It is Dashain here in Nepal. Basically the equivalent of American Christmas, with all the hype, celebration, family, and food. There are SO many fascinating customs that I am not used to and generally don’t understand. I spend most of my time observing from the side, in awe of this new culture I am living in. Only being one month into SALT, I am still somewhat of an outsider, looking in. But it is through the children, with their tiny hands, that I am being guided into their world.
I sat on the steps this afternoon, watching the neighbor boys playing cricket in the street, when my host sister, Surajya, and her friend, Uzmaa, approached me with an assortment of toys. Surajya stood in front of me and said, “All the kids got tika today. Everyone gets tika! You did not get tika, so we give you tika and do puja.” (Tika is the red color Hindu people put on their forehead as a blessing.) Through make-believe, the two of them started to reenact the puja (worship) ceremony I watched this morning. I received invisible tika from an empty paint tray, lace fabric from Surajya's bedroom around my neck, and an assortment of balls in my hands to represent gifts of money and food. Lastly, the grand finale was them circling imaginary flame and incense in front of me while they loudly imitated the sounds of bells and the shell trumpet.
I was deeply touched by this gesture. These four year olds were my teachers. They taught me, without judgement, where to put my hands, what each action was called, and scolded me when I would let a giggle slip. These two girls saw me not as an outsider, but as someone who, to them, was “left out.” At that moment, I was not this strange, pale, American, Christian; I was just “Laura Didi” who did not get her tika.
