Dinner with Dollie
We travel east to Janakpur. Despite good roads and a decent bus, it takes a full seven hours to travel only 150km. The frequent stops for passenger pick-ups and military check points slow us down and the bus is packed to capacity. Still, it's better than a Tibetan pick-up truck.
There is no denying that Nepal is heavily influenced by its Indian neighbour. Food, clothing, music and religion are borrowed and then spiced with a distinctive Nepalese taste. As we travel east, hugging the Indian border, the Hindu influence becomes more and more obvious. In Janakpur the ethnic culture is called Maithil, and it is a blend of Nepalese and Indian, as well as a unique culture unto itself.
Janakpur has a prolific number of temples scattered throughout the town. According to Hindu mythology, it is in Janakpur that Rama (a popular incarnation of Vishnu, who occasionally chooses to be born as a human when demons need vanquishing) lived with his super hot wife Sita. There's a whole stack of colourful stories about the two, and the different temples around town each have something to do with a part of the overall tale.
We arrive around dinner time and check into a cheap but dingy hotel. It's right in the centre of town, next to the largest temple. Convenient it may be, but we discover later that night that some over-funky religious music bellows out from the temple from dusk till the early hours of the morning. These tunes, partnered with the sticky, humid heat and the persistent mossies makes for poor sleeping.
We head out for dinner, past the rickshaws and the beeping motorbikes. City pigs roam free, working their way through the aromatic garbage of the day. Goats too, wander the streets, but the holy, white cows, with their camel-like hump, are the true lords of Janakpur. They plod slowly along the main streets chewing whatever they can get hold of (grass, cardboard, shop goods). Groups of them laze casually in the middle of the road, while traffic detours around them.
The poor water buffalo must wonder where they went wrong. These sorry creatures are used as beasts of burden; they pull carts and lug equipment across town. They are generally treated with contempt, abused, tied to stakes and herded with sticks through the streets. Meanwhile the cows, their smaller, uglier cousins are treated like royalty.
We are barely a block away from our hotel when a guy on a bike pulls up and starts chatting. He wears a stylish, semi-western outfit, complete with small, "super cool" sunnies. Usually guys like this want to sell us a trek, or take us to a nearby restaurant that coincidentally belongs to a relative of theirs.
This guy however, wants something different. He's a teacher at a local school and wants us to come and talk to the kids the next day. He introduces himself, but his Nepalese name is long and difficult for us. He offers an alternative, "Just call me Sir Love, that's what all the kids call me." We've got no plans as yet but it sounds interesting enough. We give "Sir Love" a non-committal answer and continue on our way.
A few blocks later we find a restaurant and sit down for a meal. Straight away we are approached by two Nepalese girls. They introduce themselves as Dollie and Meena. Dollie asks if they can join us. Well actually it's not really a request: "OK, so we will join you for a drink”. It's immediately obvious that Dollie is a girl who knows how to get things done.
The two girls are local social workers. They are members of just about every community minded group in Nepal and seem completely and selflessly dedicated to making the world a better place - starting with their own backyard. Women's rights are high on their list of concerns, and they explain that women are actively repressed in this conservative Hindu culture.
In fact neither of the two girls should be out at this time of night and they definitely shouldn't be approaching strange westerners in restaurants. Dollie is defiant against these restrictions. She's a fighter. Meena is more reserved. Dollie does the talking and is very definite, while Meena takes a back seat and avoids eye contact. Every so often however, Meena adds a quiet comment to Dollie's and it's obvious that in her own way, she is just as determined as the more direct Dollie.
The two girls ask if we will visit the local Women's Development Center. The center is an arts and crafts shop, where local women are employed, giving them skills, self respect and a salary - elevating their standing in the family and in society. Dollie is free for the day and offers to be our guide.
We have nothing better planned, it sounds like a worthy cause, and we accept. As the two girls make to leave, Dollie makes a further 'suggestion'. "OK, listen. Tomorrow you will come to my house and have lunch. You will eat real Nepalese food." There’s no room for refusal, but it sounds good to us anyway and we gladly accept.
The next morning we head first to the school. We may as well make it a day of community based adventures. The school proves difficult to find, until the school “bus” passes us. It’s really a modified rickshaw, with a rider at front and about ten kids jammed like cattle into an enclosed cage at the back. The guy pedalling must be eighty if he’s a day, and he barely manages walking speed. We follow the little wagon right up to the school.
