The Tamang Wedding

At Aparna’s house in Nagarkot I work with Karsang Lama—a carpenter, plumber, plasterererer, electrician, musician, and Buddhist priest of the Tamang ethnic group. He and his wife Pramila live at his home in Sindhupalchok, although right now he stays at the house with Greg and Aparna because it’s a two-hour motorbike ride to his village. They have two children, Anis and Anisa Lama, who go to a boarding school far away from their house.

Pramila’s sister was getting married and Karsang invited us all to go, unfortunately Aparna and Greg were busy receiving friends on the same day so I went alone. I was a bit nervous because no one was going to speak English and my Nepali is too basic for basic conversation. But I’ve been wanting to go for a long time and I wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity to go to a Tamang wedding.

Around 3:30/4:00, Karsang and I left upon his very decorated motorbike. Bumpy riding, a spicy black pepper tea stop at his aunt's house, and a failed momo procurement attempt later, we arrived at his house in Sindupalchok. His wife and children were waiting for us, so we had some tea and quickly left off to her family home. Note that in Nepal women always move in with the men’s family after marriage, and while Pramila's family lives nearby sometimes the families live very far away.

Karsang's bike decor

Karsang's children

Using the roof to jam things in place

Karsang, Anisa, and Pramila (in that order) got on the motorbike and they told me to walk with 9-year-old Anis to the wife’s village. I followed Anis blindly, tried to talk to him a little bit, and then gave up and just kept walking. The setting is breathtaking: stacked layers of farmland carve the mountainside, through forest and jungle, with jagged 7000-8000m peaks in the background. The people we walked past were very curious and kept asking Anis where we were going and he would respond “house!” or a simple “ah” accompanied by a little head bobble. The sun set and our only light was by the half moon directly above us; over an hour later we arrived in Pramila’s village.

View on the walk

terraces

Anis showing the way

There were probably twenty family members hanging out in the house and everyone was curious and friendly. We went up some stairs to another little kitchen and took a seat on the floor, where an old woman brought us plates of buffalo blood, spicy buffalo meat, and some old roti. Also a little bowl with more rakshi and Mountain Dew. Karsang kept freaking out every time I was offered alcohol, and being a good Buddhist Priest, insisted that I was not allowed to drink. He would be disgusted by the American university drinking experience.

After eating I got dragged by the aunties to dance. The music was super loud and everyone was packed on a concrete terrace bordered by a steep drop-off to the next terrace of dirt and farm houses. They looked at me expectantly, as if I was going to dance for all of them by myself. I am not necessarily a shy person but that’s pushing my limits. I insisted I would only dance if they danced with me, so Pramila and her sister and I started dancing in typical Nepali fashion—going in a counterclockwise circle and doing a little dance with the feet accompanied by twirly hands. Over time I’ve realized that part of what makes Nepali dance difficult for me is that the dances relate to the lyrics. But you can still shake what your mama gave you and laugh at the fact that there are 30 people all staring at you and taking videos of you. Aha. My social anxiety is redefining itself.

After an hour of dancing we went inside and I hung out with all the girls in the room. Pramila and I shared the little bed (the no-mattress kind) and there were six to sleep on the floor. An adorable little girl tucked me in and we all went to bed.

With Pramila

Sleepover

The next day started at 6:30, and it was one of the girls’ birthday so she went around with a bag and gave all of us a little wafer candy. It struck me how everyone just tossed their used wrapper on the floor--there are no trash cans here and even if there were, it's not like there's a trash collection. People typically burn their trash or dump it in a specific place.

We started to get ready, all in the same room, and the bride (Nirmala, age 24) sat patiently while her friend did her makeup and hair. Pramila gave me a traditional Tamang dress to wear and a matching blue tika. I thought it was cute how all the girls and women were helping each other fold their saris, do their makeup, etc. It was also chaotic because there were over a dozen of us in one small room. Meanwhile a man showed up with a box of dead chickens just outside the room and was getting them ready. The juxtaposition of 'bride getting ready' and 'chicken getting readied' was funny and a touch alarming.

