Chapter 13
Nepal
‘This is very kind of you and your father,’ I said to Shila, trying to maintain polite eye contact with her father while he helped me from the cart, which was tilting precariously.
The ox had had enough and was trying to lie down.
Hom was dancing on the spot, clearly enjoying watching me wobble about.
We were outside their family home, about a mile out of the village.
At least I think it was about a mile; I’d never travelled by ox before and it was difficult to judge the speed.
The houses were sparse and each one was surrounded by a large plot of land.
Shila’s had rows of vegetables on one side and a tangle of trees and flowers on the other.
A plastic table and chairs sat outside the door and underneath was a collection of toy cars.
Her father, Govinda, didn’t speak English, but Shila was doing an admirable job of translating for us both. He waved some green leaves at the ox to get it moving and took it around the back of the house.
My plan had been to catch up with the cart and talk to Shila in front of her father about the women’s business group.
But as soon as I’d flagged them down, her father had insisted on me coming back to his house to drink tea with them.
I’d accepted on the basis that I’d have more chance of convincing him to let his daughter make a go of her jewellery business in a place where he felt at ease.
Also, I was nosy and was curious to see a Nepalese home. So here I was.
Shila showed me to a seat at a table in front of the house and dashed inside to make tea. Hom followed her and returned carrying a half-bald chicken. He handed the chicken to me unceremoniously and burst into a fit of giggles when I tucked it under my arm and stroked its patchy feathers.
Govinda reappeared, shouted at Hom and gave me a dazzling smile – at least it would have been if he’d had more than one front tooth. He removed the chicken from my grasp and set it down on the ground.
‘Tea!’ announced Shila, setting a loaded tray on the table.
She handed me a mug and I inhaled the steam; lemon and ginger. Govinda looked on in disbelief when I turned down the offer of sugar, and tipped three big spoonfuls into his own.
‘Please,’ said Shila, pushing a plate of plain biscuits towards me.
Govinda stopped stirring his tea, waiting to see if I took one. I wished I knew more about guest protocol in Nepal; perhaps it was rude to say no to anything. I took a biscuit to be on the safe side.
‘What do you do for a living, Govinda?’ I asked. I took a sip of my tea while Shila translated.
Hom climbed up onto his grandfather’s lap and laid his head on the old man’s chest.
‘He build houses again after the earthquake,’ Shila told me. She turned to her father and said something else. Govinda waved a hand at her irritably and said something in reply. Shila frowned at him and banged her mug down on the table.
‘What are you saying?’ I wanted to know.
‘I said that he works too hard and I am afraid that one day he will die and I will be alone with no money. My father says that I should find a husband and he will look after me. I am not going to do that.’ Shila shook her head defiantly. ‘Ever.’
‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ I suggested.
‘A new husband will not love Hom like his own son. I would rather be alone than have a marriage like that. I can look after myself and Hom.’
My heart went out to her. I had had almost this exact conversation with Kat a decade ago. ‘I totally understand,’ I said softly.
She and I were from totally different backgrounds, but we shared a fiercely independent streak, and a desire to put our own potential happiness to one side for the sake of our children.
Govinda gave Hom a biscuit and spoke again.
‘He wants to know if you are married,’ said Shila.
I shook my head. ‘Like you, I didn’t want to be married either, but it seems to be easier for a woman in the UK to make her own choices about her life than here. I was able to be a mother and have a job to earn money to look after us both.’
Shila repeated this to him and the conversation became heated. I felt awful for causing this conflict, but I only hoped that my presence would help Shila in some way.
Shila turned to me to explain. ‘My father thinks that the men in our village must do the work and I argue and say this is not true in every family.’
I took some of the things I’d bought out of their bags.
I showed them the beautiful gifts I planned to take back to England with me.
‘These are all made by local women from Chitwan. The ladies make money so that their husbands can relax at home.’ I mimed putting my feet up and closing my eyes. Govinda laughed this time.
‘He thinks you are funny lady. He says that his father taught him that he must look after his family. He is a proud man.’ Shila shook her head.
‘When my grandfather was alive, my father argued with him all the time, saying that times change and the old man was wrong. Now my father is the same as him.’