It’s 10 in the morning but Sir Love hasn’t yet turned up for teaching duties. The head master takes us inside instead. We attempt conversation but he’s not a real talkative guy. That is until I point out his well used cane and ask him about school discipline methods. His eyes light up with glee as he explains to us how to keep little brats in line with a good caning every now and then. He caresses his cane lovingly as he talks, and swings it through the air a couple of times to demonstrate the most effective caning motion.
Sir Love arrives forty five minutes later, wearing his dark shades. By this time, the head master is on the verge of bringing in a kid to demonstrate a good and proper caning. We’re glad of the change of topic caused by Sir Love’s arrival. Apparently he’s late because he had to take care of some “urgent business” on the other side of town. We don’t ask questions. It’s best not to know what someone who calls himself “Sir Love” gets up to on his personal time.
He takes us through a couple of the classrooms. It’s a junior school; the kids are old enough to ask us questions but young enough not to give us too hard a time. All in all, it’s a bit of fun and we cover a range of topics including Aussie geography (Glover and I argue over the spelling of Canberra), Aussie wildlife (no, there are no Kangaroos in the city, yes there are snakes in the toilet sometimes) and Aussie sport (it’s true, Ricky Ponting is a legend).
The most popular questions seem to be about marriage and families. We find ourselves defending our marital status to a bunch of fourth graders. What’s wrong with being single at 27 anyway? We also have no explanation for why our families are so damn small, and why, between the two of us, we have only three brothers and not one sister. Yes, some Australian families do have girls too, just not ours.
We stay for as long as we can, but we have to meet Dollie for lunch. Back in town, Dollie’s brother meets us and takes us to the family home. The house is tiny by our standards, consisting of just two small rooms for the family of six. Each room is multi-purpose, acting as bedroom, living room, kitchen and dining room.
Dollie has to share her double bed with her younger sister. Her two younger brothers share another bed in the same room. At first it seems the girls get the better deal, as their bed is bigger. It turns out that the guys get first choice however, and the smaller bed is the prime real estate due to its strategic positioning directly under the ceiling fan.
We enjoy a deliciously spicy meal of veg curry and rice (served by the women of course), while Dollie chats to us about Nepalese culture and the various ways that she’s working to change it. She’s a living inspiration. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing more than a few social activists in my time. Dollie is one of the most passionate I have met and on top of this, her every action is made with centuries of cultural bigotry stacked against her.
Dollie explains that the income from her work is the sole reason for her freedom to act in the way she does. She explains, almost casually, that should she stop earning money, her family (who disagree with her every action) would most likely cover her in petrol and burn her to cleanse the family shame associated with her improper actions. Her brother would be tasked with the unpleasant job.
It seems hard to believe that this friendly family, who have shown us such generous hospitality, would be capable of such a horrendous crime. How could her brother, who had been playing fondly with Dollie’s hair only moments earlier, burn his own sister alive? I want to believe that Dollie is exaggerating, perhaps she is, but I have no reason to doubt her.
After lunch we hire some push bikes and Dollie takes us out to the Women’s Development Center. She gives us a guided tour of the various sections for painting, pottery and needlework. It’s a spacious, open building with a pretty garden of green grass and trees. The fifty or so women working here are friendly and greet Dollie with fondness. It’s definitely a nicer place to work than any of the cubicle farms I’ve been stationed in (back in the bad old days when I actually worked).
The tour ends with us making a few small purchases. We have to head back to town as Dollie has a Leo Club (the younger arm of the Lion’s Club) meeting at four that afternoon. On the way back we stop at the city council office for Dollie to complete a chore. We push through a crowd of people who look like they’ve been queuing for the entire day. A few commands from Dollie has the all male crowd stepping aside to let us through and we walk straight into the head councilman’s office.
He looks about as pleased to see Dollie as I am to see a Tibetan dunny. There’s a conversation between the two in which Dollie does most of the talking. Glover and I stand by the whole while, trying to look inconspicuous but the councilman ignores us anyway. At the end of the conversation, the councilman throws down a portfolio on the table with obvious distaste and Dollie snatches it up and we make good our escape.
On the way out Dollie explains that she is helping establish a support group for Exploited and Disadvantaged Women and Children in Nepal. The portfolio contains the documents needed to get the group registered. The group will provide training and support to help these disadvantaged minorities gain skills for employment, and also to educate them on their legal rights.
