Rest in Peace Hajur Bua

It’s been five days since we received the unexpected news—a series of calls from Kathmandu that ended with the death of P’s grandfather.

It has taken me a few days to think about what I wanted to say. It was quite a surprise, even though he was 88 years old, as he was very strong and active.

Hajur Bua was a very important person in P’s family, but I think he was of particular importance to P, who was the first born grandchild. Hajur Bua lived with P since childhood, teaching him how to play many sports, including his favorite—heck, it’s his passion—soccer. He used to walk little P to school every day and then pick him up and walk him home.

He was the “keeper of the house,” the person who was always opening the front gate or looking out the window to see who was coming and going when he heard its clank. Upon arriving at P’s family’s house in Kathmandu he was the first face you’d see, peeking out the gate or waving from the front window or roof, cup of tea in hand. He was always there to welcome us home or bid us farewell.

I first met Hajur Bua when I visited P’s family in 2005. Even then, I had heard many stories about him, and I was happy to have the chance to meet him, as I wasn’t sure when I would be able to come back or if I would meet him again. Luckily I had two more opportunities: He was there again in 2009, telling us stories about his time as a park ranger in Chitwan, acting out sitting on an elephant’s back during a tour. He liked to bring pictures out to share, or his school leaving certificate of which he was very proud.

After our wedding in July 2011 we were able to go back for Dashain. Although very strong, he was too old to make the long journey to America, but was able to participate wholeheartedly in the wedding party that was organized during our trip. He dressed up in a daura suruwal and coat in his favorite color which he called “gabardine” (which I think refers more to a type of fabric, but that’s what he called khaki-brown). He enjoyed sitting near us at the party, talking to people and introducing us to others. While we visited in 2011 he started calling me “Buhari”—bride—the same name he calls P’s mother. “Buhari, have you eaten?” “Buhari, have you seen this program?”

We were able to take our first married Dashain tikka from him. It would be my first and last.

I remembered seeing him many times sitting on the floor, cross-legged, like a man sixty years his junior. I couldn’t imagine my father being nimble enough to do that, let alone my grandparents. It was a testament to his health and fitness.

And then there was Rai Uncle, a former neighbor, who still liked to come over and spend time with the family. Hajur Bua and Rai Uncle had a love/hate relationship. Like two grumpy old men, they sometimes had feuds—“He took my umbrella!” “You cheated at cards!”—but they were companions as well, sharing in card games and conversations.

Hajur Bua also had a love of plants, a hobby I share. Back in Kalingpong, his home area, his family had a nursery with many interesting plants, and as an older man Hajur Bua tended to dozens of potted plants surrounding the P family home, several of which came from the nursery in Kalingpong. Many of the plants were unusual, much like the ones I enjoy collecting. In 2011 I complimented a giant green stemmed succulent plant, some type of Euphorbia, growing in a sunny spot behind the house. Before I knew it he plucked out a section of the plant, wrapped the roots in mud and wrapped the entire thing in damp newspaper and insisted I bring it home. I decided to try, and was able to sneak it in. The plant now grows on my window sill, and reminds me of him every time I see it.

Our Irish friend RH was visiting Nepal at the time of Hajur Bua’s death. He was staying with P’s family for a few days, before making a quick trip to Southern Nepal. He was due back to P’s home the day that Hajur Bua died. RH took the final living picture of Hajur Bua—as he looked through the front window, saying goodbye to him before RH left for Chitwan.

In an email exchange between P and RH, P wrote:

I almost feel as if you were meant to be there that week – to see Hajur Buba one last time. Since you met him, it almost feels as if you were there on our behalf. We also got the last photos of Hajur Buba that you took, looking from the window. It is hard to think that he is not going to be there to look out of that window next time we arrive home in Kathmandu and the next time the metal gate makes a clanking noise.

The whole news has been a shock and a surprise to all of us. He was old and had minor other pains and aches but we all felt that he was this strong person who would live to be 100 or more. At the same time, he passed away the way he wanted, without being bedridden, within a matter of hours. I am also glad that you were able to hear Hajur Buba’s stories once again while you were there.

I want to dedicate this posting to Hajur Bua. He always made me feel welcome and part of the family. We are all very sad at your passing, but we feel honored to have known you.

The Newest American-Nepali Household Part II

Being that MS and MK had been in Nepal for quite some time, neither of them had a lot of money saved that they could spend on a formal wedding. Unfortunately the K-1 fiancée visa timeline doesn’t really care about money or planning, all it cares about is the 90 day window a visa holder has to legally wed before filing for a change of status to permanent resident. So MS and MK decided they would do a small “paper signing” marriage to satisfy the requirements, and organize a larger event at some point in the future.

P and I figured we would get a call about the paper signing at some point soon, so that we (along with P’s brother U) could “represent” the P family at the ceremony. However MK’s arrival in the US coincided with the early days of P’s post-operative recovery, and she saw him at one of his lowest points of physical capability, leading her to think he probably wouldn’t be well enough to travel up to Vermont any time soon. MK reasoned that the ceremony wasn’t a big deal anyway, so the couple thought that it would be easier to sign any paperwork while at MS’s parents’ house over Thanksgiving weekend. Yet while discussing their idea with MS’s family the couple realized it took a few days to get a marriage license, and other complications would probably make Thanksgiving an improbable time. “Plus wouldn’t you want your cousins there?” asked MS’s sister-in-law. MK told her she didn’t think we would make it, but they encouraged her to call and invite us anyway.

