photo-op. Those who paid in dollars tried their 'Gee, Whiz!' act, though it hurt their jaws to keep smiling at the 'phinaaminal veeyou'.

Being good suckers we also did the mountain plane ride in a 16-seater. Dense fog resulted in the inevitable delay. And then we were up again, over the Kanchanjunga and the Everest. Like good souls we ought to have felt humbled, but heck, we were on top and the great peaks looked like waffle-cones with vanilla ice-cream scoops. I know that such things are meant for very religious people who are overawed by everything, or theWesterner, who desperately needs to be.

So instead, I looked with new respect at a smart kid in Patan, who swooped down on us trying to sell us Tangkha paintings because we looked creatively-inclined. I did not wince when two guys working at a fast-food restaurant, around closing time, unmindful of their two remaining customers - us - locked themselves together in the loo.

From the junk paradise of Thamel to the electronic glitz of Durbar Square, I got what I thought I should have - a Mandala calendar and a calculator that blinks red, everytime a number is punched.

Since I always distort everything holy, I'd say the ultimate nirvana is, in fact, to be found in maya. And if you can count your days and pennies with it, so much the better.

(This was published in Feb 1999 in Mid-day.)