Alison was her name, my older
cousin sister’s new best friend. When
she wanted to come to visit our house and celebrate Tihar, we were quite
excited. A tall, white girl, blue eyes, blonde hair, speaks Nepali nearly fluently…she
was almost as Royal Goddess to us. We were so eager, impatient to show our
hospitality, love and compassion to her. We certainly believed from the core of
our heart- “Atithi Devo Bhawa….”- Roughly meaning- Guest are like Gods in
disguise, treat them with love…and such. We were on a countdown for Tihar.
But my religious grandaunt was very disappointed, she made it a big deal.
White? From Melkshya Country? Cow
eater? Genital mutilators? Demons ?etc
They should not be allowed in
this Temple, for all ‘Vaishnavas', house was a Temple. She took a stance that if
we were to allow the white girl in our house; my grandaunt would leave our
house for ever and go to forest. We were utterly disappointed. We knew for sure,
she was human and this criterion of humanity would qualify her to enter out
temple, the honest love and hospitality of human heart must be better than that
of Religion. My father, mother, even my grandmother we all wanted her to come
to our house. However, we could not convince our aunt so we had to yield to
her.
My uncle was happy to host in his
house instead. So, she came to our
house, we “made” her our sister by “Bhai Tika”. She told us about Christianity
and how she hated Christmas telling us that she would have to be fake her love,
visit her family, buy gifts which no one would really appreciate in the end and
how better Bhait Tika was, the auspicious occasion of celebration of
brother-sister love. We were so desperate to converse with her, to tell her
about what Bhai Tika is really about, to keep in touch with her, to invite her
to our house like a family member and so on. We waited her to ask us questions, and in some
deep corner of heart hoped that she would take our cousin to US of A.
While all the neighbors were
amazed as we did this on our rooftops/balcony, and as She took out fancy
telescopic digital camera (this was time in Nepal, when digital camera were RARE,
almost non-existent), they sat in awe, perhaps in jealously, in greed I don’t really
know… I start to talk to myself- She stays in the same house as Mustafa, an
Egyptian ugly bearded Muslim, a visiting doctor in Sheer Memorial Hospital, but
not married to him, talks about Christmas and hails Tihar and accept our gifts
and “Becomes” our sister. What a complex
life and fake life. As I took her American Candy in sweetness, my heart grew
bitter. I asked myself: who would be better? My Grandaunt or She? A hypocritical
sinner, a liar, a pretentious good looking foreigner or a religious,
conservative, blinded by faith inasmuch as illiterate that, she thought
touching the white girl would make her candidate of hell. One side was a highly
religious woman remaining celibate after her husband death at age 15, and
praising and worshiping God every second and doing everything according to
scriptures, ready to die but not let a white woman enter her house. Other side was a woman who said she was Christian,
stayed with Muslim, had no intention of marrying him, called herself by her own last name, and still involved in some kind
of humanitarian work in remote parts of Nepal. Although I could not really rationalize
much, I respected the educated, seemingly, reasonable white, “royal girl” for
her acceptance of our hospitality, and for her enthusiasm in our culture and for
her desire to be a part of the family. I prefered Alison's philosophy slightly to my grandaunt's faith. A bridge was intended.
Fast-forward- Few days later, I
saw her, face to face in a street, actually near my house. She was wearing Salwar
Kamiz, carrying a hand carry, looking like she was walking for a noble cause. I
said in great delight- “Hello Sister…” She looked down at me, hardly trying to
smile, just like a deaf looks to a flute player nearby, completely lost and
clueless. I still have that picture in my brain very alive; a silent aloofness,
a short glance of indifferent looks from her bright, clear, blue eyes, slightly
condescending short exhalation… shrinks her lips as if to remember me, but
surely unable, perhaps deducing me to a ‘Poor Street Kid’ trying to beg ‘one
dollar’ and in haste, without response of any kind, she hit her road. This is
life. When I told this to my grandmother-
She said- "Told ya’…"
23 May 2012
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