About a week and a half ago we got the call. “If you aren’t busy, we are thinking of getting married on Sunday December 11^th. We would love to have you, but we understand if you can’t make it.”

We assured them that we would (of course!) be there, and organized to meet up with P’s brother and drive up together.

The night before the wedding MS’s band had a scheduled gig in Burlington, and the “wedding party” all went to the show—MS’s parents, his older brother and sister-in-law, us three “P family” representatives, and two friends. MS, who comes from a very musical family, joined this up-and-coming band a few months before MK made it back to the US, and plays guitar and sings backup vocals. The music was great—a bit folky and a bit punk rocky, but something fun you could dance too–and the Burlington crowd was lively, cheering for MS when the lead singer announced, “Did you know you were at a bachelor’s party tonight? MS is getting married in the morning!”

I spent a lot of time talking to MS’s sister-in-law at the concert. She was curious to hear about my experiences as a foreigner in the family, and wanted to contextualize MS’s experience. When you are unfamiliar with another culture, it can be challenging to keep a relative perspective. It was also interesting to hear more about MS’s experiences in Nepal from his family’s side.

The house that MS and MK are renting for the winter is a summer vacation cottage north of Burlington on the shores of Lake Champlain. MS found the posting for a “winter caretaker/tenant” on Craigslist, and thought it would be a quaint spot for their first married winter together. The bungalow is tucked away on a back road farm, and it is a cozy, quiet place, heated by a woodstove, with beautiful views of the lake. We got back from the concert around 2am, played a sleepy game of “Apples to Apples” in front of the roaring fire to wind down from the evening, then wrapped up in warm blankets and headed off to bed.

By the time we all rolled out of bed in the morning there were only a few short hours before the ceremony was due to begin. Luckily MK and MS are pretty laid back and informal (unlike yours truly). They were making us scrambled eggs and cups of chai in their pajamas shortly before the “guests” (MS’s parents, brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and two couple friends) started arriving.

The day felt very “homespun” and it was sweet to keep it simple but intimate. Everything was done at the last minute, but turned out so lovely… I actually felt pretty emotional watching the ceremony.

For example– The day before MK had decided it would be fun to make an arch decoration for the couple to be married under. She didn’t think we would have time to come up with something, but I insisted we drive to a craft store before the concert and buy some fabric. After eating our scrambled eggs, MK and I were outside in our pajamas, shivering in the thirty degree temperature, tying tulle between trees on the cottage’s porch. A friend of MS’s came over with a bag of clothing and jewelry so that MK could find something to wear—MK picked out her outfit a mere hour before the program began. The same friend and I ran up and down the road looking for last minute flowers and eventually picked a small handful of hardy geraniums and tiny white flowers from a neighbor’s garden and tied them with ribbon.

The music was also improvised, but lovely. MS’s parents and brother brought their guitars, and U borrowed MS’s, and the family jammed together after the ceremony.

One of the best last minute surprises of the day was that P and U figured out a way to Skype their family back home through an iPhone so that P’s dad, J Phupu and MK’s sister could watch the ceremony unfold through the internet.

The brief ceremony started with a song that MS wrote for his brother’s wedding. He sang it for MK, with a chorus that went, “there is only one woman you will call your ‘wife’.” Then the justice of the peace (another neighbor… luckily not the same neighbor we had just stolen some flowers from!) led the 14 of us outside and started the ceremony under our improvised “arch.” MS lit a large candle to represent the fire he had seen at Hindu weddings, and the justice of the peace introduced the ceremony, explaining it was six years in the making. MS recited his vows, and MK hers, then they exchanged rings that they had brought back from Nepal. MS’s parents offered a blessing, and then MS was able to “kiss the bride” after being legally declared husband and wife. MS’s dad played the guitar, while the family sang sweet love songs to the new couple (while walking back inside to warm up by the fire!)

We cracked open a bottle of champagne and offered a toast. MS’s dad said a few words, and then J Phupu—still watching via Skype on the iphone from Nepal—decided to say a few words as well. With P translating, J Phupu also gave the couple her blessing. It was a very touching moment… linking two families, even though it was rocky at first, and even with a distance of thousands of miles.

The rest of the evening we ate South Asian food, listened to music played by MS’s parents, brother and U, and got to know each other better. It was such a wonderful day, and my heart is brimming over with happiness for my—as MK introduced me at the wedding—“sister-in-law” and my new “jwain” (brother-in-law).

Cheers!

The guitars are getting ready (U, MS's dad, MS's mom and MS's niece)

MS opens the ceremony with an original song. He's also wearing a tie made out of Nepali dhaka fabric.

The Justice of the Peace begins

U handles the iPhone webcam coverage, beaming the ceremony to Kathmandu...

MK gives MS his ring, plus a nice shot of the flowers I stole ;)

Newly married... the most recent addition to the "American-Nepali Household"

A cute moment together

Toasting with MK's mom (J Phupu) watching via webcam in Kathmandu... the wonders of technology!

