New boy, Michael with Bompa and Komala in our favourite hangout
March 06, 2005
Life
I can honestly say that this turned out to be my least favourite week in Nepal. After returning from Pulchowki on Saturday afternoon, I suffered 4 days of the dreaded trots. My diet of plain biscuits, juice and water was supplemented with some lovely fresh fruit, which Ram very kindly brought over for me when he came to check on my welfare. Of this, I’d say I managed to digest the bare minimum necessary to prevent myself from becoming really ill. Mercifully, I didn’t suffer anymore of the mind-bending stomach cramps that had assailed me during Saturday’s walk. However, to put it delicately, I produced nothing solid from Saturday morning until Tuesday evening and managed to lose a good 5 kg of weight…which, I suppose, was the silver lining in the cloud after 5 well-fed months in Asia. I had to resort to using the emergency supply of Metronidazole given to me by Aussie Tony (in the Phillipines, back in November) for just such an eventuality. The full course of ten enormous, yellow tablets, followed by 2 immodium just about did the job…although I was still very cautious about breaking wind for a few days after.
All of this meant that I missed the biggest Hindu festival in Nepal – that of Shivaratri, celebrated most brilliantly at the magnificent temple of Pashupatinath on the banks of the holy Bagmati River. I don’t know how much I’d really have enjoyed being crushed in the massive crowds of locals and tourists but the sight of thousands of holy Sadhus from all over the Hindu world is definitely not one to be missed if it can be helped. Shiva, as the creator and destroyer of all things, is the most revered member of the Hindu pantheon in Nepal – particularly his incarnation as the lord of the beasts, Pashupati. This particular form of Shiva is obviously the focus of worship at Pashupatinath and hence the big song and dance here on Shivaratri…which is actually Shiva’s birthday. Perhaps one thing that contributes to the general levels of merriment is Shiva’s renowned association with the smoking of marijuana – something that appears to grow in great abundance all over Nepal. For one day of the year, by Royal Decree, Nepal’s citizens are legally allowed to partake of the ’erb…and many, it seems do. Of course, I missed out on all these shenanigans, being tucked up in bed most of the day and nursing myself back to full strength during the evening. On my first day back in the classroom the following day I did, however, find several of my students a little the worse for wear after smoking too much hashish with their parents and even grandparents!!
The one useful thing I managed to do during my illness was to send a long, well-thought out e-mail to Dawa explaining my reasons for not wanting to see her any more. Some might say it was a little callous to dump her by electronic means (first time I’ve done it, honest!! But come on…we are living in the digital age!) but with her slightly dodgy command of English it would have been a painstaking and clumsy process face-to-face…and there were some important points that I wanted her to understand and, hopefully, take to heart. In essence, I told her that I thought it was a shame that she did so little with her time and her great people skills. I expressed disappointment at her willingness to live off her hard-working siblings in a country where so many people needed practical help. In short, I told her to get a job! I’ve no idea whether any of this hit home as I’ve heard not a word from her since…and, just occasionally when my old cynicism resurfaces, I do wonder whether she regularly preys on a constantly replenished supply of unsuspecting Westerners to inject a little entertainment into her life. I certainly don’t regret a minute I spent with her and she was a big part of my early experiences of Nepal – introducing me to her culture and showing me some of the nicer spots around the valley. I just knew when it was time to move on.
The other significant event of the week was the arrival, from England of yet another Mondochallenge volunteer. Michael Mann, it turned out, was from my very own hometown of Harrogate…and he made himself useful before he even arrived in Nepal. Some weeks previously I’d managed to lose my credit card and had been having all kinds of problems trying to get a replacement sent to Kathmandu. Along with a few other essentials (such as socks and, of course, Cadbury’s Dairy Milk), Michael very kindly brought my card, which my mother had been able to drop off at his parents’ house – less than 1½ miles from our doorstep!! Being a good 5 years apart (Michael was 22) and having studied at different schools, we’d never met each other before…but we were still able to have a good old yak about favoured watering holes and old haunts when we eventually met.
This happened at a meal organised by Ram at a rooftop restaurant in the heart of Patan’s historic Durbar Square, where I duly impressed the waiting staff by consuming both a King Burger and two toasted sandwiches as I pursued my lost kilos. After dinner – this being a Friday evening – Michael joined Edd and I for our usual pool and beer session at Tom & Jerry’s and I immediately took to his self-deprecating humour and easy manner. I was pleased to hear that he too would be coming to teach at Samata School so that my kids would have some kind of continuity after I’d left. In the intervening weeks prior to my departure he’d be teaching the younger children in the upper school…a good way to break himself in gently before coming to grips with the older kids. After a fun evening in T&J’s I was looking forward to seeing him around the school the following week.
