A wedding! A wedding!!

Day 1: groom’s mum and aunt meet with bride’s mum and bride-to-be.

Day 2: groom goes with posse to meet bride + posse. Groom’s posse includes his parents, his aunt and uncle (who is the only one who can drive and is hence dragged along to most things) and cousin. Bride’s posse includes three aunts and her mum. Bride and Groom go off to have a meal and a chat. The rest of the folks stare at each other in true old West gunslinger style before half of the group cracks and wanders off to shop. After about an hour, speculation of whether the long disappearance of bride and groom is a good thing or a bad thing is rife. After realizing there is only so much shopping one can do, especially as the lights have gone off since it’s “loadshedding” time, both posses leave.

Groom comes home and says he approves of bride. Likes her a lot, in fact. But there is worry whether the bride reciprocates. After a period of “telephone” (since it’s considered rude to actually call the bride and her family but it is apparently okay to call various persons-in-between), it is rumoured that the bride, too, is keen on groom. The wedding is on.

Day 3: Groom’s mum and dad and aunt go shopping. There are many and varied rituals to be followed—the wedding potay (or beaded necklace), the jewellery, the saris and the entire gear the bride has to change to, mid-wedding, to symbolize her move away from her own house to the groom’s.

Day 4: confirmation that the wedding will happen at a temple on the top of a mountain, surrounding Kathmandu valley. More shopping. Loads of foodstuff necessary for a wedding. Foodstuff includes mostly dried fruit and regular fruit, including yellow—not green—bananas.

Day 5: bride’s family sends over an “invite” to the groom’s house.

Day 6: the wedding. Once at the temple, various parties are confused as to which wedding to go to, especially as only the groom, groom’s mum and aunt have actually seen and talked to the bride. There are four weddings going on at the same time at the temple and it turns out our wedding is the one with the best view (facing the valley. This means a large part of the wedding party ends up debating whether they can see their respective houses and/or various other buildings they remember).

The wedding starts with the swayambher—the engagement—and then the symbolic giving away of the bride in the actual wedding. Feet are washed, many perambulations around the jagya are undertaken and tika is applied at regular intervals. There is the bestowal of a huge potay by the bride on the groom and sindoor (a specific type, weight and colour of the sindoor was needed as I can attest from having been the one to procure it) is applied, signifying the woman is now a bride (single women don’t get to wear potays or sindoor). By this time, it’s evening and time to go back to the groom’s house.

Of course, with there being no light, it’s dark by the time the party arrives at the groom’s house. Bride and groom walk in, bride in front and groom following behind. They get a ritual tika (again), the groom’s cousin (or, sister) welcomes them in and there is more pooja. The bride walks in first, stepping on lighted oil lamps, signifying something or the other. No one really knows what but the usual explanation of “it is the custom” is given when asked. Finally, it’s all over. The few people there (bride’s aunt and cousins, groom’s aunt and uncle and cousin) all leave and the bride and groom are officially bride and groom.

And so it was.

romance at 30,000 ft

Venue: from Bahrain to Nepal
People involved: Me (of course. Not much point about writing about someone else's romance, eh?)

The story: It was the last leg of my journey and I was sat by the window. I could see the profile of the chap in the aisle seat in the row in front of me. At first, I didn't notice much but it suddenly occurred to me that Mr. X had a rather strong resemblance to him.

My interest was caught. I spent the next few hours trying to catch more than a glimpse of his profile (and failing). Plans to wander up to the front of the plane and walk back were temporarily shelved since he was in the front row of seats after business class.

The plane landed and I lost sight of Mr. X. I figured that was it. Turns out I was behind him in line when we were at immigration. Fate, eh?

Obviously not. Dear readers, I did nothing. If this had happened here, I'd probably have struck up a convo. Asked him where he was going. Made a comment about the weather. Anything.