P, MS, MK, U and I

The Newest American-Nepali Household Part I

P and I just got back from a lovely weekend in Vermont. About a week and a half ago we got a call from P’s cousin MK asking if we could come up to Burlington. She was planning to get married, and wanted to have her American-based family with her. Albeit last minute planning, it wasn’t something that happened spur of the moment, instead it was an event many years in the making…

I’ve mentioned MK and MS before, but usually in passing. Let me rewind and flush out their background a bit.

MK is J Phupu’s eldest daughter, and P’s first cousin. She grew up a few houses away from P in KTM, and after her father died of a brain hemorrhage about fifteen years ago, J Phupu and her daughters (MK and SK) moved in to P’s parents’ house.

MK is the same age as P’s younger brother U, and the two of them were sent to the US for university together in 2004. U went to a school in Pennsylvania, while MK went to a university in Vermont (coincidentally the same university my sister K went to). While at the university she met MS, and the two dated for several years. MS graduated in 2006, but stuck around Burlington. He majored in music and was connecting into the local music scene, playing in bands (he’s a gifted guitarist), and doing equipment and stage set up for programs around the area.

The first time MK told her mother about MS, J Phupu cried. The family had already dealt with P introducing the idea of marrying an American, and even though they accepted me, I’m sure deep down inside the family was hoping that P was an anomaly—that P’s brother and J Phupu’s two daughters would at least end up with Nepalis. The last thing they probably expected or wanted to hear was MK saying, “Actually… I am seeing an American.”

Right away P’s mom made U swear he would marry a Nepali… but you never know.

MS finally met J Phupu in 2008 when the family came for MK and U’s graduations. Their first interaction was rocky. J Phupu was still not happy with MK’s choice. Ideally she wanted MK to be with a Nepali, but MS probably made the whole “Hi, I love your daughter” situation a little worse with his first impression… he looked like a hippy Western tourist from Freak Street in Thamel—he had dreadlocks that reached down to his waist, and the wardrobe to match his hair. His appearances and her disapproval were roadblocks which inhibited J Phupu from seeing that MS was very hard working, devoted, caring, organized and came from a loving and supportive family; that he had a lot to offer MK as a life partner. Instead, J Phupu spent the week at MK’s apartment (which MS temporarily moved out of so as not to scandalize J Phupu any further) trying to convince her that MS was a bad idea, and even told MS that she didn’t think their relationship was a good choice.

It was a difficult period in their lives. I’m sure it was frustrating because the family seemed to be ultimately accepting of P and my relationship, while MK’s own mother wouldn’t budge on her relationship. The family didn’t say anything about P and I living together, while MK had to pretend that MS didn’t live with her. I didn’t really get it, but our friend R explained that expectations were different for sons and daughters. Although a family might not approve of a son’s relationship, families are often more flexible for a man. I think this could be a whole separate post topic for the future.

MK graduated in 2008 and like almost all international students in F-1 status in the US, she had to apply for OPT work authorization to be able to stay in the country and legally work. She only had twelve months to find something where she could earn money and hopefully be sponsored on an H1B (work) visa which would allow her to stay in the US even longer. She found work as a teacher’s aide at a local elementary school, a job that helped pay the bills, but not something that would sponsor a visa. At the end of her 12 month work permit the US government dictated that it was time for her to leave.

Obviously MS didn’t want her to go. He loved her, and asked if she wanted to get married. They could do a simple court marriage to keep her in the country, and if she didn’t feel ready for “real Marriage” yet, they could pretend like their legal marriage was an engagement until they had a “real” wedding with friends and family a few years down the road.

Ultimately MK decided to leave. She packed up her stuff and left it with MS’s parents, and flew back to KTM. Her family started pressuring her to study for the GREs and apply to graduate school to get back to the US, but I think she wasn’t really interested in that path. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, and eventually found a position working at a research institute in Kathmandu.

It’s tough to be apart from the person you care about most, and MS was no exception. After being separated by half the world for a year, he decided he had had enough. During the months that MK had been away, MS worked as much as he could, picking up jobs here and there and saving until he had enough to leave the US for a while. He departed for KTM without much of a plan, excited to see MK, and hoping he didn’t have to leave the country until she could leave with him.

MS stayed with P’s family for nearly seven months, and I think it was often difficult for him. Not only were there periods of culture shock (Nepal was his first trip outside of the Western world), there were social expectations that frustrated him. As he told his family back home, “I’ve missed MK for so long, and now that I’m here I can’t even hug her!” since public displays of affection are frowned upon. Unlike P and I, they insisted that MK and MS sleep in separate rooms. When MK would go on field expeditions for her work, MS was left alone with the family, trying to fit in and learn about the culture.

After a while MS’s extended visit became awkward for P’s family. Whereas my shorter previous visits could be explained away to nosy neighbors as a “good friend” visiting from abroad, MS didn’t want to leave after a month, and it was harder to explain why he was living with the family. In a country where family is generally centered on the man’s side, it is already awkward for a son-in-law to spend extended periods of time with his wife’s family, but now we are talking about a couple that’s not married, and the boyfriend is from America! J Phupu started pressuring MS to start thinking about leaving, but MS was adamant that he didn’t want to leave until he could bring MK with him. They started paperwork at the American embassy for a K-1 fiancée visa for MK, but the process was still taking months.

