Annapurna wrap-up

 Happiness is a warm bun.

 I’m now back in Lakeside, Pokhara, and am leaving tomorrow on a bus for Kathmandu. My last morning at the Annapurna Orphan Home was fairly typical, with crying kids being chased with clothing and being reluctantly dragged to school. I have learned to distinguish about 15 different kids by the sound of their crying. I don’t think these children necessarily cry more than any others, but when you’re one of 21 you need to cry a bit LOUDER than everyone else to make sure you get noticed. Safal – for instance – is a contender for the Nepal All-Comer Crying Championships. I don’t know how he fits all that air into those tiny two-year old lungs, but you can hear him from a mile away. And he cries every morning. Mind you, so do the other little-ies – and some of the biggies – but Safal seems to take exception merely to the sun having come up without him being consulted. He takes a minute or two to get warmed up, but when he hits his straps and gives it the full noise he is an impressive sight. Head back, eyes closed, mouth open – completely absorbed in the virtuosity of his own performance. Awesome. I heard him cranking up on my last morning, bright and early. Poor Sita and Hari – the two on-site mothers – have enough to cope with, so I went downstairs to smother Safal. Er… I mean soothe Safal.

He was standing on the front step in full song, praising all of Creation with his own dawn chorus and  swaying hypnotically to some internal rhythm. I was loathe to interrupt such a maestro, but for the sake of the sanity of all I picked him up and brought him back to my room, to watch me shave my head and eat a biscuit. (That wasn’t quite the circus performance I’ve made it sound. Safal was eating the biscuit).

Which reminds me – the children have given me a charming nickname, which is (phonetically) the ‘taloo aloo’. This translates as (roughly, you understand. You non-Nepali speakers will obviously miss the subtle linguistic nuances which lend an air of majesty and deference to the rhyming title. The name fairly resonates with power and respect, I tell you, and I am honoured that it has been bestowed upon me )… the bald potato. It’s not, perhaps, in the same league as Sir Hillary’s moniker of ‘Mountain Father’, but it’s close.

 

Safal takes a break from crying to watch me.

 Where was I? Ah, Safal… Another of the many things I have learned about toddlers is that when they are crying, full-bore, they become remarkably pliant. If you touch them in any way, their little legs collapse like rubber and they go all floppy. This obviously necessitates your picking them up – which is the name of the game. Likewise, if you attempt to lower an inconsolable little one their legs will refuse to work and they will lie like a puddle on the ground. If you leave them alone they will remain in their ground-state, beit standing or lying, til they finally cry themselves out or fall asleep. The upshot of all this is that if you need a 10kg paperweight or a 100 decibel draught-extruder then I can heartily recommend a bawling toddler.

Safal, thank goodness, was fairly easy to distract with a biscuit and a chance to watch the bald potato do his thing.

 I have actually really enjoyed working with the little kids. In particular, I get a real kick out of taking part in their day-to-day learning, especially language. I even got to teach them some Nepali words, or correct them. Waddling along to pre-school one day with Sushila we were passed by a man with a goat. “Khukhur!” (dog), says Sushila, excitedly. “Khukhur hoina, sweetie”, I replied. “Tyo bakra ho”.(No, that is not a dog. That is a goat). I know, I know – it’s all a bit ‘See Spot. See Spot run’, isn’t it? But that is honestly the level of my Nepali and it’s great that I can practice with the little kids. Whereas most adults have to listen to a small child excitedly naming everyday objects with an air of strained patience, I can respond with genuine enthusiasm. “What’s that you say? That’s a tree? Really?! Good Lord!”

Sushila and Sujana about to leave for pre-school.