We were first introduced to a group of Tharu drummers on Wednesday, the first night of the wedding. It is this group of drummers that traditionally would lead the procession of the groom’s side of the family from their village to the bride’s in order to pick her up and bring her back to enter into the groom’s family. In an attempt to learn more about the drummers and the role they played in the wedding we were encouraged to ask them questions. Following a short round of Q&A, made possible by the help of a translator, we found ourselves unable to say no to the opportunity of trying the drums out for ourselves. There were three of us: Scott, Caroline (the really awesome, super helpful, couldn’t-imagine-trying-to-figure-things-out-in-Tulsipur-without-her intern that is also at BASE), and myself. Through a series of gestures and nods we tried to follow along through imitation as a few of the drummers attempted to teach us how to play. We did our best. It wasn’t very good. We made for good entertainment. As a point of clarification, all seven weren’t confined to just playing the drums. Some also played different horn and flute like instruments. One instrument sounded like a snake charmer, if the snake then came out of the basket and was trying to swallow a cat. In any case, it was on this night that I first developed a fondness for these seven(ish) old men who would play an integral role in the events that followed a few days later.
The actual ceremonial components were only a small part of the wedding experience. Because the bride was from Kathmandu a contingent from the groom’s side (and the groom himself) needed to go there to participate in certain ceremonies and to pick the bride up and take her back to Tulsipur in a modified version of the village to village march. I’m not sure if we were told that we could come or that we were supposed to come, but either way I wasn’t going to say no. It is a 12 hour journey to Kathmandu. We were given instruction to show up at 7:30 in the morning on Thursday in order to witness another part of the ceremony before boarding the bus which was scheduled to leave around 10 o’clock. Knowing that nothing starts on time, and not wanting to get up so early, Caroline and I showed up at 9:30am. We were there with plenty of time to spare and didn’t miss any of the rituals. A man wiggled his ears for us. This was not part of the ceremony. The bus did not leave at 10. After insisting that we were not hungry at least three times we ate a hearty breakfast of dal bhat and little dried fishes.
At around 2:30pm we boarded the bus. The drummers also boarded it. The drummers got off. We were somewhat relieved. Our relief was short-lived. It turned out that they just had to march us out. And so we were off, slowly. The bus crept along after the drummers down the alley we started on and onto the main road. They then re-boarded and it seemed like we were really off. There were handles on the seatback in front of each person. I did not find this comforting.
Shortly after departing the girl two rows up put her head out the window. The man in the row between us shut his just in time. This man liked to clap. Sometimes he got people to join along. At some point her stomach luckily settled, and she was fine for the remainder of the trip. After an hour of driving we stopped for snacks. 45 minutes later we were back on the road. 10 minutes after that we stopped on the side of the road for a bathroom break. The next 12 hours followed a similar pattern. There was a good deal of revelry throughout the night which included lots of dancing (some of which involved the pole in the center of the bus), clapping, egg eating (because, really, there couldn't not be boiled eggs), and many bathroom breaks. A few people danced in the aisle. After what was apparently an exhausting hip shaking session by one of the drummers, he sat/fell to the floor and proceeded to stick his finger up his nose. This revived him and soon he was back on his feet dancing away to the classic Nepali hits that were being blasted from the bus speakers throughout the night. He later could be found splayed out in the aisle, lying atop a bed of discarded peanut shells and orange rinds, napping.
With each bathroom break I found myself getting off the bus just in case there weren’t going to be any more stops. There always were. I still always got off. When we stopped for dinner Caroline, Sunita (a lovely woman who took us under her wing and ensured we made it through the trip), and I went in search of a secluded spot. We settled on someone’s driveway across the street from the restaurant. It was not secluded. By the time we had returned to Tulsipur I had gone to the bathroom on more roadsides than in all my previous road trips combined, once behind a bus on a major thoroughfare in Kathmandu, and apparently in front of someone’s house. To be fair it was dark and we did not know there was a house there until a light came on and we had to run away. We threw caution, and shame, to the wind.
