The Century House by Lesley Sapp (poetry books to read txt) 📖

The Century House

It’s a kind of love/hate relationship that I have with this house. Each morning holds a certain promise. A promise of comradery, laughter, hugs from children, warm smiles from elders, the sense of inner joy that comes from acceptance by my new family. But like the toss of a nearly obsolete Nepalese coin, the odds of this happening are 50/50. Often I have bounded down the stairs, freshly showered, in anticipation of these things, only to be met with indifference and sometimes judgment. But other times I have encountered all of the wonderful sensations of feeling like I am a welcomed member of the family.

The house has a certain buzz and energy unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. The early-risers of the family bustle and laugh and shout between floors while those of us more inclined to sleep drowsily wait for the din to pass so the dreams can continue. But on the top floor of the building, my bedroom is open to the outside, and sleep rarely continues. My skin is aroused by the cool breeze while the warm Kathmandu sun teases my eyes to open. I drift bleary-eyed to the outdoor bathroom, while the pigeons gurgle, sputter and flap wildly, as I enter the damp, musty room. Do they have inside information as to whether I will be graced with hot, clear water or cold, brown water?

As I relax in my room after breakfast, I keep my eyes and ears alert for anyone familiar to greet me. Sanjog’s cheery “Good morning,” Sandeep’s bright, toothy smile, Deepa’s concerned inquiry about my health, Sapna’s offering of hot milk tea, Chirag’s lopsided grin as he motions for me to fix his kite. On occasion, I am greeted by “Mobile Baba” ringing bells and burning incense in the family temple. These are the wonderful, tiny moments in my morning.

Then there are the smells of the kitchen. Garlic sautéing, fiery chilis being pressed for condiments, dahl and ghee bubbling on the stove, jasmine rice steaming, sweet, thick milk tea steeping in the saucepan, chipati bread frying, curry mixtures stewing, and the heavy, sweet perfumes of the household women cutting through all of the edible aromas while they gossip and prepare lunch.

Dasain holiday activity fills the entire main level as the house swells with extended family and friends. But the joyful festival days are punctuated by moments of tension, false happiness and family rows. Some days are better than others, but problems still abound. Sanjog’s refusal to speak to Uncle because he ripped off his American girlfriend a year ago, Sandeep’s indifference toward his sister, Deepa, because of a recent spat about his friends, family worries over whether or not Sujeet is doing drugs during the festival party time, Laxmi and Ranjeet having problems because of the presence of a female Thai guest, and untranslated disagreements over how much freedom I should have during this time.

I try to stay out of all of this, but it’s in the air. In the upstairs bedrooms, card playing and gambling seem to pull everyone together, and this appears to be a staple activity during the festival – most of the family staying up until dawn, gambling their festival gifts plus some. I, as the newcomer to the Century Casino, feel both enveloped in family togetherness and used at the same time. Sujeet constantly voices doubt as to whether or not I’ve anted up, and everyone seems to take a certain joy in my large losses – as if I somehow owe it to them for being from a wealthy country.

One time I feel truly happy and at peace during the festivities is when I receive tikka. There’s a calm that surrounds me while I sit on the dining room floor, in front of an elder, palms cupped up and head bowed. Cool and softly wrinkled hands allow flower petals to fall on my head and shoulders, before they gently apply a dollop of a red rice and paint mixture to my forehead. Finally, a small bunch of long grass is placed in my hands as I say “Namaste” and leave with my blessing. At that moment, I am blissfully aware of how lucky I am to be a part of this culture; this family; this house.

The rooftop of the house is my sanctuary. It tempts me with escape and serenity. During the day, the warm October sun tans my face and feet while I gaze up at the tiny, diamond-shaped kites that seem to fill the blue sky. From every rooftop, children and adults are hiking their carefully crafted kites into the air and finding viable candidates for a friendly competition. With a skill unknown to me, kites chase each other flirtatiously, come together for what seems like a sweet kiss, and then one swirls down from the sky as the victor remains, proudly waving in the wind.

At night, the cement on the rooftop feels cool on the back of my legs as I watch the constellations change position, while the moon, seemingly spotlighting the wild dog banter, rises and moves from east to west. Sometimes, joined by Sanjog or Sandeep, we share a cigarette and a glass of contraband whiskey from Sujeet’s secret bottle and talk about our future plans - a sentiment shared by all of us is the desire to leave the Century House.

Yes, the Century House has gotten under my skin and become a part of me forever. Leaving here will be an intense combination of sadness and relief.

Publication Date: 11-18-2009

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