Eventually J Phupu changed her tactic and started pressuring MS to return to the US so he could find a job and start saving to build a more solid financial foundation for when MK was able to come back and the two were to get married.  While in Nepal he had connected with several musical groups, and found gigs playing guitar for a few hundred rupees at bars in Thamel. It gave him some pocket money, but he wasn’t earning anything substantial, and he had used much of what he had saved getting to Nepal and living there for so long. After seven months MS eventually agreed that it made sense for him to go back first and start “setting up” their new life.

P was in Nepal at the time, and took pictures of his departure. That particular day there was a city wide bandh (strike), so there were no cars or taxis on the road. The city tourist council arranged for a tourist bus to leave from Thamel to bring foreigners to the airport, one of the few authorized vehicles able to drive that day. The family garlanded him in the living room, and said their tearful goodbyes (I think MS and J Phupu were the most emotional), and walked him to the bus in the tourist district. His last glimpse of the family was from the dusty bus windows. Once he arrived back in the US, he headed to Burlington to set up a place for when MK joined him.

We invited MS and his parents to our wedding over the summer. It was nice to see him, and our first time meeting his mom and dad. During the Nepali Wedding-after party MS bought me a drink and gave me a hug. I told him we were happy to have him, and he said he was happy to be there. “Without you guys leading the way, I know it would have been much harder for us. I’m glad I could see this all happen.”

MK’s fiancée visa was finally approved in September, and she elected to stay in KTM through the holiday season of Dashain and Tihar, and arrived in the US in mid-November. They spent their first night back together at our apartment in Massachusetts before heading back up to MS’s family home in New Hampshire, and then up to Burlington, Vermont.

One of the requirements for a K-1 fiancée visa is that the couple has to be legally married in the US within 90 days of the visa holder’s arrival in the States or the visa is nullified. We knew the wedding would be happening soon, we just didn’t know when…

I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow…

From “Very Good Saathi” to “Naya Buhari”

The first time I visited Nepal I was in Kathmandu for four days. There wasn’t really time to meet anyone, only a neighbor’s daughter who needed to practice speaking with an American to prepare for her US visa interview, and we visited Mamu’s brother’s clothing shop where I was barely able to fit into any of the pants because I was too tall. Other than my stay with the immediate family, my visit was largely unnoticed by neighbors or extended family, so little explanation was needed as to who exactly I was or why I was there.

The second time I visited we stayed for three and a half weeks. By then P and I had been dating for nearly six years and we were engaged (his family didn’t know, although they figured we would marry eventually). For the first part of our stay, our friend RH was with us, and we went hiking in Solukhubu, so having two white foreign friends at the house, probably made it easier to explain to the neighbors that we were “just friends” visiting P for the hiking trip.

I stayed on after RH left, and we even went to a neighborhood wedding ceremony. As with many close-knit South Asian communities, people “talk,” so taking me to a neighborhood wedding was opening the family up to lots of “talk.” As we were getting ready, P’s aunt J Phupu said, “It anyone asks who you are, you are P’s ‘very good American friend.’ Okay? They do not need to know our business.” That trip I was always introduced as P’s “saathi” [friend].

Even though I kind of understood the logic—in a country where arranged marriages are still rather common, there was no need for the neighborhood to know that their son was with an American before we were married—but I was still hurt. I didn’t want to be P’s “good friend.” I thought after six years I could be considered at least a little more than that.

I even noticed that the Nepali papers referred to one of the American casualties from the Buddha Air crash as a “saathi” of one of the other Nepali passengers. If you read about the crash in on American online news source they explain that she was the Nepali passenger’s fiancée, and had come to Nepal to meet his mother before they married.

So this time it is refreshing to be here with P as a married couple. Instead of being the family secret or the “very good saathi” I get proudly introduced as the “naya buhari” [new bride]. Mamu is not ashamed to walk me by the local shops, point and smile, “naya buhari.” While the neighbors smile back, “ramro cha.” [she is good/nice].

Now if I could only speak proper Nepali back to everyone, I’d have it made.

Mamu and Daddy’s Departure…

P’s family is getting ready to leave. They originally planned to depart on September 26^th, but Mamu really wanted to get home to start organizing the house for Dashain, and they moved their tickets up to Sunday night (Sept 18^th).

They have been with us for twelve weeks.

Wow, I had to recount because I couldn’t believe it when I first counted. That time went super fast.

I was nervous before they came. I hadn’t had bad experiences with them before, but the idea of having my new in-laws live with me full time for such a long time felt daunting, or at least a bit overwhelming. But all went really well. I actually feel a lot closer to them than I did before, particularly Mamu, whom I get a big kick out of and really enjoy.

The last time P’s family visited us it was for five weeks back in 2008. P, myself, P’s brother, P’s cousin MK and P’s cousin’s boyfriend MS dropped them (Mamu, Daddy and MK’s mother J Phupu) off at the airport. We sat together for a while, and eventually it was time for them to go through the security gates. Mamu and J Phupu were crying, but Mamu was an absolute wreck. She was sobbing and was almost too upset to coherently find her way through the security line, and Daddy had to lead her along. When they reached KTM P’s dad called to inform us of their safe arrival, and said Mamu and J Phupu cried most of the plane ride home.

After such a dramatic departure last time, you might wonder if Mamu will equal, if not surpass, her level of anguish after staying with us for twelve weeks.

But I don’t think so. Perhaps Mamu will shed a tear or two, but I don’t think there will be too many frowns or too much sadness this time around.