When we finally arrived in Kathmandu at 3 o’clock in the morning it appeared that nobody knew where we were supposed to go. On foot, and in the darkness of post-midnight load shedding, we wandered down a number of side streets, gaining encouragement to continue on by the barking of the dogs that hid out in many of the doorways. After standing in one spot for a while we finally heard the creaking of a metal gate and we were ushered into a guest house that seemed to appear out of nowhere. In 3 hours we were woken so that we could have sufficient time to wait. Women dressed me in a sari. For once I wished more pins had been involved. On the way to the ceremony we stopped and a marching band got on the bus. The Tharu drummers did not.
After about 5 hours at the ceremony - that included stopping traffic as we marched and danced along with the wedding procession, the consumption of paan (a betel nut concoction that I still do not like despite encouragement from others that I will), and a pretty tasty buffet – we headed back to the bus for the return journey to Tulsipur. I marched right onto a rat. It was squishy. It was nearing six when we got on the bus. We sat down. Some of the drummers were there. Some were not. We continued to sit. Many people got off the bus. Eventually we learned that 2 or 3 drummers were missing; lost in Kathmandu with no phones, no money, no knowledge of the city. And most likely they did not speak much Nepali, if any. The police had been mobilized and some of the people on the bus had also gone to search the city for an unspecified number of old men in traditional Tharu clothes wielding drums around their necks. Kathmandu is big; the men were small. It didn’t look good. It was explained to us that the drummers had never been to Kathmandu and had only come on the journey in order to see it. Caroline and I laughed. It wasn’t funny. An arbitrary time of 11pm was given to us as when we would start to head back, even if we hadn’t found them. At 9 it seemed that we were on our way. The drummers remained lost. I guess we’d waited for them long enough. We laughed again. It still wasn’t funny. The bus drove a bit, but it was another two hours until we were actually headed out of the city.
At around 2am the bus broke down and many men got out to scratch their heads and stare at the engine. It took an hour and a half, but eventually the scratching and staring worked. The smoking and spitting probably didn’t hurt either. The next stop wasn’t for another hour, for what we thought was a bathroom break. An hour into the bathroom break it became clear that it wasn’t a bathroom break. Our tired driver had decided it was time for a nap. After another hour, at daybreak, in a roadside shack/restaurant, we sat on the edge of a bench which we shared with a sleeping man and drank tea. The sleeping man was not the driver. Not long after the driver stumbled out of the luggage compartment in the back of the bus, eyes half open and filled with sleep, clutching a pillow in his arms. Now moderately rested, it was not much longer till we were on the road again. It took over 19 hours to get back to Tulsipur. We were dirty. We hadn’t slept. We were cold. We were missing two or three people. We were still laughing. We might have also been crying. I’m not sure. No one else seemed to have had the same bus ride as us. They appeared rested and continued to sing and dance till the end. The missing drummers were there. They had somehow finagled their way onto a public bus back to Tulsipur, despite having no money, and beat us there by a solid 4 hours.
After lunch we were finally able to go home for a few hours before needing to return for more festivities that evening. It was now Saturday. On Sunday there was the actual reception part of the wedding. I tried to dress myself. I still can’t wrap a sari. Everyone in Tusipur was ready to help me. As I was buying bangles on the side of the road a woman took my chosen bracelets out of my hand, pointed to another color to show that I had not picked the right ones to match the sari. I obliged. As we walked past Sithals (the restaurant where we can often be found eating dinner) on our way to the reception, the mother of the establishment pulled me inside and attempted to re-wrap me. It was a common occurrence throughout the day, until finally, as we took a walk to break away from the party, I was pulled into the back room of a roadside eatery/home where four women I had never seen before again unwrapped me. As they laughed and spoke Nepali at and around me an unforgiving string (the kind used to seal industrial sized sacks of rice or radishes) was tightly cinched around my waist. One woman came at me with a cleaver and sliced off the remaining string. I stood with my arms out as I was wrapped again, pinned, and sighed at. At the end of it all I said thank you. I didn’t entirely mean it. They walked away. It seemed that it was not their home or restaurant. No one tried to completely re-dress me for the rest of the day. Only a few more minor adjustments were made. That was nice, though the tight string made it extremely difficult to eat any of 1000 kgs of meat that had been prepared for the celebration. Or breathe.
While I am glad I took part in all parts of the wedding I am not sure I would want to relive the experience. Unfortunately the entire 5 day affair was recorded and is apparently supposed to air on Nepali television in a month or so. I think I'll pass on attending the screening.
Caroline and I with the bride and groom - day 5
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