All of this meant that I missed the biggest Hindu festival in Nepal – that of Shivaratri, celebrated most brilliantly at the magnificent temple of Pashupatinath on the banks of the holy Bagmati River. I don’t know how much I’d really have enjoyed being crushed in the massive crowds of locals and tourists but the sight of thousands of holy Sadhus from all over the Hindu world is definitely not one to be missed if it can be helped. Shiva, as the creator and destroyer of all things, is the most revered member of the Hindu pantheon in Nepal – particularly his incarnation as the lord of the beasts, Pashupati. This particular form of Shiva is obviously the focus of worship at Pashupatinath and hence the big song and dance here on Shivaratri…which is actually Shiva’s birthday. Perhaps one thing that contributes to the general levels of merriment is Shiva’s renowned association with the smoking of marijuana – something that appears to grow in great abundance all over Nepal. For one day of the year, by Royal Decree, Nepal’s citizens are legally allowed to partake of the ’erb…and many, it seems do. Of course, I missed out on all these shenanigans, being tucked up in bed most of the day and nursing myself back to full strength during the evening. On my first day back in the classroom the following day I did, however, find several of my students a little the worse for wear after smoking too much hashish with their parents and even grandparents!!
The one useful thing I managed to do during my illness was to send a long, well-thought out e-mail to Dawa explaining my reasons for not wanting to see her any more. Some might say it was a little callous to dump her by electronic means (first time I’ve done it, honest!! But come on…we are living in the digital age!) but with her slightly dodgy command of English it would have been a painstaking and clumsy process face-to-face…and there were some important points that I wanted her to understand and, hopefully, take to heart. In essence, I told her that I thought it was a shame that she did so little with her time and her great people skills. I expressed disappointment at her willingness to live off her hard-working siblings in a country where so many people needed practical help. In short, I told her to get a job! I’ve no idea whether any of this hit home as I’ve heard not a word from her since…and, just occasionally when my old cynicism resurfaces, I do wonder whether she regularly preys on a constantly replenished supply of unsuspecting Westerners to inject a little entertainment into her life. I certainly don’t regret a minute I spent with her and she was a big part of my early experiences of Nepal – introducing me to her culture and showing me some of the nicer spots around the valley. I just knew when it was time to move on.
The other significant event of the week was the arrival, from England of yet another Mondochallenge volunteer. Michael Mann, it turned out, was from my very own hometown of Harrogate…and he made himself useful before he even arrived in Nepal. Some weeks previously I’d managed to lose my credit card and had been having all kinds of problems trying to get a replacement sent to Kathmandu. Along with a few other essentials (such as socks and, of course, Cadbury’s Dairy Milk), Michael very kindly brought my card, which my mother had been able to drop off at his parents’ house – less than 1½ miles from our doorstep!! Being a good 5 years apart (Michael was 22) and having studied at different schools, we’d never met each other before…but we were still able to have a good old yak about favoured watering holes and old haunts when we eventually met.
This happened at a meal organised by Ram at a rooftop restaurant in the heart of Patan’s historic Durbar Square, where I duly impressed the waiting staff by consuming both a King Burger and two toasted sandwiches as I pursued my lost kilos. After dinner – this being a Friday evening – Michael joined Edd and I for our usual pool and beer session at Tom & Jerry’s and I immediately took to his self-deprecating humour and easy manner. I was pleased to hear that he too would be coming to teach at Samata School so that my kids would have some kind of continuity after I’d left. In the intervening weeks prior to my departure he’d be teaching the younger children in the upper school…a good way to break himself in gently before coming to grips with the older kids. After a fun evening in T&J’s I was looking forward to seeing him around the school the following week.
Class 5A 14:00 - 14:45
If there was one class that I would have liked to pick up and give a huge, collective hug, 5A was it. This enormous class of 39 girls were all cute-as-buttons and ridiculously sweet of nature. It was like having a classroom full of brown-skinned, black-haired versions of my goddaughter Celia and theirs was always a lesson I’d arrive early at after my lunch break. For such a big class it was extremely easy to get through the workload because they always behaved and paid attention when necessary. The class was full of characters and even the one teacher’s pet, Babita, had enough chutzpah to get away with always shouting out answers and generally being far too keen. The secret to their success, I think, was their ability to giggle and whisper sufficiently quietly amongst themselves for it not to cause difficulties for the people I was trying to teach. As I moved around the classroom a kind of exclusion zone of silence would follow me, on whose periphery all kinds of antics would ensue. Occasionally, the noise levels would creep up over the acceptable limits and I’d have to break off from what I was doing. However, far from having to shout or bang the duster against the blackboard, often just a supplicatory look or a gentle appeal to their better natures would ensure workable quiet for the rest of the lesson.