Because…

We will be following them to Kathmandu next Friday.

Surprise!

Microwavable Popcorn and Tofu Edamame Nuggets

Sometimes P’s mom completely cracks me up. She comes up with things I just don’t expect.

Like when I asked her, “Is there anything else you need from the store before you go back to Nepal?” she went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of microwavable popcorn, “This, good gift, I think.” She said. I had made a few bowls of microwavable popcorn when we were watching a movie one night, and I think she really liked the taste. She said her sister has a microwave in Kathmandu, so this would be a unique gift for her.

“You show me how to make?” she asked, and we ran through the process of opening the plastic wrap, looking for the words “This side UP!” on the package so she knew how to place it in the microwave, and talked about microwave timings (and the possible need to experiment with microwave timings due to different microwaves and altitude).

“Yes, good gift for sister.” She said after the demonstration, then added with another smile, “and I could visit to eat also.”

When I asked her if there were any foods she tried in the US that she wanted to try again before she left she answered, “Joe’s Trader bhatmas [soybeans]… one we try.”

As you remember from Sneaky Mamu, P’s parents really like taste testing things at the Trader Joe’s grocery store. However the first time they went to one in Philadelphia they were scolded for taste testing too many times. So when they came to our Trader Joe’s in Massachusetts they were nervous to take more than one sample. Mamu came up with a loop hole to the “only one sample” rule when the food that was on offer that day wasn’t vegetarian. She surmised we, as vegetarians, could “sneak” extra portions for P and Daddy since the server wouldn’t know that we wouldn’t eat our share.

A week or two later we went to Trader Joe’s again, and Mamu was already excited in the car about what she might taste test, and was hoping it wouldn’t be a meat sample. When we got to the store she was pretty quick to start checking out the taste test stall. She asked me, “Vegetarian?” and I asked the server, and was giving the 100% vegetarian go ahead—it was a new product, tofu edamame nuggets dipped in sweet chili sauce. Mamu loved them immediately. I commented that they were good and asked if I could take a second and the server said yes. This delighted Mamu, but by the time she went for a second helping the nuggets were finished and the new round was still cooking. I chatted with the server for a bit while we waited for the next round, Mamu winking at me conspiratorially, hoping for her illicit second taste. We took a package home for dinner.

These were a good find. A healthy and tasty alternative for little kids who might want a chicken nugget— mental note for a few years down the line.

Mamu checks out the server station for potential vegetarian fare...

Tofu edamame nuggets... she shoots, she scores!

Anyway, last night we did our final Indian grocery store/TJ shopping excursion before P’s parents depart this Sunday evening. As we turned into the parking lot, Mamu was already abuzz in the back seat, explaining to our Nepali neighbor who came along for the shopping trip that he could taste test in the store… “Only once, unless you try [to sneak more, wink wink]” (sorry had to add that in, even though she didn’t articulate it, I had a feeling she was thinking it.)

I asked her, “Mamu, are you going to try for 2 taste tests today?”

“Maybe!”

We headed into the store looking for the tofu edamame nuggets that Mamu wanted to try again before she left for home, Mamu was quick to bee-line for the taste tester station. Yesterday they had crackers with jam and cheese.

“Vegetarian?” she asked me. “Yep,” I answered, and handed her a paper plate with the cheese/cracker. Then I went in search of the nuggets which took me a while to track down since only a few packets were left.

A few minutes later I bumped into Mamu, and she seemed really excited. “I eat twice!” she declared, “once you give, and another man give chocolate. He say, ‘you want’ and I say ‘yes’ and he give. What kind chocolate, I don’t know, but he give extra!”

“Mamu, you had two taste tests!” I said, and her face lit up,

“I did!” and she gave me a big thumbs up, which struck me as such an American thing to do. It cracked me up, I was standing in the aisle of the grocery store giggling. Then Mamu started giggling, and we were both giggling like kids.

Mamu was very proud of her double taste test.

We had her tofu edamame nuggets with sweet chili sauce as a side dish for dinner.

And tonight I’ll take her to the regular grocery store to find a nice big packet of microwavable popcorn.

Ten “Mamu-isms”

P and I were talking the other night and I said that Mamu had told me that P had “been ‘crying’ a lot lately.”

“That’s Mamu-speak for ‘complain’” I added.

“Are you some sort of ‘Mamu expert’ now?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think I speak enough ‘Mamu’ to get by.”

When one first meets Mamu she comes across as very shy and quiet. She will sit in a chair and smile (she smiles more with her eyes than her lips) and nod, but won’t say much. Either that or she will busy herself in the kitchen, out of sight, preparing snacks and drinks for guests.

But once she feels comfortable with you, she can really open up. She is one of those people who are pretty funny and memorable, not intentionally, but just by the noises she makes and the things that she says.

Mamu and I have been speaking largely in English during her visit. Short sentences with simple words, often repeated, slowly spoken, with an occasional Nepali word mixed in. If only more people would speak Nepali to me in a similar way (instead of rambling or fast sentences), I might be more successful.

It’s not just the words she uses, Mamu often accompanies her expressions, stories and questions with sound effects. Even when speaking Nepali. This adds to her funniness.

