A foreigner in my own country

It’s not that I stand out in the crowd, but maybe I do. Though I hail from a Kiranti** background I don’t know my mother tongue. Having been lived in Kathmandu ever since being born, I realize I’ve lost some of my heritage and pride when I can’t speak my mother tongue. No wonder I find myself feeling out of place in the alleys of the traditional cities of Kathmandu, Patan* and Bhaktapur*. Although I may appear to be gazing with awe at the beautiful handicrafts I stand there straining to understand a dialect I should have learnt by now.

But this is of no such amazement to many of us, who probably too feel the same way, but it certainly is a surprise when a street –vendor calls out to you and tries to sell you – say probably a khukuri or any souvenir item. You then watch the color fade from his face when you tell him- ‘Dai, yo ta mahango bhayena ra’ ( brother, isn’t this a bit expensive). When his color does return, a cheerful apology from him. Such experiences aren’t rare but are of novelty. I’ve had such experiences, specially in Bhaktapur* and Godavari*, when people mistook me to be of the orient. It didn’t surprise me though when in Bhaktapur* the person in charge asked for a tourist fee from a queer looking fellow in shorts, whom he thought to be a Japanese. It was odd to be caught like this and I was a bit at a loss for words. The truth was that I was annoyed at the man. But I managed to see the lighter side of this a bit later when I was walking around with my friend. And the really humorous side dawned upon me when my friend told the story at his house and a hysterical laughter ensued from all present.

Next time I was in Godavari*, with my sister, trying to capture some photographs of the scenic beauty. It wasn’t odd when a farmer stopped his work and offered me some rice-beer, because Nepalese are known to be friendly. But I think it certainly surprised him when I spoke in Nepali and told him I was one like him. I couldn’t blame him for the picture of an orient looking person with an expensive camera slung over his shoulder and taking pictures of the mountains does seem like the typical tourist.

Wandering around the Basantapur* area I have seen lots of salesmen try to sell their goods to the tourists with some success. I would find it irritating if someone were always on my back trying to see whatever I was doing. And I thought that this must be irritating for the tourists because they have to dodge such salesmen everywhere. I wished that the people would leave the tourists alone to do their bit of touring by themselves. And I definitely didn’t think these were that amusing until one day I was stopped in Jamal. I was going to my friends house. I had just stepped down from the over-head bridge when this person came and tried to sell me his goods. It was funny I think with his broken English, trying his best to convince me to buy his goods. ‘Lo and behold was he surprised when I tried to haggle with him about the price. I named such an outrageously low price that he somehow managed to slip inconspicuously amongst the crowds and find another potential buyer.

It’s all too confusing to look at these incidents and think that I shall grow up and live as a foreigner in my own country. These instances would have helped the foreign ministry a great deal but I am not the ministry. I’m just the average teenager going about my business occasionally being amused by such incidents. But they don’t harm me in any way. In fact they just help me to remember to look at life from a comical angle. I do hope such instances occur from time to time because it helps me stay in perspective with the funny side of life.

* are traditional cities of Nepal

** an ethnic group of Mongolian origin