Kathmandu Karma

by Fiona Renton (Australia)

Making a local connection Nepal

White knuckled, I sat in the back seat as we zig-zagged our way through the streets. I had come to Nepal for an introductory Buddhist meditation retreat and was met at the airport by a skinny young man with dishevelled, oily hair and a broad smile. Hungry, and eager to try the local food, I asked my driver to recommend somewhere for dinner. “I'll take you,” he smiled. “Thank-you, but that's not necessary. Somewhere near the hotel, perhaps? You could just give me directions.” “I insist,” he replied. “But my boss doesn't allow it, so you can't tell anyone. Wait for me just past the end of the driveway at 7:30. Please, don't mention it at the hotel or I could lose my job.” I felt uneasy. I thought about not going. I contemplated staying in my room all night. I even considered changing hotels. But fear negates adventure. So I went. His name was Tej and he smiled all the time. “First, you need a tuk-tuk ride,” he grinned, hailing a local driver. “You can't come to Kathmandu and not take a Tuk-tuk,” “Where are we going?” I asked nervously. “I'll show you,” was the only reply. He seemed distracted and that made me wary. “We have to make a stop,” he said as the tuk-tuk pulled up in front of a large, dirty, concrete building. “Come with me.” I was horrified when we entered. The smell of disease, blood and bleach was as confronting as the packed corridors lined with wounded people, oozing fluids through their bandages and groaning in agony. “This is the hospital,” he told me as we crossed the room. “I hope I don't get sick in Nepal,” I muttered. “No.” His habitual smiled wavered. “This is the local hospital. If you got sick there's a nice western hospital for you.” Overwhelmed, he led me into a small room and introduced an old man on a bed. It was Tej's uncle. He had been poisoned by a neighbour and was dying. Uncle beckoned me over, reaching for my hand. Language faded away, and, as he mumbled and smiled at me, tears spilled onto my cheeks. We only stayed a few minutes. As our tuk-tuk faded into the throng of traffic, I felt the guilt of privilege... An innocuous red door on a busy street revealed a corridor, a windy staircase and the best hidden restaurant in town. The food was delicious and the wine, strong, and Tej's smile soon returned. I asked him which temples and attractions I should visit first in Kathmandu. “I'll take you,” he beamed. I tried to protest, but again, he insisted. “Tomorrow is my one day off for the week.” We met at the end of the driveway after breakfast for a whirlwind tour of the city. We visited a dozen temples and stupas, a holy cemetery and I had my fortune read. We bypassed all the queues, used local entrances and avoided the tourist traps. I saw half of the city in one day. That evening over dinner I asked Tej if I could pay him for such a wonderful tour. He politely refused. “I insist,” I smiled. Eventually he relented. “I earn $50 each month so you can give what you think is fair for only one day.” I gave him $50. My next three weeks in Nepal were a blur of Monasteries, Mountains, Monks and Meditation. On my last night in Kathmandu I received a phone call from Tej. He wanted to see me before I left and offered to meet at my hotel. I was standing on the curb, my bag already in the taxi, when Tej came running around the corner. His head was shaved and he beamed as he presented me with a large silk print of the Buddha. “Thank-you, my friend,” he said, catching his breath. “My uncle died. Because you gave me a month's salary, I could take two weeks off work, return his body to our village in the hills and pay for a proper funeral.” I was speechless, but his smile said everything... Karma can be a joy to watch and a blessing to bestow.