The whole class were extremely bright and you could really see that the earlier start in the English-medium had put them in a better position than some of their older schoolmates. Still a year behind their friends in 6B, their English was every bit as good and their better-trained minds seemed to pick things up far more quickly. Interestingly (and unusually for the school) there were no older pupils who’d been kept back from previous years. It often seemed to me to be the case that such students, lacking motivation, would hold the rest of a class back somewhat – and 5A, unencumbered by such, were able to move on at a uniform, fast pace. Of all my classes, they were the ones I had most difficulty in keeping from unnecessary extra lessons – mainly because they were so eager to learn but also, I think, because they just wanted to stay at school with their friends for as long as possible. For such a big class of 12-13 year olds, there was little in the way of bitching you’d expect from British girls. There were of course the little cliques of friends who’d known each other longer and those who lived in close proximity but I never once saw anyone excluded from activities or conversations and they were quite happy to work or play in any groups I put them.
If there was any hierarchy amongst these girls it was established on purely meritocratic grounds. The biggest personalities belonged to Kolpana and Sangita and, as such, their classmates gravitated towards their natural air of authority. While I could always count on these two to call the class to order, they would also be the first to play jokes or suggest a game. Having such rounded personalities influencing the more impressionable girls certainly didn’t seem to have done the class any harm and I’m sure they’ll both make great prefects when their time comes.
The class brainbox was Akriti, as adept at picking up English idioms as she was at mental arithmetic and Nepali. Her best friend and partner-in-crime was the artistic, behind-hand-giggler Rupa. Their role-plays were always amusing and well-thought out as well as being delivered in perfect English.
Quieter than these four, much more measured in her output, but nevertheless an important influence on the rest of the class, was Muna. She’d sit quietly at the back of the class, observing and taking note, before hesitantly piping up with yet another keen insight. Muna had a very thoughtful and gentle nature and could easily be seen as the calming influence on her best friend Sangita. Countless times, I’d seen her helping her classmates to understand a difficult point; if someone was ill or hurt, she’d be the one to take them to Soba’s office for help; and the way she looked after her two younger sisters during the lunchbreak was a pleasure to behold. As the eldest daughter in a fatherless household, she’d obviously learnt the skill of mothering…and she wasn’t mean about who she lavished it upon.
It seems unkind to only highlight these five girls – the whole class really were a bunch of superstars…and every single one of them was the proud owner of a beautiful smile that could light up a room. However, in this galaxy of talent, these were the ones who truly stood out…and I’d be here all day if I tried to do all the others justice.
Of all my classes, this little lot were the most prone to giving me little presents and cards. Twice, Babita (of teacher’s pet status) gave me Aishwarya Rai postcards after I’d made a passing reference to the beauty of this Queen of Bollywood. Most touching though was a beautiful pop-up card with a picture of the school on the front (designed by Rupa), given to me by the whole class on the day I left. As with 6B, I’m truly excited at the prospect of staying in touch with these kids and seeing how they turn out in the coming years.
The whole class were extremely bright and you could really see that the earlier start in the English-medium had put them in a better position than some of their older schoolmates. Still a year behind their friends in 6B, their English was every bit as good and their better-trained minds seemed to pick things up far more quickly. Interestingly (and unusually for the school) there were no older pupils who’d been kept back from previous years. It often seemed to me to be the case that such students, lacking motivation, would hold the rest of a class back somewhat – and 5A, unencumbered by such, were able to move on at a uniform, fast pace. Of all my classes, they were the ones I had most difficulty in keeping from unnecessary extra lessons – mainly because they were so eager to learn but also, I think, because they just wanted to stay at school with their friends for as long as possible. For such a big class of 12-13 year olds, there was little in the way of bitching you’d expect from British girls. There were of course the little cliques of friends who’d known each other longer and those who lived in close proximity but I never once saw anyone excluded from activities or conversations and they were quite happy to work or play in any groups I put them.