For Dollie this is just a side project in an otherwise packed schedule. I ask her how she finds time and energy for so many worthy causes. “I am a human with a conscience and a heart. What else can I do? I want to change the world, so I need to do these things.” It’s said without pride – just a statement of fact. I feel inadequate; my occasional and uncommitted attempts at “doing good” seem somewhat shallow.
Before disappearing for her meeting Dollie takes us to a couple of local temples and explains a bit of the significance of each to us. Then before she leaves us, there is another ‘request’, “OK, so tonight you will come to my house and have dinner. You will try South Indian food.”
We use the time between Dollie leaving us and dinner to visit one more temple. The Big Monkey Temple was what first attracted our attention to Janakpur and is really the reason we ended up here. It’s the temple of Hanuman, the Monkey God, one of Rama’s sidekicks. We like monkeys.
The temple itself is a bit of a disappointment, a tiny little shack on the outskirts of town. The only attraction is the poor caged monkey, which is said to be the current incarnation of Hanuman. The previous incarnation died only a few years ago after a lifetime of overfeeding and no exercise. Before he died he was apparently one big, fat monkey. This latest incarnation is still in reasonable shape, though it can’t be long before he ends up the same way. We consider coming back at night and setting the monkey God free, or at least slipping him a few beers to make the time pass more easily. We’re not sure how the locals would take to this however.
We meet Dollie back at her house and are once again treated to a feast of curries and fried bread. We are pretty tired after our action packed day, but Dollie (who has a cold) is still going strong. Apparently in the few hours between leaving us and dinner, she and the other Leo members have been to the local hospital and conducted some two hundred patient surveys on the quality of the services at the hospital.
Not surprisingly, the survey responses are none too positive: insufficient beds, medicine shortages, disgusting toilets, and rotten food. Dollie now has to collate the results and present a summary to local agencies in an attempt to force change. She plans to do this before the following morning when she and the other Leo members will return to the hospital and hand out fresh fruit to the patients using funds they raised some months earlier. It’s just another day for Dollie and she seems completely accepting of the difficult challenges she has chosen for herself.
We leave Dollie’s place that night with full bellies and stretched minds. Personally I’m deeply inspired by this girl. With just a few more people like Dollie it won’t take much to change the world for the better.
There is no denying that Nepal is heavily influenced by its Indian neighbour. Food, clothing, music and religion are borrowed and then spiced with a distinctive Nepalese taste. As we travel east, hugging the Indian border, the Hindu influence becomes more and more obvious. In Janakpur the ethnic culture is called Maithil, and it is a blend of Nepalese and Indian, as well as a unique culture unto itself.
Janakpur has a prolific number of temples scattered throughout the town. According to Hindu mythology, it is in Janakpur that Rama (a popular incarnation of Vishnu, who occasionally chooses to be born as a human when demons need vanquishing) lived with his super hot wife Sita. There's a whole stack of colourful stories about the two, and the different temples around town each have something to do with a part of the overall tale.
We arrive around dinner time and check into a cheap but dingy hotel. It's right in the centre of town, next to the largest temple. Convenient it may be, but we discover later that night that some over-funky religious music bellows out from the temple from dusk till the early hours of the morning. These tunes, partnered with the sticky, humid heat and the persistent mossies makes for poor sleeping.
We head out for dinner, past the rickshaws and the beeping motorbikes. City pigs roam free, working their way through the aromatic garbage of the day. Goats too, wander the streets, but the holy, white cows, with their camel-like hump, are the true lords of Janakpur. They plod slowly along the main streets chewing whatever they can get hold of (grass, cardboard, shop goods). Groups of them laze casually in the middle of the road, while traffic detours around them.
The poor water buffalo must wonder where they went wrong. These sorry creatures are used as beasts of burden; they pull carts and lug equipment across town. They are generally treated with contempt, abused, tied to stakes and herded with sticks through the streets. Meanwhile the cows, their smaller, uglier cousins are treated like royalty.
We are barely a block away from our hotel when a guy on a bike pulls up and starts chatting. He wears a stylish, semi-western outfit, complete with small, "super cool" sunnies. Usually guys like this want to sell us a trek, or take us to a nearby restaurant that coincidentally belongs to a relative of theirs.
