Time, Suspended

by Sunny Green (Australia)

Making a local connection Nepal

Biratnagar, Nepal. My hands were freshly calloused and pressed against the hotel windows, face illuminated by strings of colourful lights. I was grinning like a child. The times had just past 8pm and in Australia, I was now 22 years old. But in Biratnagar, Nepal, I was still 21. And there in Biratnagar, the sky was full of music and dancing and there were four different weddings happening- one at our very hotel. Beside me, the rest of my group were watching too as the space outside the hotel bar window shimmered with saris. I had met my travel family three days before. We were strangers, to this place and to each other. We came to build houses for a small village. At night we slept in town where the hotels seemed grand and monstrous in comparison to the humble huts of the villages. We are a mixed bunch, ranging from the old to the young, the experienced to the building rookies (myself), handed a shovel on day one and told to “dig” without having the faintest idea how to do so. But we persevered, three days in under that blue Biratnagar sky and for one reason or another, my newfound family were more excited about my birthday than I was. There was a casino down the road- a casino only tourists were allowed in, as it is against the law for Nepalese people to enter any Nepali casino. That is where we were headed that night. Getting to the casino meant weaving through the wedding party as they danced, spilling out into the street. We felt out of place- trying to spot the bride in the mass of color and finally entering the casino. Quite likely the oddest place I had ever been. It was small and almost empty. There were three girls dancing on a stage in one corner. They were dressed spangled and skimpy and there was a man leaning on the railings, teasing them with bank notes. Our group exchanged glances. Our group leader attempted to gamble but was quickly grabbed by a waiter who warned him quietly not to do so. Meanwhile, the man by the stage with the banknotes asked the bartender if he could buy one of the women in our group for the night. We didn’t know whether to laugh or not, so we left. Quickly. The next sequence of events has stuck unmoving in my heart ever since. We were making our way humbly back inside the hotel when we came across the groom himself. We said congratulations and asked after the bride, desperate to see her sari all sequins and gold. The groom informed us that she was just down the road at another venue, even more decorously decorated and grand than this one. His wedding party- they were going now on the janti or ‘wedding march’ that would lead him to her. We turned around to see the people gathering in the street. They were bright, booming with song. Please, the groom said. Join us. I was enchanted. We danced for one hour. Time, suspended. It was a neon-lit blaze of madness. My friend Avin had a young boy on his shoulders. My other friend Amy and I stuck to the front of the group, followed closely by the band baja walas or ‘wedding band’. Not one person in that dancing party objected to our presence. We stopped for dance-offs. We were singing their songs, our mouths full of jewels. When we finally reached the bride’s venue, it was as the groom had said. Madness. Beautiful chaos of lights. Even more people. We were draped in flowers ourselves, given sweet coffee. And for reasons beyond the absurd, the groom had us walk him to the aisle. The crowd was watching us, curious. I had to stop myself walking down after him, just for the sheer thrill of it. The bride was waiting at the end. She saw only the groom. They stood on a stage that rotated and spat fireworks and rose up above everyone, so that when I truly turned 22, I was standing in Biratnagar in a sea full of strangers and my eyes turned skywards, enchanted.