Through the Looking-Glass #4

Published October 24, 2006 in the Telluride Watch

Tihar lagyo. Tihar is happening! Dasain has come and gone, and the tens of thousands of Nepalis that returned to their villages to celebrate that festival have returned to Kathmandu. The crowds have returned and the bazaars are bustling with Nepalis rushing here and there, making necessary purchases before the five-day Tihar festival begins.

The festival’s roots are in placating Yamaraj, the god of the underworld, to stave off death. The crow and the dog are worshipped during the first two days of the festival. Kukhor Puja, as the dog worship is called, is the one day many Nepali dogs are not mistreated in this country where they carry little respect. On the third day, Laxmi, the goddess of wealth, is worshipped to bring prosperity into the home. On the fourth day, Nepalis worship cow dung, considered sacred, while ethnic Newars worship their own bodies. On the final day of the festival, sisters worship brothers in a ceremony known as Bhai Tikka. Tihar is Christmas, Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July and Halloween all wrapped up into one festival, offering fun equal to more than the sum of its parts.

The streets are awash with colors. Residents and vendors along the narrow streets of Kathmandu’s old city have strung multi-colored flags that criss-cross back and forth between buildings. At night, multi-colored strands of lights come on, and the streets glow red, blue, green and yellow. Street vendors crouch on every available square inch of real estate, hawking framed pictures of the goddess Laxmi, brilliant marigold garlands, and prepackaged tikka powders.

A trip through the main bazaars of Ason Tol and Indra Chowk at 5 PM seems ill-advised. Men are returning to their homes from the office, and many women with their daughters are buying necessities for the festival. Pedestrians inch along at a snail’s pace, their progress impeded by street hawkers, while a few brash teenagers barge through the crowds, arms around one another’s shoulders, laughing loudly. These crowds remind me of Calcutta, where walking on the city streets, I found myself swept along with the crowd, no longer an individual in control of her own movement, but a small, albeit taller, part of a larger human mass.

I am swept up in the same way, walking down these narrow gallis. I am also swept up in the festivities, enchanted by the saris that hang from storefronts, banners of embroidered silk shining red, the pure rainbow of fabric bolts that line the shelves inside cramped fabric stores, and the sound of Nepali commerce, buyer and seller sounding agitated as they haggle over a price but smiling to one another when the transaction is completed.

Tihar offers five days of unabashed merry-making and Kathmandu is already abuzz with anticipation. Young children, mostly boys, light firecrackers on the street. The oldest in the group usually handles the delicate work of lighting first a wax match, and then the small firecracker, while the younger boys run away from it, fingers clogging their ears, squealing when the loud bang comes. Women busy themselves in their homes, cleaning meticulously and stockpiling the sugar needed to make sel roti and other Tihar sweets. Men gather in friends’ homes in the evening to play marriage, a complicated card game requiring the players to hold 21 cards in their hand at a time.

I learned to play marriage during the Dasain and Tihar festivals five years ago with the family of my then-boyfriend Sushil. We sat for hours in a circle on the floor, making sets and runs of three cards in our hand, vying to be the first one to see the special joker card and begin racking up points. Sushil’s older sister Sushila was one to watch out for. The cleverest card player in the family, she often went home with my rupees in her pocket. The only interruption to our card playing would be the arrival of food. The circular sel rotis made from hand-ground rice flour, sour achhars that had fermented for months in glass jars in the sun, and spicy potatoes fried with cilantro.

This festival season, I have already spent many afternoons and evenings playing marriage with Sushil and his co-workers, and with staff members of another friend’s trekking company. As with any gambling game, I have learned it is important not to get too arrogant. The first evening I played cards with my friend Ripu, I insisted on playing one point per rupee, while Ripu wanted to play four points per rupee. I went home that night with 50 of Ripu’s rupees in my pocket. The next night, my luck changed. I sat playing until late in the night, continually egged on by wanting to win back the 60 rupees I lost straightaway to Ripu in the first hour. I now stand 100 rupees poorer.

But Tihar is just now beginning! I still have five days to win back that money, and many hours to while away with friends. The mood in the city remains light, even though the peace talks between the Maoists and the Seven Party Alliance are currently stalled. No need to talk politics during a festival. While Nepalis celebrate Tihar to keep death at bay, they’re simultaneously enjoying life’s most fun vices, gambling, sweets and some measure of gluttony.