For example, there are several trains that go by our apartment in the evening and the first week or two she stayed with us the sound of the passing train would often wake her up and disturb her in the night. In the morning after I’d asked, “Mamu, how did you sleep?” she would answer,

“Ehhh, tam tam tam, grrng, what to do?” (‘what to do?’ is often accompanied by a hand gesture where she straightens her thumb and index finger and curls her other fingers and rolls her hand palm down to palm up)

Or, mistrustful of dogs, at the beginning of her stay she would warn us about our dog Sampson, “wild animals, arrr arrr grrr, poison teeth, never trust” (also accompanied by hand gestures of claws scratching or fangs biting).

With P’s parents’ departure date nearing, I thought it would be fun to list some of her most often used sayings:

Numbers 1 and 2 almost go without mention—

“What to do?” and “Not our habit”

“What to do” is pretty self-explanatory. “Not our habit” means “I’m not used to this” and is used as an explanation or excuse as to why she doesn’t like something (usually food). It’s become useful because now I can also pull out the, “not our habit” in defense of my rice intake.

3) “I eat everything” (sometimes, “My Mudder [mother] say, ‘I eat everything’”), her way of saying “I’m flexible, I won’t be picky” even though it’s not true in the slightest. It can be quite tough to feed Mamu at a restaurant on the road. On her “not our habit list” I have–all salads, most uncooked or not fully cooked vegetables, marinara sauce, cheese sauces, cinnamon, celery (even if fully cooked), food made with eggs (like cakes, breads), pizza, coffee, things with “a Chinese smell,” most cold foods and ice cubes.

We took her to a Vietnamese restaurant over the weekend and she was shocked that the waitress served us cold food, never mind that summer rolls are always cold. She touched each roll with a shocked expression, “chiso, chiso, all are chiso?”

“I told you they wouldn’t like them” P said.

“But Mamu… they are so good! :(” –C

4) “What you eat?” As soon as I walk in the door from work everyday I encounter Mamu in the kitchen, ready to feed me a snack. When I wake up in the morning Mamu asks, “What you eat?” (on a weekend morning she will add, “Maple?” which is what she and Daddy have started calling waffles because of the maple syrup I like to put on them), she asks me, “what you eat?” when inquiring about my lunch at work, and will ask “what you eat?” to see what my thoughts are for the dinner menu. Last night I heard she and Daddy on the phone with P’s brother, and the first question they each asked when they put the phone to their ear was, “Ke khane?” which is the same question in Nepali. Not eating in Nepali culture is akin to blasphemy. I worry someday my kids will be as large as an apartment block.

5) “Sufficient?” I try to use small simple words when talking with Mamu, but sometimes she busts out with more complicated words (like last night she asked, “Duplicate?” and I thought, “woah, where did that come from?”) But “sufficient” is one that she uses a lot and she usually uses it to mean “enough?” as in “did I give you enough rice?” or “do we have enough potatoes?” (as she puts two heaping spoons of rice on my plate and asks, “sufficient?” or picks up a five pound bag of potatoes at the grocery store and asks, “sufficient?”)

6) “Ehhhh,” Mamu uses this enough as well that I had to make it an expression. It’s a way she shows disappointment, like when I respond, “oh Mamu, too much rice for me” and scrape some of the two heaping spoons of rice back into the rice cooker, she will in turn respond by scrunch her face and saying, “ehhhhh.” She says “ehhh” to loud trains, “ehhhh” to people coming over without being invited, and “ehhhh” to other general frustrations– like Daddy wanting to stay in the US until the last minute before Dashain, and she wanting to go home early to clean the house and prepare food for the festival—“ehhh, Daddy does not know. He play cards for Dashain, I cook. A lot of work.”

7) “Crying” as I said earlier, this generally means “complain” or “asks for a lot” usually accompanied by an “ehhh.” Often she says, “Ehhhh, Kaka Bua [P’s grandfather] is crying crying, ‘Where is buhari [daughter-in-law]? Where is son?’” (Mamu is P’s grandfather’s main caregiver in Nepal, and he is missing them a lot while they are here with us in the US, it’s another one of the main reasons Mamu is ready to go home, and has been pushing to leave for some time now). She also says it when talking about Daddy, “In Nepal, no roti… Daddy is crying every day for rice” (Mamu likes making the two of us frozen roti from the Indian grocery store, because she also likes roti and they are cheap and quick to make here, but often in KTM in a house of rice eaters– Daddy and Kakabua– she doesn’t get the chance.)

Recently she mentioned that relatives back in Nepal have been “crying” since our wedding was in the US, they want to know when the wedding party will be for those back in Nepal.

8) “Yesterday” and “Tomorrow” in Mamu-speak these words mean the opposite. Daddy used to correct her, but she consistently makes the mistake so often, that now when she says “yesterday” we know she means tomorrow and vice-versa. She often also confuses “he” and “she” and will sometimes refer to P as “she.”

