The Power and The Glory

I just finished reading Ghram Greene’s The Power and The Glory which was a really good read. It had a Steinbeck feel to it. There was a part in it when the main character, an exiled priest, is back in a safe area, and he is thinking of how quickly he is adopting to this life he knew before being exiled, and how easily he was forgetting what he learned in the struggles of exile. This part really sticks with me, because in a world of Targets and Starbucks, where will Nepal fit in?
I love Target, I love being able to run down the road and have everything I need in one store, I love hot showers, I love the feeling of walking into a heated house, fresh clothes from the dryer, white chocolate macchiatos, with skim milk, easy on the foam; all of these that are so clearly western and a symbol of a comfortable life. But I also have the same love for a good Dhaal Bhatt, sitting in a room with the cooking fire, scrubbing clothes on a cement floor, bucket showers, the stinging cold, all that are very much Nepal. But as difficult as it was to come to love these things, how easy will it be to fall back in love with home?
I have learned so much here that I don’t want to forget. The smell of a crisp morning, the warmth of a good cup of chiyaa, how walking doesn’t limit your destinations, rather expands them. How happiness can be found in strangers and the chance encounters, communication and language are more then words, dish hands are as beautiful as smooth ones, hospitality isn’t just a word it’s a belief, children deserve more attention then leaders, you lose so much when you surround your self with “conveniences,” people will let you down, but those who matter lift you back up, there is beauty of the simple living of each day, of calling home, home, of family, and most importantly how easy it is to forget all of this when things are difficult.
So what will happen, when I home and it’s not easy to live simply? When it is a cold day and it will be easy to hop in a car for a 10 minute ride, as oppose to walking or taking my bike. What will I chose? Or when those cute shoes I don’t need go on sale? When life is easy to escape in front of the TV. Will I remember the moments here when I found peace journaling in the sun on a beautiful winter day? Or will I get in the car and stop at a Starbucks on the way to the store?
How much have I really let Nepal infiltrate my life? Or is it nothing more then experiences to e-mail friends about, or a good bar story when I come home…This time I lived in Nepal. How do I make this more then a badge to wear when it benefits me?
I am not saying I want to forget what made me happy when I was home, because I need to remember that, I need to find the good in going back. But I want to take away the superficial of it. I will still drink Starbucks, and go to Target, but not to fill my life with things, but because I like the one on one time going to Target on Sundays gives me with my mom, I like being able to talk to Sarah about things only she would understand on the way to Starbucks. These interactions are why I should go, not because I am bored and am looking for something to fulfill me. I want to go home with what really does fulfill me. Nature, conversation, reading, passions that actually do fill me, and not just give me fleeting moments of happiness. So that when I do feel restless, I grab my bike and go for a ride, call a friend, write a letter, do the things I have discovered here that make me feel genuinely happy, fulfilling me with out filling my life or closet with the unnecessary.
I have realized that what I look forward to about home has changed. When I first got here I couldn’t wait to have a Portillo’s cheeseburger, or new earrings, or a sweater from the Gap. But now it’s the idea of a baseball game with Sheila, or a concert with Sarah and Michael, walks with Riley, snow, Christmas lights, family dinners, riding my bike, Dad laughing, lawn mowers; things I never I knew I loved. It’s these things that we come to miss when the superficial fall away. When owning 5 t-shirts seems a bit much, when water tastes just as good as soda, when you crave Dhaal Bhatt as much as cheese fries; when you let what is important and what is present take over. Something I hope to always be challenged by.

Batastic

The only time I ever saw a real life bat was when it flew into my Uncle’s house. I was 8 and hid in my cousin’s room with my Mom and Aunt, not paying attention to all the banging going on downstairs. At some point my Uncle yelled up “It’s gone!” And that was it. Flash forward fifteen years, to me in Nepal. It is a Sunday evening, we have just finished watching an Office episode and I am exhausted, I close my eyes and am out, until I hear Denise ask “Caleen, do you have a light?” I stumble out of my bed to find my headlamp thinking it’s a bird outside our roof again, and shine it towards the ceiling, in which something comes fluttering down. I fall to the ground Army style as Denise dives under her covers…It is a bat, in our room. We decided the best thing is to get out of the room and re-group. So hoods up, we sprint out our door. We make it into the hallway adrenaline pumping. Among Dwight Schrutte jokes and impersonations, we realize we have to do something. So, our first step,turn on the light, and figure out where is this bat? So, I stick my arm around the door, turn on our lights, and jump out to the hallway, heart pumping. We peak our heads in to see a bat, dive bombing in circles around the room. Of course all of our windows are closed because, it’s cold. Great. It is about this time Pat comes out to the hallway and we devise a plan. With a laundry basket “helmet”, rain coat and mittens on, he goes in and opens 2 of our windows. Then we wait, laugh a little, and pray it leaves. Each time we peak our head in we dive out of the way of our kwazikami bat. As we decide to go in to open the adjacent windows, I notice a silence. We walk in, alas, no death defying bat flying at us, just an eerie silence. We take the headlamp and shine it all around the rafters in our ceiling. Nothing. So we hug it out, and Denise and I turn on Friends to calm us and climb back into bed, and try to sleep again. But just as I start to calm down, in the dim light of the small DVD player, we see something flutter down again. Our friend is back. As we deliberate from under our blankets on what to do we again realize we can not just stay like this, so this time we plan to open windows, and turn on the light on our way out of the room. I pull on my hood, scarf and mittens and Okay, deep breathe, on three..1…2..3.. RUN!! I bolt from bed to the windows across the room, thinking duck and go, duck and go. I open the windows, turn on the light and jump into the hallway. We are back to the drawing board, though this time, we have another laundry basket “helmet.” Pat comes back out dressed and ready to go, we decide to try the Chris Wall style and go into the room to shout it out. So I grab the extra basket “helmet” and we go in. We shout, we stomp, but the bat still comes at us, forcing us to dive and slid across the room. The bat seems confused on which way to go, so just spins circles around the room, swooping in and out. At this point, Denise has grabbed a sheet, so we decide its time to force it out. I take of the helmet, its go time. Insert Pat in helmet, mittens and raincoat, me in hoodie, pink scarf, and mittens holding a sheet, running towards the bat, yelling (why I’m not sure). But the bat just swoops towards us and moves on. At this point we need a new plan. Pat and Denise are talking strategy and I am watching the bat, when all of a sudden it takes another dive towards me, with sheet in hand I raise and swing, sending the bat flying across the room, hitting the wall and sliding down dazed. “ I THINK I HIT IT” I scream. Pat and I slowly make our way across the room where we see tucked behind Denise’s sleeping bag, Batty. His little wing is fluttering, but Pat grabs his helmet and throws it on top. Next challenge, getting him out. I am convinced I have killed him, and now every PETA sponsored remorse comes into to me. I repeat over and over,”I think I killed him.,,,Did I kill him?” In which Pat finally explains “No, I think you just terrified it.” We have the basket over him but how to get that covered. My exhaustion (or so I claim) recommends using the sheet. But a more sensible solution comes from Denise bringing in our flat metal pot cover. And so in a quick motion we cover the basket, and bring Batty upstairs to our roof, where we uncover the top and run, hoping he can find his way from here.
We once again head downstairs, calmer, knowing we saw it leave this time. We hug it out once more, quote the Office a little more, say our good nights, and head back to bed. Just another night in Godavari.