We ate some food (spicy beans and meat and flattened rice) and waited for the groom to arrive from his village. Eventually we followed the bride out to meet her groom, where they exchanged laurels of freshly cut grass adorned with beads and tinsel and then she was escorted back to her room. Pramila handed me a plate of more beans and rice, quite spicy again, and Karsang kept insisting that I was not allowed to have any alcohol. It bugged me. I respected his request because I was his guest but let me tell you that having a little bit of alcohol with everyone else would have made the day a LOT easier. I felt so uncomfortable… I couldn’t communicate with anyone except with a tiny bit of Nepali and smiles. A lot of people were taking photos of and with me, and that is not something I particularly enjoy. But the Tamang dresses were so beautiful; all the women looked impeccable while many men were in joggers and a hoodie. A woman pulled me aside and put those little red bracelets on my hand. My hand is bigger than the average Nepali woman's, and I told her it would be impossible to get them on my wrist. But lo, she got them on. It took about 15 minutes of struggle, vegetable oil, and some ripped skin.

For the whole afternoon I wandered around, too self-aware for my own good, and tried to chat with people that came up to me but it was nearly impossible to understand anything. People kept asking me if I wanted food and I kept saying no, because I’d already eaten plenty and because the spicy food hurts the ol’ tummy, but they’d come up to me and hand me a full plate of food anyway. They are a very giving people and from what I understand, saying “no” here doesn’t necessarily mean no, especially when it comes to food, and especially if you’re a foreigner.

With the sisters

Getting ready

Pramila and Karsang and Anisa

The wedding tent

The wreath

Chicken prep

Huge cooking pots

Cleanup

Small baby

Getting the bracelets on

The kitchen

The dance floor

Then I went to dance with some girls and we shuffled around in this little circle on uneven dirt, kicking up plenty of dust as we went. A young girl was ROCKIN it in the center of the circle, and they all knew the dances and songs by heart so it was hard for me to keep up but fun to watch and be a part of it. I got a bit overwhelmed eventually and everyone took a break. Also check out the hoodie that one of the boys was wearing; I have to believe that he doesn’t speak any English because there’s just no way.

I wandered off and went back to the room from that morning to sit for a quiet minute, or thirty. But when I went inside, Nirmala (bride) was sitting on the bed and stifling tears. She motioned for me to sit down next to her and we just sat there together. Karsang lay on the bed behind her and asked me how I was enjoying the wedding. Trying to be sympathetic with the crying bride next to me, I just said “it’s very nice.” He then asked me if I was happy. “yes, happy.” Oh ☹ Not VERY happy? You’re not happy?? “No no, I’m happy” Very happy? “Ok yes very happy.” He couldn’t see that Nirmala was crying but I was getting seriously pissed off because he was being insensitive. Eventually Nirmala, who also looked annoyed behind the other emotions, looked at me and grabbed my hand and said we were going to the bathroom. I wanted to say something to her but had no way of communicating that my heart ached for her, so I just squeezed her hand with my sweaty hand and we went to the bathroom and came back and sat for a while longer. The things I thought were challenging before evaporated because I was not in an arranged marriage.

Most shocking for me was that none of her sisters or the other women were coming to help her. When they did show up, they got her on her feet and dressed her in the next outfit. She was still fighting tears, and doing so very bravely, and they didn’t acknowledge her suffering. I wondered if maybe it’s because all of these women had been through the same thing and it’s considered normal.

After the wedding I had several conversations with people about the significance of the crying bride and the men all answered with a shrug and said that the women here are expected to cry at the wedding, as if that makes it dandy. Later, Aparna confirmed that it's expected for them to cry because they are leaving their family homes for the first time in their lives. The arranged marriage is part of it too, but it was a reminder that not everything is as it seems and as westerners we are quick to make incorrect assumptions that demonize traditional cultures. It comes down to having all the information and taking the time to understand. I'm not saying I agree with arranged marriage but there's a lot more to the story than we think.