This guy however, wants something different. He's a teacher at a local school and wants us to come and talk to the kids the next day. He introduces himself, but his Nepalese name is long and difficult for us. He offers an alternative, "Just call me Sir Love, that's what all the kids call me." We've got no plans as yet but it sounds interesting enough. We give "Sir Love" a non-committal answer and continue on our way.
A few blocks later we find a restaurant and sit down for a meal. Straight away we are approached by two Nepalese girls. They introduce themselves as Dollie and Meena. Dollie asks if they can join us. Well actually it's not really a request: "OK, so we will join you for a drink”. It's immediately obvious that Dollie is a girl who knows how to get things done.
The two girls are local social workers. They are members of just about every community minded group in Nepal and seem completely and selflessly dedicated to making the world a better place - starting with their own backyard. Women's rights are high on their list of concerns, and they explain that women are actively repressed in this conservative Hindu culture.
In fact neither of the two girls should be out at this time of night and they definitely shouldn't be approaching strange westerners in restaurants. Dollie is defiant against these restrictions. She's a fighter. Meena is more reserved. Dollie does the talking and is very definite, while Meena takes a back seat and avoids eye contact. Every so often however, Meena adds a quiet comment to Dollie's and it's obvious that in her own way, she is just as determined as the more direct Dollie.
The two girls ask if we will visit the local Women's Development Center. The center is an arts and crafts shop, where local women are employed, giving them skills, self respect and a salary - elevating their standing in the family and in society. Dollie is free for the day and offers to be our guide.
We have nothing better planned, it sounds like a worthy cause, and we accept. As the two girls make to leave, Dollie makes a further 'suggestion'. "OK, listen. Tomorrow you will come to my house and have lunch. You will eat real Nepalese food." There’s no room for refusal, but it sounds good to us anyway and we gladly accept.
The next morning we head first to the school. We may as well make it a day of community based adventures. The school proves difficult to find, until the school “bus” passes us. It’s really a modified rickshaw, with a rider at front and about ten kids jammed like cattle into an enclosed cage at the back. The guy pedalling must be eighty if he’s a day, and he barely manages walking speed. We follow the little wagon right up to the school.
It’s 10 in the morning but Sir Love hasn’t yet turned up for teaching duties. The head master takes us inside instead. We attempt conversation but he’s not a real talkative guy. That is until I point out his well used cane and ask him about school discipline methods. His eyes light up with glee as he explains to us how to keep little brats in line with a good caning every now and then. He caresses his cane lovingly as he talks, and swings it through the air a couple of times to demonstrate the most effective caning motion.
Sir Love arrives forty five minutes later, wearing his dark shades. By this time, the head master is on the verge of bringing in a kid to demonstrate a good and proper caning. We’re glad of the change of topic caused by Sir Love’s arrival. Apparently he’s late because he had to take care of some “urgent business” on the other side of town. We don’t ask questions. It’s best not to know what someone who calls himself “Sir Love” gets up to on his personal time.
He takes us through a couple of the classrooms. It’s a junior school; the kids are old enough to ask us questions but young enough not to give us too hard a time. All in all, it’s a bit of fun and we cover a range of topics including Aussie geography (Glover and I argue over the spelling of Canberra), Aussie wildlife (no, there are no Kangaroos in the city, yes there are snakes in the toilet sometimes) and Aussie sport (it’s true, Ricky Ponting is a legend).
The most popular questions seem to be about marriage and families. We find ourselves defending our marital status to a bunch of fourth graders. What’s wrong with being single at 27 anyway? We also have no explanation for why our families are so damn small, and why, between the two of us, we have only three brothers and not one sister. Yes, some Australian families do have girls too, just not ours.
We stay for as long as we can, but we have to meet Dollie for lunch. Back in town, Dollie’s brother meets us and takes us to the family home. The house is tiny by our standards, consisting of just two small rooms for the family of six. Each room is multi-purpose, acting as bedroom, living room, kitchen and dining room.
Dollie has to share her double bed with her younger sister. Her two younger brothers share another bed in the same room. At first it seems the girls get the better deal, as their bed is bigger. It turns out that the guys get first choice however, and the smaller bed is the prime real estate due to its strategic positioning directly under the ceiling fan.
We enjoy a deliciously spicy meal of veg curry and rice (served by the women of course), while Dollie chats to us about Nepalese culture and the various ways that she’s working to change it. She’s a living inspiration. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing more than a few social activists in my time. Dollie is one of the most passionate I have met and on top of this, her every action is made with centuries of cultural bigotry stacked against her.