‘Govinda,’ I said, leaning forward to address him directly, ‘we want more for each new generation that comes along. When Hom is a man he could go to university, travel to America, become a doctor, anything he wants. Your daughter wants to earn her own money, to buy things for her son. She wants to provide for Hom the way you provided for Shila. She wants a chance to show you what she can do.’
While she relayed what I’d said, I pulled out the leaflet I’d picked up from the market. ‘Shila, you do not have to do this alone. There are people – women – who can help you, who want to nurture talent like yours, to bring more employment to the village.’
‘I know about this, but he does not listen to me,’ she said sadly.
‘I had a daughter once,’ I said. ‘She was the most precious thing in the world to me. The biggest mistake I made was to not listen to her. Loving someone means allowing them to do what their heart is telling them, even if it hurts to do so.’
Govinda shook his head and spoke again.
Shila sighed. ‘He says he doesn’t understand why you care.’
‘I care because having a goal gives you purpose and having a purpose makes you feel happy. We only have one chance at life, and we all deserve happiness.’
‘My father says you are a very wise woman.’
‘Please thank him and tell him that I learned the hard way.’ I took off the necklace that Shila had given me and placed it on the table in front of Govinda.
‘Why don’t you tell your father what making and selling jewellery would mean to you?
Don’t take no for an answer, keep trying, and make him listen to you.
You can do it, Shila, I have faith in you. ’
The young woman pulled her lip between her teeth, lines of uncertainty furrowing her brow.
Govinda slurped his tea and spoke again harshly.
Finally, Shila spoke, handing him the leaflet and forcing him to study it.
He pored over the pictures, asking questions which Shila responded to with confidence and respect.
After a pause in the dialogue, Govinda smacked his hand down on the table and said something to Shila, a grin forming on his lips.
Hom giggled but Shila scowled and answered him back in a sharp voice.
‘What is it?’ I asked, unsure whether the conversation had taken a turn for the better or worse.
‘I am sorry. He is playing a game with us. He says that he will let me join this group if you will try his food.’
‘Really? That’s a fantastic result, congratulations, Shila.’ I pressed my hands together in prayer. ‘Thank you, Govinda.’
Govinda set Hom down and went inside.
‘You don’t understand. My father makes pickle. It is …’ She poked her tongue out and mimed fanning her face.
‘Spicy?’ I suggested, helping her out.
She nodded. ‘Like fire. We eat it with a potato snack.’
I gave her a supremely confident smile; spicy food would be no issue for me. ‘No problem, I’m happy to play his game.’
He returned with a plate of sausage-shaped croquettes and a small dish of chutney.
‘Aloo chop,’ he said, pointing at the croquettes. He picked one up, dipped it in the chutney and bit into it. Then he gestured for me to do the same.
I picked one up, dipped it hesitantly into the chutney and took a bite. The first sensation was one of sour limes, the second was a fiery burst of chilli.
‘Wow!’ I nodded, blinking as my eyes started to water. ‘This is good. Spicy, but good.’
All three of them stared at me with suspicion. Govinda gave a gleeful laugh and said something to Shila.
‘He says it is good for cleansing,’ said Shila gesturing to her stomach.
Good, I thought, I’d eaten lentils at least twice a day since I’d been here and I was feeling bloated.
‘Aloo chop,’ Hom sang out. ‘Aloo chop.’
‘I love it,’ I puffed my cheeks out and exhaled before dipping it into the chutney again.
Govinda beamed and gave me a round of applause. Shila waved the leaflet in his face and kissed his cheek. And just like that, she was in.
That was the easiest sales negotiation I’d ever done, I thought half an hour later as I prepared to leave.
‘I cannot thank you enough.’ Shila placed her hands together in prayer and bowed.
‘You did the hard work yourself,’ I said, returning the bow. ‘Stay strong, and make sure he sticks to his side of the bargain. I hope you’ll have a stall selling your beautiful jewellery at the next market. Good luck.’
Govinda gestured to the cart and pointed to me.
‘Thank you, but I’m going to walk. I need the exercise after all that delicious food.’ I patted my stomach, and he walked away laughing to himself.
‘Take these.’ Shila handed me some of the leftover aloo chop, wrapped in square of cotton. ‘For the others at the kindergarten.’
I thanked her, gave a sleepy Hom one last hug, and set off. It was one long straight road back to the village, and so even though the light was beginning to fade, I wasn’t worried about finding my way back.