9) “Your favorite?” is Mamu’s way of asking if you like something. To me it means something you like the most—as in, “my favorite color is green” but to Mamu it means something you enjoy such as, “I like this salwaar kameez”

10) “Oh-kay” Is something Mamu says that doesn’t really mean anything. Often I’ll ask her to do something and she will say “Oh-kay” and keep doing something else. For instance, every night we sit down to eat dinner, and Mamu and Daddy eat so quickly, I’ve hardly started by the time they are done, and Mamu is quick to jump up and take the dishes to the sink and start cleaning. Every night (literally) I have to tell her, “Mamu no, please leave the dishes. I will do. You cooked, let me clean up.” She will call out from the kitchen “Oh-kay, oh-kay, oh-kay” but will continue cleaning. So I have to call again, “Mamu, come please, come sit with us, we miss you.” And she calls back “Oh-kay. Oh-kay com-ing” and still doesn’t come. I’ll get up and go to the kitchen and say, “Mamu leave that, please, come.”  “Oh-kay, oh-kay” but still nothing. So I try to pick up the extra dishes and gently nudge her aside and start cleaning myself, and she says, “Oh-kay, you eat, I finish.” So I sit back down, there is only so much one can do.

There are plenty of other interesting things Mamu says, but these are the only ones that stick out in my mind at the moment. They give you a nice flavor of what taking to Mamu is like.

Daddy’s New Collection

At the end of July P and I headed south with Mamu and Daddy so that we could attend our friends’ wedding. Along the way, as we usually do when traveling south, we stopped in Connecticut at our friends R and S’s abode, had some dinner and spent the night.

During that brief stopover S acted as a bit of inspiration to Daddy.

Over the years S has been collecting coffee mugs, generally from places that he has visited, but sometimes he will try to bring back a mug from a place that has some special significance. For instance, he sweet talked the owner of the venue where P and I got married so that he could bring home a mug with the venue name on it.

Anyway, he has quite a number of them now, and has them lined up on a shelf in his apartment. Daddy must have spotted these, and thought it was a great idea, because shortly thereafter he was on a mission–

Collect every mug he can find.

It has been little over a month now, and he has about 14. He even bought one from the apple picking orchard we went to over the weekend (how “New England” of us), although rather than “____ Apple Orchard”  he chose a mug from a hodgepodge heap in the back of the orchard shop that said “Excalibur Hotel, Las Vegas Nevada.”

I think Daddy is a little unclear whether he wants to collect mugs from every place he has been/has a connection to, or if he interested in having mugs from interesting places regardless of whether he has been there or not.

Every time he gets a new mug he cleans it out very meticulously, then polishes it, and wraps it in tissue paper. His goal is to find a small box for each, but not every place gives him a box. He discovered recently that the canned rosgolla sweets from the Indian grocery store come in a box that is the perfect size for mugs, and joked that we should eat a lot of rosgolla between now and when they depart, however I am not volunteering to eat 14 boxes worth of Bengali sweets before the end of the month.

When I tease Mamu about what they are going to do with all these new souvenirs– American coffee mugs are much too big for tea drinking back in Nepal, so I know that these new pieces are just for show– she shakes her head, “Ehhh, I don’t know. Daddy wants, what to do?”

I’m glad he found a new hobby while traveling in the US. The next time P and I travel somewhere interesting, we can bring him back a mug.

* I also have a collection, that I’ve been adding to since I was a little kid. My collection is on display on a shelf in the room where P’s parents are staying in our apartment (I’ll write about it at another time). So perhaps the “collecting something” trend was also partially inspired by me?

Let’s Teej Again, Like We Did Last Summer…

Other Teej Posts: Teej (2009), It’s Time Again for Teej (2010), Panchami and the Bhutanese Refugees (2010)

Today is my first married Teej and my first Teej with my mother-in-law.

I first learned about the holiday when P and I moved from New York to Massachusetts in 2007. I’ve taken part in the festival every year since, generally by wearing red and fasting for 24 hours, and usually by dressing up in a sari and going to the local temple with several female friends (AS, S-di) at some point during the day.

This year Mamu is with us, so I am letting her dictate how we should celebrate the occasion. Last night she explained that I should wake up early, take a shower so that I am “pure,” then I should dress in red clothing and wear my bangles and green and gold wedding tilhari, then we would worship Shiva and Parvati.

“And fast all day?” I asked.

“Eh, fasting too difficult.” Mamu said. “You have to work, not so strict. Eat pure foods. Milk, potato, sweets, fruits. No salt, no rice.”

“But Mamu that seems like too easy of a fast.” I told her. “No salt and no rice is easy if I get to eat sweets and fruits all day.”

“In Nepal it used to be harder.” Daddy explained, “No food, no water. But now the rules are not so strict. No need to fast all day. Sweets and fruits are fine.”

“But potatoes? Eating boiled potatoes hardly feels like a fast.” I insisted.

“It’s okay.” They said, “Eat, eat.”

If one thing is true above all else, I’ll never starve as a member of the P family.

So this morning I set my alarm for 6am… and snoozed it until about 6:40. By the time I was conscious enough to roll out of bed and stumble into the shower Mamu had already beaten me there. So I laid down for a few more minutes and listened to the water, waiting for her to finish.

Then I showered, and dressed up in a red kurta top that Mamu and Daddy picked out yesterday. I selected ten of my red and gold glass wedding bangles, putting five on each arm, and slipped my green wedding pote with golden tilhari over my head. When I went out to the living room Mamu and Daddy were already sitting on the couch waiting.

“Come, come,” Mamu said, “Wash hands to purify, then we go to worship Shiva.” At the sink she asked me, “Where’s your tikka? No tikka?”

“Should I put?” I asked.