Dollie explains that the income from her work is the sole reason for her freedom to act in the way she does. She explains, almost casually, that should she stop earning money, her family (who disagree with her every action) would most likely cover her in petrol and burn her to cleanse the family shame associated with her improper actions. Her brother would be tasked with the unpleasant job.
It seems hard to believe that this friendly family, who have shown us such generous hospitality, would be capable of such a horrendous crime. How could her brother, who had been playing fondly with Dollie’s hair only moments earlier, burn his own sister alive? I want to believe that Dollie is exaggerating, perhaps she is, but I have no reason to doubt her.
After lunch we hire some push bikes and Dollie takes us out to the Women’s Development Center. She gives us a guided tour of the various sections for painting, pottery and needlework. It’s a spacious, open building with a pretty garden of green grass and trees. The fifty or so women working here are friendly and greet Dollie with fondness. It’s definitely a nicer place to work than any of the cubicle farms I’ve been stationed in (back in the bad old days when I actually worked).
The tour ends with us making a few small purchases. We have to head back to town as Dollie has a Leo Club (the younger arm of the Lion’s Club) meeting at four that afternoon. On the way back we stop at the city council office for Dollie to complete a chore. We push through a crowd of people who look like they’ve been queuing for the entire day. A few commands from Dollie has the all male crowd stepping aside to let us through and we walk straight into the head councilman’s office.
He looks about as pleased to see Dollie as I am to see a Tibetan dunny. There’s a conversation between the two in which Dollie does most of the talking. Glover and I stand by the whole while, trying to look inconspicuous but the councilman ignores us anyway. At the end of the conversation, the councilman throws down a portfolio on the table with obvious distaste and Dollie snatches it up and we make good our escape.
On the way out Dollie explains that she is helping establish a support group for Exploited and Disadvantaged Women and Children in Nepal. The portfolio contains the documents needed to get the group registered. The group will provide training and support to help these disadvantaged minorities gain skills for employment, and also to educate them on their legal rights.
For Dollie this is just a side project in an otherwise packed schedule. I ask her how she finds time and energy for so many worthy causes. “I am a human with a conscience and a heart. What else can I do? I want to change the world, so I need to do these things.” It’s said without pride – just a statement of fact. I feel inadequate; my occasional and uncommitted attempts at “doing good” seem somewhat shallow.
Before disappearing for her meeting Dollie takes us to a couple of local temples and explains a bit of the significance of each to us. Then before she leaves us, there is another ‘request’, “OK, so tonight you will come to my house and have dinner. You will try South Indian food.”
We use the time between Dollie leaving us and dinner to visit one more temple. The Big Monkey Temple was what first attracted our attention to Janakpur and is really the reason we ended up here. It’s the temple of Hanuman, the Monkey God, one of Rama’s sidekicks. We like monkeys.
The temple itself is a bit of a disappointment, a tiny little shack on the outskirts of town. The only attraction is the poor caged monkey, which is said to be the current incarnation of Hanuman. The previous incarnation died only a few years ago after a lifetime of overfeeding and no exercise. Before he died he was apparently one big, fat monkey. This latest incarnation is still in reasonable shape, though it can’t be long before he ends up the same way. We consider coming back at night and setting the monkey God free, or at least slipping him a few beers to make the time pass more easily. We’re not sure how the locals would take to this however.
We meet Dollie back at her house and are once again treated to a feast of curries and fried bread. We are pretty tired after our action packed day, but Dollie (who has a cold) is still going strong. Apparently in the few hours between leaving us and dinner, she and the other Leo members have been to the local hospital and conducted some two hundred patient surveys on the quality of the services at the hospital.
Not surprisingly, the survey responses are none too positive: insufficient beds, medicine shortages, disgusting toilets, and rotten food. Dollie now has to collate the results and present a summary to local agencies in an attempt to force change. She plans to do this before the following morning when she and the other Leo members will return to the hospital and hand out fresh fruit to the patients using funds they raised some months earlier. It’s just another day for Dollie and she seems completely accepting of the difficult challenges she has chosen for herself.
We leave Dollie’s place that night with full bellies and stretched minds. Personally I’m deeply inspired by this girl. With just a few more people like Dollie it won’t take much to change the world for the better.
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