Sushila and Sumi, friends
Sushila and Sumi, friends
Betrawati, 2002
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Sogot on his grandfather’s lap
Sogot on his grandfather’s lap
Betrawati, 2002
This porch, tucked under the eaves of the front of the house, is a great place to rest from the sun (or rain), and just watch life flow by.
Friends, neighbors, and relatives walk by on the wide dirt path out front.
In the mornings, sit here with a metal cup of buffalo-milk tea, blowing on it until it's cool enough to hazard a sip. Watch the children in their school uniforms, with their crisp white shirts and colorful ties, walking by from right to left, wool hats protecting them from the cool morning air. In the afternoon, see the same children come back the other way—now hatless in the afternoon's warmth—laughing and playing and chasing each other as they go.
On the far side of the path, eight steps made from large rocks lead down to a small path. You may hear the family's buffalo, or her newborn calf as you descend; reach out to give her a caring rub on her velvety forehead.
Forty meters on, beyond the rice field, feel the roar of the mighty Trishuli river as she crashes by. A deep, unending torrent of Himalayan snowmelt smashing and tripping and tumbling over boulders that survive only because they are larger than elephants.
Half a kilometer beyond, the brilliant green forested hills of Tupche rise up steeply. They become grey, then greyer still, then suddenly black as the sun drops behind them and the valley falls into night.
All of this is taken in by Sogot, as he sits here
on the lap of his loving grandfather.
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Rajendra, Rukmani, and little brother Khancha
Rajendra, Rukmani, and little brother Khancha
Betrawati, 2002
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Gayatri’s son
Gayatri’s son
Betrawati, 2002
[text below from a postcard I wrote on October 2nd, 2000]
"Gayatri and I were going to her office today; it's about an hour away, far up on one of the hills. She works for women's rights in Nepal. My aama (mother) here joined us for about half the way, then turned off onto a separate path to go see about a bi-see-quo (buffalo). Gayatri and I continued on—even though it was still early, only about 9:45am, it still felt like we were carrying the full weight of the sun on our backs.
The office where Gayatri works is tucked into the side of a hill, surrounded by green fields of millet. Inside it was nice and cool, and there was such a good cross-breeze that I was soon shivering in my sweat-soaked shirt. She and her co-worker Sangita prepared some tea for us which helped rid me of the shivers. They went about their work and I took the time to write. A little while later we ate the lunch that they prepared while Sangita softly sang along to a Nepali song on the radio."
(In the background of the above photo, you can see our neighbor seated in front of her house, stripping dried ears of corn of their kernals.)
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Gayatri, with her brother Ishoor, during a festival in 2000.
The make-up around Gayatri’s son's eyes is called kajal. You can see me holding a small tin of it below.
Dipika and Deepak, sister and brother
Dipika and Deepak, sister and brother
Betrawati, 2002
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Nisha harvesting
Nisha harvesting
Betrawati, 2002
When a rice field is ready to harvest it is drained and let to dry. Once the ground is hard, the grass is cut by hand. When it’s dry enough, a tarp is laid out and a large stone is placed in the middle. Swinging handfuls of the grass against the stone, the rice is separated off and gathers on the tarp. A child collects the clumps of grass and makes large stacks, which can later be fed to a family buffalo.
The sickle-like tool Nisha is holding is called a hi-shuh.
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Nisha, all but hidden in a field of rice stalks.
Manita
Manita
Betrawati, 2002
I think this was bath day as she was running around playing under one of the villages many public spigots.
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Manju
Manju
Betrawati, 2002
Manju lived a couple of houses away from my host family's house.
This photo was taken on the wide path that ran past our long row of houses.
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2011: The wide path that runs by the houses, a water spigot, a field of maize.
Sarita holding her brother Sanjiv
Sarita holding her brother Sanjiv
Betrawati, 2002
Bua and Ama
Bua and Ama
Betrawati, October 8th, 2000
[text below from a postcard I wrote on October 8th, 2000]
"...This is the day when all of the amas and buas [mothers and fathers] give their families tikas. Unlike most tikas, these ones are enormous and by the time you've gone to each of the tika-giving people—in my case, eleven—your whole forehead is almost covered.
Woven mats are unrolled in front of the house and all of the amas and buas sit on them—a plate made of metal or of leaves acts as their palette. There is a paint-like substance made from marigolds (I think), a blackish paint applied with a piece of wood, and a mixture of dry rice and red paint. To receive your tika, you hunch down in front of the giver so that your faces are about twelve inches from each other. As they apply the tika with their caring fingers, they softly speak a blessing in Nepali.
They're looking at your forehead as they apply the tika—but it feels like they are looking you straight in the eyes. Reading their faces, I felt like a favorite painting that an old master was putting a final touch on. For the first time I was able to appreciate the incredible beauty of my ama's eyes—her irises a rich brown inlaid with lace, and the outer edge a grayish moonlight blue.
After everyone has their tikas, we all sit on the mats and eat rice, vegetable sauce, goat, and curd from bowls made of leaves sewn together..."
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My bahini [younger sister] Barsha and a boy (whose name I don't know) with their tikas.
As the ceremony was coming to an end, I spied this little girl carrying her mothers much-larger parasol and it was so sweet that I quickly took a photo.