Sarangi Sellers and Bansuri Blessings.
Musical Misadventures on the Streets of Nepal.
Sarangi Sellers and Bansuri Blessings.
Musical Misadventures on the Streets of Nepal.
Hello Friends and Fellow Music Lovers,
I trust this finds you in sublime spirits!
Welcome to another newsletter, and another glimpse into life in Nepal. It seems that no matter where I go, I have a knack for attracting real characters, and getting myself into unusual situations - and today's tale is no exception.
So grab yourself a cup of masala chai tea, and let's dive into another misadventure.
The Nepali Street Vendors.
Venturing into Kathmandu town is an incredible experience, but once you step into the tourist areas, you quickly encounter a myriad of street vendors, each with their own unique sales techniques. Take, for instance, the dubious-looking hash sellers. They approach discreetly, catching your eye before swiftly averting their gaze. As they pass by, they whisper the magic word: "Something?"
On the other hand, the souvenir vendors greet you with a bright 'namaste' and eagerly showcase their treasure trove of beads, bracelets, statues, and a mesmerizing variety of trinkets. A polite 'no thank you' usually suffices to send them on their way - but there are some vendors who employ a sales strategy that, to me, borders on harassment.
The Dreaded Sarangi.
Enter the Sarangi Salesmen, determined to introduce you to the traditional Nepalese folk instrument, whether you like it or not. The instrument itself resembles a violin, played with a bow. The sound it produces is reminiscent of two unwell cats engaged in a territorial dispute. Nothing can deter these vendors - they relentlessly follow you wherever you go - apparently convinced that the longer they serenade you with its jarring screeches, the more likely you are to succumb to its charm and and purchase one - if only just to get him off your tail!
Suffice to say, I am never impressed when I attract the attention of one of these chaps.
Perhaps I'm missing something, but to my ear, these ‘made-for-tourist’ sarangis lack the melodious charm found in another of Nepal's traditional instruments:
The Bansuri Bamboo Flute.
The first time I heard the bansuri, its haunting, breathy tones truly captivated me. This instrument, with its distinctive flights of fancy, weaves its way through all genres of Nepali music - folk, devotional, pop, and classical - and is a staple in Bollywood soundtracks. I marvel at how such powerful tones can emerge from a simple stick of bamboo, something so natural that it sprouts from the ground.
Enthralled by its simplicity and versatility, I was compelled to buy one from a local music shop - but, to unlock the full potential of this deceptively simple instrument, I was going to need a teacher.
The music store salesman informed me that there were no bansuri teachers in this neck of the woods. When i asked why, I was told that traditional music has experienced a sharp decline over the years, in favour of more contemporary genres like dance and hip-hop.
“What about classical bansuri teachers?” I asked, hoping to learn the ragas - the melodic scales used in Indian and Nepali classical music. The salesman simply shrugged and attempted to sell me a sitar instead.
A Quick Detour to the Department of Immigration.
My travel visa is about to expire, so today I must venture out to find the immigration office for an extension. I've been told that I can easily find it by foot, but thanks to a Google Maps autocorrect error, I have arrived at the Department of Irrigation by mistake. They don't issue visa extensions, but they do offer some very sound advice on advanced hose handling strategies.
As I head back to the main road, I spot a group of taxi drivers. One immediately stands out: he's dressed in clean, pressed slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a dapper knitted vest. His clean-shaven appearance and neatly styled hair contrast sharply with the others, whose cabs are run-down and mud-splattered. His taxi, in stark contrast, looks new and pristine. I make a beeline for him.
As we travel along the lakeside road, my driver, Deepak, extends a warm welcome to his country. During our journey, he shares that he was once a high school science teacher. Unfortunately, prolonged exposure to chalk dust led to a throat condition, prompting him to swap his chalkboard for a taxi cab.
Upon arrival at my destination, I ask Deepak to wait for me to return. However, it isn’t long before I am back in his cab, without my intended visa.
"All the prices are quoted in US dollars, so I brought US dollars," I explain to Deepak in frustration. "But when I tried to pay, they only accepted Nepali rupees!"
"How much do you need?" Deepak asks, pulling out his wallet and thumbing through a stack of one-thousand-rupee notes.
—
Soon, Deepak and I are heading back into town, a brand new visa now securely in my passport! At the currency exchange, I repay Deepak for his help, adding a generous tip for his first-class service.
Then, an idea strikes me.
"Deepak, since you've worked in a school, do you know any bansuri teachers?" I ask, hopeful.
He ponders for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, his eyes light up.
"Yes, I do. Meet me here tomorrow," he says with a promising smile.
It’s Bansuri Time!
The next day, I arrive at the designated spot right on time and see Deepak in conversation with a smartly-dressed older gentleman.
"Oh good," I think to myself as I approach, "he looks just the type to be a professional classical flute teacher."
Just as I'm about to join them, a street vendor bursts onto the scene, heading straight for me with a dreaded sarangi in hand. He scrapes the catgut strings, smiling at me with a mix of hope and desperation. Around his neck, dozens of chunky wooden bead necklaces clatter, and slung over one shoulder, a heavy black canvas bag bulges with souvenir items for sale.
Dismayed by the arrival of the persistent sarangi peddler, I prepare to dismiss him and send him on his way. Before I can, Deepak steps forward and introduces us.
"This is Buddha!" Deepak announces. "He used to have a music store, but because of the pandemic, he had to shut it down."
Buddha nods with sad eyes.
"Buddha will be your bansuri teacher," Deepak adds.
"Your name is Buddha?" I inquire, surprised.
"Yes, I am Buddha," he confirms, extracting a bamboo flute from his overstuffed bag.
This is a most unexpected development.
Firstly, I never anticipated meeting a real live Buddha, and secondly, if I ever did, I certainly wouldn't expect him to be a sarangi-playing street vendor!
Buddha sits on a twisted tree stump, ready to showcase his skills. He starts with a simple Nepali folk song - it’s nothing special, but sufficient to attract a small crowd of curious locals.
His nimble fingers glide effortlessly across the flute, culminating in a dramatic flourish that earns a smattering of polite applause from the crowd. As the clapping fades, Buddha hands me the flute. Instantly, the crowd's murmurs rise in anticipation. It suddenly dawns on me - they now expect me to perform! A wave of angst washes over me as I realize they’re all waiting, curious to see how the Westerner will fare with their traditional instrument.
I find myself frozen, clutching the flute with trembling hands. My mind races as I simply stand there, contemplating my next move ....
Will I wow the crowd with my bansuri skills - or will I thoroughly embarrass myself?
Will Buddha agree to become my bansuri teacher?
Could he also guide me on the path to enlightenment?
Or will he try to persuade me to buy a sarangi?
Stay tuned for answers to these questions and more as the story continues to unfold…
Wishing you all a week filled with curiosity, enlightening conversations, and unexpected insights!
🪶
Jay
Love it!
Grant you are a magnet for the unique individuals of this world. Besides your sparkling personality, it must be your openness and a touch of your own unusual ways. Chase your dreams to one day play in the symphony orchestra. It shouldn't be out of reach, regardless of the instrument.