“Tikka put on. Small tikka. Very pretty.” She insisted. So I went to my bedroom and fished out a packet of small sparkly tikkas from my jewelry box and stuck it between my eyebrows. While I was at it I asked P to put a small dot of orange sindoor at the part in my hair.

“Good,” Mamu said, and we walked to her bedroom where she had a small altar set up on the dresser. She had folded the Nepali calendar she brought with her from Kathmandu so that a picture of Shiva and Parvati was facing upward. In front of the picture she had a cucumber, a banana and an apple on a plate. She lit two incense and said, “Today we pray for the long lives of our husbands,” and motioned for me to pick up the plate of fruit/veg. I circled it in front of the gods’ picture and then she gave me the incense she had been holding. She folded her hands in Namaste and whispered a quick prayer. After I circled the incense she took them back and stuck them in the cucumber in front of Shiva to finish burning. She then motioned for me to touch both the heads of Shiva and Parvati, and then touch my own forehead with my right hand, then motioned for me to touch the two images of Ganesh and again touch my forehead.

“Okay, finished.” She said, “You want boiled potato?”

She took me to the kitchen where she had two small boiled potatoes on a plate ready for me. I felt like I was cheating. I kind of like fasting. I don’t have many opportunities to do it and I like having a reason to abstain from food—it’s like a personal challenge, and it makes you think about what it is like for the people in the world who have to go without. It teaches you discipline, and gives you some clarity. I have great respect for people who fast for Ramadan. One day of fasting hardly seems like a sacrifice.

I guiltily took one of the small potatoes and took a small bite.

“How many?” Mamu asked, “Two? Three?”

“One is okay.” I told her. “Potatoes are heavy.”

“But I have many!” She said, lifting the lid off the pressure cooker to reveal another four or five floating in the water.

I compromised, “I’ll eat one now, and take two small potatoes for lunch.”

“And sweets?” she asked. At the Indian grocery store last night she had picked up two boxes of sweets—barfi and jelabi, and a canister of rosgolla. She thrusted three barfi into my hands.

“I’ll eat one now and take one for dessert.” I said.

“No… two. You want another? Three?”

“Okay, I’ll take two.” I packed a small lunch box with two small boiled potatoes, two milk barfi, and an apple. So much for “fasting.”

“No salt today.” Mamu instructed. “Only pure foods—ghee, milk, fruit, sweets, and potato.”

So now I am sitting in my office with tikka, sindoor, tilhari, red kurta, and glass bangles. In my own office it doesn’t matter so much… I’ve dressed “international” before, and it is more accepted by our student population (being that they too are international), but I have to meet with a domestic student today that the university administration asked me to take off campus for a serious issue tomorrow morning, so I am a little shy about meeting her all “Nepali-fied” and having her think I’m “weird.” I also have to host the campus religious diversity center open house—which I guess dressed in Hindu festival attire I won’t be too out of place, but I prefer my bubble of cultural diversity when dressed in this way.

The plan for the rest of the day is that once I get home from work I’ll dress up in a new maroon silk sari that Mamu brought me from Nepal specifically for Teej and go to the temple where P and I got married with Mamu and S-di.

So happy long life to my family, and happy Teej to anyone else celebrating today. Hopefully your MILs and/or significant others are helping you cheat with sweets as well today ;)

Sneaky Mamu

I should preface this story with the fact that my mother-in-law is a small woman in her early sixties. I’m about five foot seven, and she only stands about as tall as my neck. She has a round, tan face with spectacles, pulls her medium length hair back in a jewel clipped ponytail, and always always wears salwar kameez, tikka, pote, and two glass bangles–one on each arm.

While we were held up in the house during Hurricane Irene, Mamu told P and I a story from when she and Daddy were in Philadelphia visiting P’s brother.

Apparently there is a Trader Joe’s (or “Joe’s Trader” as Mamu kept calling it) grocery store somewhere near P’s brother’s apartment, and Mamu and Daddy would occasionally walk over during the day while U was at work and look for vegetables.

Trader Joe’s generally has a sample station where customers can go up and try a new product or taste test something in the store. I guess one day Mamu and Daddy went up one too many times, and were scolded by the person manning the station. As Mamu put it:

“Daddy ask the man, ‘Can I take one more?’ and the man say… ‘No!’… but I don’t ask, I take one extra…” then she giggled.

We also thought the story was funny… Mamu sneaking extra portions when the sample man was telling Daddy no.

Then today we stopped at our local Trader Joe’s on the way back from the Indian grocery store so I could pick up some olive oil. We walked around the store and Mamu spotted the sample station. She walked up to check out what was being offered, and was sad to see they were giving samples of chicken burgers with an Italian/balsamic dressing. “We are banned today,” she said, meaning we vegetarians couldn’t take the sample. So Daddy and P each took a sample and we started walking down another aisle.

Daddy must have said something to her, or else Mamu has a rebellious streak, but a little while later she quietly took my arm an whispered. “Come, Come…You, me… we take sample and give to P and Daddy. We are banned but the man does not know we give away.”

So Mamu and I casually walked up to the sample station. I asked, “So what do we have? Chicken burgers? Nice…” and we each took a sample, then we walked down the aisle and around the corner to P and Daddy. Mamu had a conspiratorial grin on her face.

“Mamu! You are a sneaky rebel!” I said.

“Me? No.” She answered, dare I say, with a twinkle in her eye.