Everyone kept asking me if I was hungry and I said "No", and “I’m full,” and “I’m not hungry” and “I ate lots of food,” and still I was brought a heaping plate of spicy buffalo meat and lentils and rice and pickled radishes and vegetables. Being with Nirmala was so depressing, and now the thought of yet again overeating overly spicy food that I had repeatedly turned away made me feel panicky and put me also on the verge of releasing the tears that had been building up. I didn’t cry. I ate the rice and the veggies but didn’t dare eat any more spicy food for the sake of my stomach, and eventually a little girl saw me not eating and cleared my plate. Bless her. Kids don’t judge. And when they do, they don’t conceal it.

Nirmala's oldest brother came into the room and carried her on his back to the wedding procession area, where she sat with her groom and they bowed their heads while someone recited vows(?). She repeatedly dabbed her eyes with her scarves. After a very long time in this position, people started coming up and putting tika on the forehead of the bride and groom. The groom’s brother sat next to him, and his sisters and mother sat next to and beside Nirmala at the table. They also received tika, and then people would give a little gift of money to the bride, groom, his brother, and her oldest sisters. Sometimes they would also give to the youngest sisters and the mother. They would accept the gift with the gaze averted and down, and take it in both hands with a nodding appreciation.

I went back to the room to get the envelopes I’d prepared. I put 1000 rupees ($7 USD) in each envelope, even though Aparna had told me 500 was a good amount, and Karsang saw me and told me to only put 500. I didn’t have two 500 bills so I put 500 for the bride and 400 for the groom, because I’d seen people sometimes giving them different amounts. I also put in 5 rupees because Greg had said it’s considered good luck to put in an uneven amount.

Karsang and I went back and got in line to put tika. He went first and I watched attentively, but I also realized he was doing more than most people (probably because he is a priest). First he rinsed his right hand with a little pitcher of water, then took tika (rice) and tossed it in the air above the bride and groom in a blessing gesture. He put tika on everyone sitting there, and gave 1000 to the bride and groom and then 100 to the brother and 100 to the two oldest sisters and 50 to the young girls. He also put scarves around the bride, groom, his brother, and his mother.

When it came to me I was a bit nervous and awkwardly smushed rice on the foreheads of the bride, groom, and his brother. When I went to put some on his sister, Karsang told me to kind of just throw it over her head because a headpiece covered her forehead, but when I did it all stuck together and awkwardly landed on her head and everyone started laughing. I turned beet red and then did it again, a little better the second time, and put scarves around the bride and groom. I handed them the envelopes too, and quickly walked away after that feeling quite embarrassed. I also didn’t know I was supposed to have a small gift for the others at the table beforehand so I didn’t have enough small bills. Oh well. I tried my best, whatever that counts for.

Piggyback

Tika

After this I went back to the main house but now the bride, groom, and his family were all sitting on the bed in the room and it didn’t feel appropriate for me to be there. But also I was getting cold and all my layers were in that room. So I waited outside and listened to some men playing tambourines and singing traditional Tamang music. I chatted with the first person I’d met that spoke a little bit of English—he was a police officer in Kathmandu. It just felt good to talk to someone. Eventually the wife and groom were carried by piggy back by their fathers to a truck that was waiting for them with food and a blanket to sit on. People kept offering me food, but I’ve gotten better at saying no. It helped to not smile because I think that if you smile, they think you’re being polite when you say no.

I was getting really cold so I went into the house to the top floor, and I don’t know how to explain it but I just felt really safe and cozy up there amongst the severed buffalo hooves and drying meat bits hanging overhead. Someone offered me rakshi and in the absence of Karsang’s nagging I happily accepted. I slowly finished eating went to sit in the room on my phone for an hour or so, decompressing and texting various friends about the experience. Pramila and her sisters were there too, all exhausted by the day. People kept offering me food and I kept saying no.