If there was any hierarchy amongst these girls it was established on purely meritocratic grounds. The biggest personalities belonged to Kolpana and Sangita and, as such, their classmates gravitated towards their natural air of authority. While I could always count on these two to call the class to order, they would also be the first to play jokes or suggest a game. Having such rounded personalities influencing the more impressionable girls certainly didn’t seem to have done the class any harm and I’m sure they’ll both make great prefects when their time comes.
The class brainbox was Akriti, as adept at picking up English idioms as she was at mental arithmetic and Nepali. Her best friend and partner-in-crime was the artistic, behind-hand-giggler Rupa. Their role-plays were always amusing and well-thought out as well as being delivered in perfect English.
Quieter than these four, much more measured in her output, but nevertheless an important influence on the rest of the class, was Muna. She’d sit quietly at the back of the class, observing and taking note, before hesitantly piping up with yet another keen insight. Muna had a very thoughtful and gentle nature and could easily be seen as the calming influence on her best friend Sangita. Countless times, I’d seen her helping her classmates to understand a difficult point; if someone was ill or hurt, she’d be the one to take them to Soba’s office for help; and the way she looked after her two younger sisters during the lunchbreak was a pleasure to behold. As the eldest daughter in a fatherless household, she’d obviously learnt the skill of mothering…and she wasn’t mean about who she lavished it upon.
It seems unkind to only highlight these five girls – the whole class really were a bunch of superstars…and every single one of them was the proud owner of a beautiful smile that could light up a room. However, in this galaxy of talent, these were the ones who truly stood out…and I’d be here all day if I tried to do all the others justice.
Of all my classes, this little lot were the most prone to giving me little presents and cards. Twice, Babita (of teacher’s pet status) gave me Aishwarya Rai postcards after I’d made a passing reference to the beauty of this Queen of Bollywood. Most touching though was a beautiful pop-up card with a picture of the school on the front (designed by Rupa), given to me by the whole class on the day I left. As with 6B, I’m truly excited at the prospect of staying in touch with these kids and seeing how they turn out in the coming years.
Colleagues
As I’ve previously mentioned, the staff at Samata School had always been very pleasant and welcoming towards me but there were a few who went out of their way to talk to me and truly make me feel like a part of the gang. Clear winners in terms of making me feel at home were obviously the Didis – particularly Boss Komala and her able deputy, Gyanu – the two mainstays of the kitchen staff throughout my 3½ months of contact with the school. Their cheery natures, great cooking and sisterly love made a real place for them in my affections and, as much as with any of the kids, I had a real lump in my throat when it was time to say goodbye to them at the end of my time in Nepal. Once I had bumped into Komala on Bouddhanath (the main road in my part of town) while I was with Michael (my volunteer successor at Samata – more of whom in the next few chapters). She insisted on taking us for tea and cakes at a nearby café and wouldn’t hear of us paying a single rupee after force-feeding us just about every type of cake in the cabinet. Her motherly generosity and spirit of hospitality was, as I was to learn, the very essence of Nepal and I’ll look forward to returning her many kindnesses in (I hope) the not-too-distant future.
Aside from the guardians of my appetite there were really four members of the teaching staff who I came to know a little during my short stay. The least shy of these was the school’s advanced English teacher, Pratiba, who often came seeking advice and meaning on the ridiculously tough Oxford textbook she was expected to teach her classes. I do not wish to imply that she was simply using me for my knowledge of my native language even if this did account for the vast majority of our conversations. She was an extremely dedicated teacher, under a lot of pressure to teach well-nigh impossible topics to often-poorly-motivated kids…if she didn’t have more time to shoot the breeze or exchange pleasantries, I could understand. However, she never had a problem talking to me after the ice had been so easily broken and I would occasionally show her photos from my travels or of friends and family at home and we would sometimes be able to talk about our family backgrounds and the major differences between Nepali and British life. Of course, I’ll never be able to think of her without smiling at the memory of trying to explain to her (repeatedly!) the scoring system of tennis, necessitated by a totally loony chapter in her text book on Steffi Graf’s astounding comeback against Jana Novotna in the 1993 Wimbledon final. (!)
