Our room is on the second floor of a run down five storey building in the centre of Kathmandu. There is often no electricity or hot water. The room is hot and muggy, furnished with old timber and a bed that feels like you’re lying on a pool table. The carpet is old and dusty and the curtains hang in tatters with only three rings to support them, admitting glimpses of locals hanging their clothes on the rooftop across the street. The bathroom has a shower, toilet and sink, usually covered in water as there is no shower curtain. The busy sounds of the street pour into the room by day and the relentless thumping of bass rhythms and mixed melodies of multiple genre’s of music pour in by night. At any given moment though, usually twice a day and sometimes in the evening, the record store opposite our room plays the most incredible music I have ever heard. Sometimes they are prayer songs filled with the chants of monks over Nepali instruments and other times they are traditional songs with haunting flute and vocal melodies that soar over the city and into my heart. It seems the city never sleeps. I never have trouble sleeping though and the pool table bed coupled with the intense heat is working wonders for my back. My dreams consist of mundane activities I would normally be engaged in back home, and when I wake I am thrust into a strange new world all over again, my senses alive with the splendour of the unfamiliar.

I’m having breakfast in my favourite restaurant only five minutes walking distance from the hotel. Only locals eat at this small homely restaurant, the WIFI signal is strong and the food is delicious. It was the owners charm that inevitably won me over though when he hugged me from behind, lifted me off the ground and dangled me in the air for a few seconds. Migyur like most Nepali is very small in stature and I currently weigh in at 110 Kg, so you can imagine my surprise when he picked me up with ease as though lifting a small child. The restaurant is unusually busy, teeming with locals all gathered around a tiny TV in the restaurant in support of the Nepali soccer team. There are many close goals in the game causing pre-emptive shouts of celebration that follow with the usual groans of dismay when the ball hits the post or skims just over the crossbar. Finally Nepal score! The entire room is in an uproar. Children run out of the restaurant jumping around with fists flying upward in celebration and adults shout and laugh hysterically with the elation of a sure win, with only two minutes left in the game. A final uproar ensues at full time before all the locals disperse, returning to their daily duties. I thank Migyur in my best Nepali accent, “danyir bahd,” slapping him affectionately on the back before making my way back down the busy streets leading to the hotel I am staying in.

A young Nepali boy of around seventeen is drawn to me and follows for several paces before gathering the courage to say hello. He has sharp features and big brown eyes partly covered by jet-black hair that falls to one side of his face. His overly gentle, almost timid demeanour gives the impression that he is hiding behind his hair. Despite his shy nature, his words flow with ease behind the warmest of smiles. I feel an instant comfort in his presence, as we walk past a giant stall packed with religious pieces and jewellery. I’m amazed at the extent of his English, which he learnt mostly by visiting the city and interacting with tourists. His name is Sonou. He is a Buddhist currently studying the religious prayer art of “Thanka”. His father was killed in the earthquake and his home completely destroyed. He lives in a tarpaulin tent with his mother and siblings and there is no work in the city. Like many, Sonou is in dire need of assistance, yet he is one of the first to refrain from asking for help, even indirectly. My mind races, searching for a way to help but I must remind myself that we are here to build a school, a goal that will not come to fruition if I am to help every person here that touches my heart.

Every second person here has a story of hardship and struggle, yet their resilience under such circumstances is inspiring to say the least. There is a greater sense of community here than anywhere I have ever visited. Children play in large numbers throughout the region and locals sit and share stories over tea at the front of every single home and shop without exception. Why is it so hard to make meaningful connections in affluent countries? Could it be that wealth creates an isolated mindset? My iphone, my car, my home, my family… Are we so focused on creating and sustaining wealth or perceived security that we forget to live, connect, share and enjoy together? I take down Sonou’s phone number and grasp his hand firmly and affectionately, wishing him blessings and protection in his native tongue before parting ways. “Rakcha garah”. I love the sounds of the Nepalese language and my intent for Sonou’s blessing and protection feels strengthened by the rounded warmth of its vowels. May all beings be blessed and protected.

My friend Amos is in the lobby looking after reception. He is possibly the most amiable and endearing young man I have ever met, his entire face set in a permanent smile, giving the impression that he is forever on the verge of laughter. He is always clad in torn jeans and flannelette shirts of red or green. His black hair is cut fashionably and his sparse moustache and goatee still has hope for he is only twenty-one. He loves music and his favourite genre is metal. He works seven days a week, thirty days a month, making 3,500 rupees per month, ($46 AUD). We sit and share our favourite bands, Rage Against the Machine, Pantera, Karnivool and System of a Down to name a few. Aside from the Australian band Karnivool, Amos has heard them all. He spends his spare time at reception playing an Ibanez electric guitar that he will be paying off for a long time. It cost him $400 AUD, roughly 30,000 rupees, a very extravagant purchase for a young man of his means and an investment that would normally be reserved for education. He tells me it is his greatest love and spends hours learning licks from YouTube tutorials, visualising the moment he is able to rock out in front of a Nepali crowd, all head-banging in honour of his shredding.

His most memorable concert took him a few months to save up for despite being at a common local’s venue in Kathmandu. Amos was accompanies by several friends who all chipped in to buy one beer, which they all shared. I had to shift my sadness to appreciation at this touching story for sympathy would be an insult. This was truly a good night. Soon he will have an original riff for me to write vocals to. He wants me to write about caste discrimination, still a common issue in Nepal. He wants me to convey a message of unity. “We are all Nepali”, he said. I was so moved by the fact that there were two people sitting before each other from completely different worlds and experiences with the desire to communicate the exact same message.

“How is the riff coming along brother?”

“I umm.. maybe have soon but aah.. ok, maybe soon.” He answers with the most infectious of smiles before bursting into laughter. We laugh together for no apparent reason but for laughter itself. Truly the greatest healer.

“I told uum.. my aaah.. friend for helping with make a riff but aaah.. it is not good,” he mumbles with classic Nepali straightforwardness. We sit for a while in the lobby, mucking around with different ideas. The language barrier makes it difficult, but finally we manage to agree on a riff brimming with the nostalgia of The Beatles. I start improvising with a vocal riff that I think is pretty good.

“It is.. uuh.. just ok.. mmm.. maybe something better.” He mutters smilingly. I can’t help but feel envious of the textbook Nepali honesty. Why does the western world invest so much energy in taking care of people’s ego? We jam for a while before Amos leaves to resume his duties in reception, leaving me to ponder honesty and the social norms of Australia that stunt our growth. May we all be honest with each other. May we all serve each other’s growth.

-James