In Nepal, that sort of stuff just isn't done. One doesn't suddenly start talking to stangers, especially if one is female. Unless I were to look like a complete idiot and ask something along the lines of: which form do I fill, do you know? there was no way to begin talking. So, I didn't.

Obviously the title of this post is highly misleading.

Orientalising others

Being one of those pretentious prats who, for fun no less, read Edward Said's* Orientalism during undergrad (and found him rather behind the times as the "New Australia" I was in seemed different--more multicultural, less locked in what is now called "identity politics"-- to what he was describing in his book), I found myself rather amused to realise I am quite as capable of orientalising folks as the 19th Century French coloniser (to give one example) was wont to do. Does that mean Orientalism is natural?

Let me explain. This trip was the first time I passed through Bahrain airport. There, I noted men wore mostly-Western style suits while women seemed to wear the long enveloping garments, covering their bodies all the way up to their heads and faces. If looked at closely, one could catch glimpses of their shoes (their clothing being short enough to permit this) and their faces. Some even had their faces veiled, resulting only in their eyes being visible.

Most women wore full-on makeup, high heels and, often, nail polish. And yet, they were enveloped in black (or other dark-coloured) garment, swishing about singly or with other women, rarely with a man unless she formed part of a family group.

I was entranced. The sheer contrast in clothing, interaction and the lack of conversation even amongst those I reckoned were couples or families to anything I've ever seen elsewhere was intriguing. I wished I could spend a few days in Bahrain, making other observations, noting how people interacted in other social settings and seeing how they lived. At the same time, I couldn't help wondering how it would be to go about all veiled--in the literal sense--and covered up by a garment. Might be pretty freeing--no one notes whether you've gained (as I have over the past few weeks!) a few pounds and people probably don't even know who you are. After all, my few hours of obsevations showed people didn't quite look at folks of the opposite sex in the face.

The Orientalising part? Said defined Orientalism as: “Orientalism was ultimately a political vision of reality whose structure promoted the difference between the familiar (Europe, West, "us") and the strange (the Orient, the East, "them").”

For me, my experience was a story of contrasts--not just between what I have noted elsewhere and there in Bahrain but also between the all-enveloping black garment and the makeup and high heels worn.

I could see how the European chap of the past would look at these women and be entranced while, at the same time, wanting to impose his (and it was almost always "his" in this case) ideas of freedom and equality, with both being defined in his own cultural context. After all, "they" were wandering around in garments which hid their bodies and faces. "They" weren't free. And yet they had painted nails and wore high heels. One can imagine this bloke's confusion and need to establish order.


* If interested, you can read more about Said here.

Follow me, please. Single file. Thanks.

This is a bit of a diversion from my usual blog, Fossicking About, as I prepare to make my way to Nepal, stay there for 6 weeks and attempt to make my way back to Washington DC.

I'll warn y'all in advance that, even if all goes well (I hate flying so have a rather pessimistic view of it in general. Which means this blog may well be a short one) posting's likely to be limited, the posts are likely to be rather dull and I will not write about travel, as such, but more about events and daily life. While in Kathmandu, I don't plan to do much except laze around on balconies, watch sports and throw sticks for the dog to run after. Oh and do a lot of reading, of course. You can read all about that here.

I'll let you know if the streets have lost their names (as one chap in Berkeley told me this past summer: "there's no Freak Street anymore in Kathmandu!". That's a shocker, I know) or if I run into the Yeti or discover monasteries where mad meddling monks gather. But, in general, I'll probably write, in excruciating detail, about the differences in doing daily stuff there since this is a (sort of) an ethnographic adventure and experiment, as it were.

Those of you still here: I nicked the title off Sir Edmund Hilary's famous words to his mate George Lowe after the first ascent of Mt. Everest by Tenzing and him. Or, as it's called in Nepal, Sagarmatha (or even Chomolungma, for the Tibetans among us).

I've still a week to go before I leave Washington. During that time, I'll write up anything related to travel here, all other stuff on Fossicking About.