In my first few days at the school I really noticed my separateness from the other staff and can still remember feeling extremely grateful when one of the younger teachers began to talk to me one lunchtime as I sat on my own in the corner of the staffroom. Muskaan had lightish skin, dark, pretty eyes and a wicked smile. Dressed in her uniform sari with her jet black hair tied back in a quite severe fashion she looked at once stern and incredibly attractive. Of course, I had no pretensions of trying anything on with one of my recently-acquired colleagues, but I can’t deny that it was an absolute pleasure to be chatting and laughing with someone so easy on the eye. Better still, Muskaan came as part of a double act – her accomplice, Reshma, being of darker skin and a lighter nature, was just as pretty and the possessor of a pair of smiling eyes that could melt hearts. Over those first couple of weeks I spent a lot of time getting to know these two while they taught me Nepali during lunch hour. I had to keep reminding myself that they were probably no more than 18 (student teachers) because they were far more serious-minded and interesting than their average counterpart back at home. As well as demonstrating beyond doubt the highly alluring and diverse appeals of the Nepali womenfolk, they also gave me an insight into the teaching profession in their home country. I mean no disrespect to either them or any of their colleagues at Samata School (there really were some talented and dedicated teachers among them) but it was plain that the selection criteria for teaching were scant. It was an interesting fluke that these two should, whilst showing me two attractive ends of the scale of ethnic diversity, also demonstrate two ends of the scale of job satisfaction. I soon came to realised that Muskaan’s usually stern demeanour was hiding a deep unhappiness with her job. Conversely Reshma, who was forever smiling and laughing seemed to be perfectly at home in the classroom…and from what I saw, her kids adored her. I sat in on a few of Muskaan’s UKG (upper kindergarten) lessons and could see that she really wasn’t comfortable with the kids and didn’t seem to know the best way to keep discipline. Perhaps taking her example from the older teaching staff, she carried a stick which she used frequently – more for emphasis than punishment, I might add. Unfortunately, it seemed that having to use the stick caused her great self-revulsion and a number of times I could see that she was close to tears. In the end, it was of little surprise to me, when she upped and left to go back to college. If perhaps there were better selection procedures for new teachers and perhaps a little more in the way of training for these poor young things (barely out of the classroom themselves!!), this kind of situation could be avoided. It was obviously a negative experience for Muskaan and I don’t doubt that it must have been emotionally wrenching for the kids in her class, who may even have felt themselves to blame for her abrupt departure.
Reshma, on the other hand, remained at the school during the rest of my stay. Her bright smile and warm personality – not to mention her stunning looks ;-) – were always something to look forward to at lunchtime and, in our measure, we became reasonably good friends. I was disappointed to learn that she left the school shortly before the end of my stay in Nepal – a real shame considering the rapport she’d established with the kids. However, I think she’d left for practical reasons to concentrate on passing her exams at college (she and Muskaan would go to lectures from 6-9 every morning before coming to school!)…and I really hope she goes back to the school when these are over.
Last, but by no means least, of my better known colleagues was the formidable Soba. This diminutive beauty was effectively the school’s deputy principal – certainly in charge more often than not during my latter days as Uttam was more closely concerned with certain events in Bhaktapur. Sitting serenely at her desk, collecting fees from parents or tenderly nursing a sick or injured child you would see her as a pretty, sweet-natured girl, whom all the kids adored. Flying into action with her big stick or shouting at a shonky tradesman and you would see the terrifying disciplinarian, so feared by the wideboys of the upper classes. She was never anything but sweetness and light towards me and, particularly, I’ll never forget her bringing me freshly-washed grapes and hot milk tea when I was suffering from some mystery illness that left me pole-axed and dizzy in the staffroom. Once again, different in looks from both Reshma and Muskaan, she was yet another stunning example of Nepali beauty. When the kids weren’t around she had a mischievous sense of humour and was the only adult I knew who could get a laugh out of the forever-focused Uttam. She had all the necessary attributes to take on the running of a school of her own, just as, I’m sure, Uttam intended.
During my short stay at the school, these were the people who I can honestly say that I got to know a little. The other staff (for reasons already explained) remained, polite and smiling, in the background. Of course, they weren’t there to meet volunteers but to teach children…and those that stayed certainly seemed committed towards this.
Aside from the guardians of my appetite there were really four members of the teaching staff who I came to know a little during my short stay. The least shy of these was the school’s advanced English teacher, Pratiba, who often came seeking advice and meaning on the ridiculously tough Oxford textbook she was expected to teach her classes. I do not wish to imply that she was simply using me for my knowledge of my native language even if this did account for the vast majority of our conversations. She was an extremely dedicated teacher, under a lot of pressure to teach well-nigh impossible topics to often-poorly-motivated kids…if she didn’t have more time to shoot the breeze or exchange pleasantries, I could understand. However, she never had a problem talking to me after the ice had been so easily broken and I would occasionally show her photos from my travels or of friends and family at home and we would sometimes be able to talk about our family backgrounds and the major differences between Nepali and British life. Of course, I’ll never be able to think of her without smiling at the memory of trying to explain to her (repeatedly!) the scoring system of tennis, necessitated by a totally loony chapter in her text book on Steffi Graf’s astounding comeback against Jana Novotna in the 1993 Wimbledon final. (!)