Music started coming from the kitchen, some older women of different generations singing traditional music with the tambourine, so I went to sit there with them. It reminded me of sitting by a campfire with someone playing a little guitar, except instead of campfire smoke it was a cloud of cigarette smoke. I’m always nervous about taking videos of things like that, because I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, but the guy sitting next to me told me to take a video so I obliged and now I’m happy to have the footage, but those experiences are always more powerful in real life. Sometimes I think taking a video permanently distorts your memory of an event because when you rewatch it your memory gets diluted. I feel that way about concerts, sunsets, and subtle moments.  

Anyway. People kept offering me food. I kept saying no. Also one of the aunties kept asking me to dance but I was soooo tired. Eventually I said ok, just for a little bit, and when we went over she said ok dance! Once again I told her that if she wanted me to dance, she had to dance first. We started dancing a little bit with one of the others, but this time there were a lot more men dancing too. The men and women have very different dances. I already described the women's dance, and the men do a lot more jumping and their bouncing is more pronounced, and they rock back and forth with their chest and arms. Sometimes it felt a little aggressive and I was nervous to get too close for fear of accidentally being bonked.

There was a guy who kept saying he wanted to dance with me and I kept shrugging him off, but then everyone cleared out for us and made a clapping circle for us to dance in the middle. The songs here are SO long, and feel even longer when you’re singled out and don’t know the dances. Then it happened a few more times too, and a bunch of guys made a ring around me and spun in one direction while I danced in the middle it was hilarious and so uncomfortable. After that I went back inside and said I had so much fun but now was tired, and they kept saying just five more minutes five more minutes! So I went back and danced with a different guy for another song. But then when I went back inside again, they kept coming back and saying come on one more one more! I was seriously tired so I said no, probably over a dozen times, and then got overwhelmed and went into the room to change and go to bed. Pramila told me I should start dating the first guy because he’s her uncle and he’s a good guy. I smiled and politely turned it down, and actually it felt much better/safer/looser of a suggestion than what I was used to, so I didn’t mind it as much. I'm writing this post a week later, and just found out that that uncle was killed in a motorbike accident on his way to India a few days ago.

The next morning we were up at 6:30 again and Pramila made me some instant noodles for breakfast, of course with a heavy dose of spicy peppers. Then Karsang took me to a tea field about an hour drive away, and we walked around and then went to see a trout farm. Was cool to see especially because I was in a tea club back in Boulder that I heavily miss. I bought a big bag of organic tea straight from the fields for $4 (the tourist price).

Karsang and the tea field

"Same same color"

We drove back and had lunch with the family, and it was SO spicy again. I don’t mind spicy except for when it’s so spicy that your head spins. Karsang doesn’t eat spicy food because it’s bad for his pancreatitis, so he told me not to eat it either and I was completely fine with that! At one point I itched my eye, and since we were eating with our hands, a finger had touched a spicy piece of meat from my plate and it felt like my eye was on fire.

He kept telling me he’d drop me off at his home to stay with Pramila for a few days and I kept saying I couldn’t do that because I had work to do… and because while I was so appreciative of the hospitality, I had no desire to stay there for a few more days. My body couldn’t handle it (the spicy food) anymore.

Then Aparna called Karsang, upset that he wasn’t coming back because there would be no one to water the plaster (which has to be watered twice daily for a week so that it doesn’t crack). So he drove me back and then had to head back home because a nine year old child passed away and he had to go perform priestly duties at the funeral.

When he dropped me off I thanked him a bunch and went directly to the nearest place I could buy a Kit Kat and a Coke. They were heavenly.

After some reflection on the experience, I realized I pulled the same thing that I did at Alta’s in Mongolia. I panicked because I didn’t know what to do, and made it unpleasant for myself instead of embracing the experience. If I’d taken a breath I would have felt much better. Although it still would have been quite intimidating, I think I could have separated myself from the anxiety I was feeling.

The experience itself was daunting and beautiful, and I am so grateful that I could go. It put cultural differences into perspective and I realize how much we take for granted in the west; while women are still oppressed in ways, we are free in others. On the other hand I think we are lacking the family bonds that these people share and they display so much pride in their culture.