a light in the dark

hope

Sangita is one of the original Shree Mangal Dvip After School Artists. She was about thirteen when we first met, intensely staring at me with huge eyes from the back corner of a tiny, dark classroom. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence of the room, though it was full of kids. Over the years, she has grown out of her shyness into a bold, intelligent, and confident young woman with a fantastic sense of humour. I would never describe her as quiet now— hers is a voice that is always heard, a voice of support and kindness, a voice that stands up for the people who need it most.

Sketch of Boudhanath Stupa, by Sangita

When Sangita completed her 10th and final year at SMD, she was awarded a full scholarship to complete high school at International School of Asia, Karuizawa (ISAK), in Japan. I was so proud, so impressed with the little girl with the ponytail, who became my model of perseverance. Being a person who needs to get things done, she and the other Nepali students at ISAK, Karma and Himanshu, banded together and began a crowdfunding campaign to raise money for the rural areas of Nepal devastated by the earthquake. With the students and staff of ISAK rallying behind them, and the help of Sherab Dolma Sherpa in Canada, these clever and compassionate students have created ISAK's ProjectNEPAL, where you can easily donate money to help. Please visit ISAK's ProjectNepal's GoFundMe page for more information.

wind and wings

those familiar eyes

juniper man

Nearly every afternoon for the past three summers, I could rely upon a certain cloud of white smoke following the crowd around the Stupa. Often, it was the scent of juniper branches that it carried with each dissipating puff, and because Kathmandu is home to a variety of offensive stenches, I breathed its whiteness in deeply, feeling the juniper sweep my head clean.



We called him 'Juniper Man', the man who swung the censer like a pendulum, muttering mantras through lips barely parted. He wore a turmeric jacket and a pointed beard, his hair neatly tied back in a bun. I have never drawn him because every time I see him, I find myself caught up in his wake, mesmerized by the movement, by the scent. This year, we came to the point of mutual recognition— I would place my hands together in greeting, and he would nod with a slight smile, never breaking his swing or a syllable of his prayer.

On the night of the full moon, I followed him for several circumambulations, camera in hand. Knowing precisely what I wanted, he slowed down and kindly paused until I got a few blurry shots, smiled and continued on. I asked the older kids at school who he was, but no one knew.



Seeing him was always uplifting. It's funny how a perfect stranger can have such an effect on you.
Thank you, Juniper Man.

a thousand flickering lights

Under the full moon, faces glowed orange in the light of a thousand flickering flames, and the scent of butter and juniper thickened the air. Three ladies followed each other in a chain of prostrations, their bellies lying flat against the cool stone floor, while others continued to circumambulate the Stupa, careful not to disrupt their rhythm of rising and falling. 

stupa

here we are again

So happy.

sketching at the stupa

On a fine, bluish afternoon, Pedro, Pema and I took the art students to Boudhanath Stupa to sketch. For the older kids, this was a rare treat; to be able to leave school grounds to draw in public, and for the younger students, who had never done something like this before, it was utter excitement. Due to the high risk of child trafficking in Nepal, students are not allowed out of the school gates until their final year at SMD, so getting to explore the world outside their dorm room windows was a unique thrill. Their concentration was astounding— the wee ones drew for nearly two hours without losing focus or interest, and the older kids looked after them like hawks, offering advice and making sure the little artists were comfortable.



Just look at all those beautiful smiles!
How can I not keep returning?

sky, water, fire, wind, earth

still

The heat bears down on my body like a thick, heavy blanket, and I can feel beads of sweat trickling down my calf from the back of my knee. I sense the rain gathering above, ready to burst from darkening clouds. Everything is in a state of constant dampness; my clothes, my skin, the bed linen— but somehow one adjusts, and gets used to it. Coming back to Boudha feels like coming home after a long trip— I'm surprised by the number of times I've received a "Hey! I remember you from long time!" and a "So nice to see you again." I've missed this place. I've missed the eyes of the Stupa, I've missed the smell of burning juniper, I've missed the flicker of butter lamps, and most of all, I've missed the smiles on the faces of strangers and friends. Though the Saturday Café has been relocated, an obnoxious, blinking red electric sign announcing the temperature has been erected by the Stupa, and several buildings have risen where once lay muck and wild Cannabis, little has changed. The mornings are still as magical as the first morning I awoke to, two summers ago. Amala still giggles while serving her homemade momos, the crows and pigeons still battle for the mound of the Stupa, and the tide of people circumabulating the great monument remains as strong as ever.

walking around the stupa

summer in sketches, part three