In my first few days at the school I really noticed my separateness from the other staff and can still remember feeling extremely grateful when one of the younger teachers began to talk to me one lunchtime as I sat on my own in the corner of the staffroom. Muskaan had lightish skin, dark, pretty eyes and a wicked smile. Dressed in her uniform sari with her jet black hair tied back in a quite severe fashion she looked at once stern and incredibly attractive. Of course, I had no pretensions of trying anything on with one of my recently-acquired colleagues, but I can’t deny that it was an absolute pleasure to be chatting and laughing with someone so easy on the eye. Better still, Muskaan came as part of a double act – her accomplice, Reshma, being of darker skin and a lighter nature, was just as pretty and the possessor of a pair of smiling eyes that could melt hearts. Over those first couple of weeks I spent a lot of time getting to know these two while they taught me Nepali during lunch hour. I had to keep reminding myself that they were probably no more than 18 (student teachers) because they were far more serious-minded and interesting than their average counterpart back at home. As well as demonstrating beyond doubt the highly alluring and diverse appeals of the Nepali womenfolk, they also gave me an insight into the teaching profession in their home country. I mean no disrespect to either them or any of their colleagues at Samata School (there really were some talented and dedicated teachers among them) but it was plain that the selection criteria for teaching were scant. It was an interesting fluke that these two should, whilst showing me two attractive ends of the scale of ethnic diversity, also demonstrate two ends of the scale of job satisfaction. I soon came to realised that Muskaan’s usually stern demeanour was hiding a deep unhappiness with her job. Conversely Reshma, who was forever smiling and laughing seemed to be perfectly at home in the classroom…and from what I saw, her kids adored her. I sat in on a few of Muskaan’s UKG (upper kindergarten) lessons and could see that she really wasn’t comfortable with the kids and didn’t seem to know the best way to keep discipline. Perhaps taking her example from the older teaching staff, she carried a stick which she used frequently – more for emphasis than punishment, I might add. Unfortunately, it seemed that having to use the stick caused her great self-revulsion and a number of times I could see that she was close to tears. In the end, it was of little surprise to me, when she upped and left to go back to college. If perhaps there were better selection procedures for new teachers and perhaps a little more in the way of training for these poor young things (barely out of the classroom themselves!!), this kind of situation could be avoided. It was obviously a negative experience for Muskaan and I don’t doubt that it must have been emotionally wrenching for the kids in her class, who may even have felt themselves to blame for her abrupt departure.
Reshma, on the other hand, remained at the school during the rest of my stay. Her bright smile and warm personality – not to mention her stunning looks ;-) – were always something to look forward to at lunchtime and, in our measure, we became reasonably good friends. I was disappointed to learn that she left the school shortly before the end of my stay in Nepal – a real shame considering the rapport she’d established with the kids. However, I think she’d left for practical reasons to concentrate on passing her exams at college (she and Muskaan would go to lectures from 6-9 every morning before coming to school!)…and I really hope she goes back to the school when these are over.
Last, but by no means least, of my better known colleagues was the formidable Soba. This diminutive beauty was effectively the school’s deputy principal – certainly in charge more often than not during my latter days as Uttam was more closely concerned with certain events in Bhaktapur. Sitting serenely at her desk, collecting fees from parents or tenderly nursing a sick or injured child you would see her as a pretty, sweet-natured girl, whom all the kids adored. Flying into action with her big stick or shouting at a shonky tradesman and you would see the terrifying disciplinarian, so feared by the wideboys of the upper classes. She was never anything but sweetness and light towards me and, particularly, I’ll never forget her bringing me freshly-washed grapes and hot milk tea when I was suffering from some mystery illness that left me pole-axed and dizzy in the staffroom. Once again, different in looks from both Reshma and Muskaan, she was yet another stunning example of Nepali beauty. When the kids weren’t around she had a mischievous sense of humour and was the only adult I knew who could get a laugh out of the forever-focused Uttam. She had all the necessary attributes to take on the running of a school of her own, just as, I’m sure, Uttam intended.
During my short stay at the school, these were the people who I can honestly say that I got to know a little. The other staff (for reasons already explained) remained, polite and smiling, in the background. Of course, they weren’t there to meet volunteers but to teach children…and those that stayed certainly seemed committed towards this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)