Oh the joys of travel. At least if my flight gets cancelled, I have an invitation to a friend's house where I will get yummy food and receive tika. In any case, I'll see you all in two weeks!
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Leaving...?
I've got a flight from Kathmandu to Lukla in the Solu-Khumbu region (the Everest region) tomorrow to visit Sara. Never mind that it's bijaya dashami or the 'big day' (or more appropriately 'victory day'?) when families get together, businesses are mostly shut, and according to the people at my guesthouse, no taxis can be found on the roads of Kathmandu. Also never mind that the weather is meant to be absolutely shite tomorrow morning, meaning my flight might just get cancelled and I will have to find a non-existent taxi back from the airport to Pakanjol / Thamel!
Sacrifice
I suppose it was partly to satisfy my morbid curiosity that I decided to venture out early this morning (or as early as I could) to Kathmandu's Durbar Square. Along the way, I saw people carrying their roosters and ducks (usually held by the leg and hanging upside down) with them - a common sight over the past few days. I also saw a few headless goat carcasses being skinned close to a little roadside shrine to Durga that had been erected some days ago.
I quietly slipped into Durbar Square, playing with my mobile as I walked past the ticket office for foreigners and looking suitably disinterested in the festivities. Women were lining up outside a few smaller temples with puja plates in their hands. Families were lining up to worship / touch / rub their hands on other temples. But by far the longest line was to enter the Taleju Temple, which is only open once a year to the public.
Of course, the main reason I'd come was to watch the goats being sacrificed. I had expected a lot more temples to be covered in blood, and the thought even crossed my mind that the red brick used to construct many of them was appropriate.
Contrary to expectation, the sacrifices seemed limited to one area at Basantapur Chowk. When I first entered the square, I mistook the sound of the executioner's blade striking the ground for the firing of a bullet. There was already a crowd of people and while I didn't get a front row viewing spot, I was still able to use my camera and outstretched arm to record what was happening and to watch it again later.
The first animal I saw sacrificed was a buffalo, followed by a goat. After that I didn't stay much longer around the square. It wasn't that I was disturbed by the actual killing - in these better organised sacrifices, the method of execution was quick and clean (unlike home sacrifices that can be badly executed and extend the suffering of the animal). The stress of waiting to be killed while the priests do the blessings, could equally be likened to the stress of waiting while the animal in front of you is getting slaughtered at an abattoir (though never having been to an operational abattoir or having had the experience of being livestock, I really can't speak for the goats and buffaloes here). Anyway, while it wasn't enough to convert me to a life of vegetarianism, it was a good reminder of what happens before I select my meat at the butcher's or supermarket.
*WARNING*
Some readers may find the following image and videos disturbing.
I quietly slipped into Durbar Square, playing with my mobile as I walked past the ticket office for foreigners and looking suitably disinterested in the festivities. Women were lining up outside a few smaller temples with puja plates in their hands. Families were lining up to worship / touch / rub their hands on other temples. But by far the longest line was to enter the Taleju Temple, which is only open once a year to the public.
Of course, the main reason I'd come was to watch the goats being sacrificed. I had expected a lot more temples to be covered in blood, and the thought even crossed my mind that the red brick used to construct many of them was appropriate.
Contrary to expectation, the sacrifices seemed limited to one area at Basantapur Chowk. When I first entered the square, I mistook the sound of the executioner's blade striking the ground for the firing of a bullet. There was already a crowd of people and while I didn't get a front row viewing spot, I was still able to use my camera and outstretched arm to record what was happening and to watch it again later.
The first animal I saw sacrificed was a buffalo, followed by a goat. After that I didn't stay much longer around the square. It wasn't that I was disturbed by the actual killing - in these better organised sacrifices, the method of execution was quick and clean (unlike home sacrifices that can be badly executed and extend the suffering of the animal). The stress of waiting to be killed while the priests do the blessings, could equally be likened to the stress of waiting while the animal in front of you is getting slaughtered at an abattoir (though never having been to an operational abattoir or having had the experience of being livestock, I really can't speak for the goats and buffaloes here). Anyway, while it wasn't enough to convert me to a life of vegetarianism, it was a good reminder of what happens before I select my meat at the butcher's or supermarket.
*WARNING*
Some readers may find the following image and videos disturbing.
*
*
*
*
*
Friday, October 15, 2010
Inherent vowels in Nepali
People who are familiar with Indic writing systems will know that unlike in alphabetic writing systems (like the Latin alphabet we use in English), consonants in such scripts have an inherent vowel associated with them, e.g. in Hindi, क represents 'ka' (pronounced more like [kə] with a schwa), while कि represents 'ki' [kɪ] and के 'ke' [ke], with the vowel symbol replacing the inherent vowel of क. (It is is this replacing of the inherent vowel that separates such scripts from syllabaries such as Japanese hiragana.)
Having learnt some Hindi before attempting Nepali, I started by assuming the inherent vowel in Nepal was also pronounced as schwa [ə]. I quickly learnt from Lauren and from my own ears that it is not a schwa, but rather an open back vowel, closer to [ʌ] (like the vowel in 'hut'). This analysis was further substantiated by Khatiwada's 2009 phonological description of Nepali as part of the Journal of the International Phonetic Association (JIPA)'s Illustrations of the IPA series which gives /ʌ/ as the underlying vowel phoneme. (Incidentally, I'm waiting to hear back from them regarding an article draft I submitted a few months ago.) However, Lauren and I also noticed that this vowel could be pronounced with rounded lips [ɔ] (like the vowel in 'hot'). Khatiwada notes such variation for this particular vowel, along with other variants, depending on the speaker and surrounding consonants (basically, there's a whole lot of factors and it's too hard to tease out right now.)
It was therefore with some satisfaction that my Nepali tutor asked me yesterday to say 'dog', which I pronounce [dɔg], and 'duck' [dʌk] (the latter with an unreleased [k], but the vowels themselves distinctly different to me). She then asked me if they were pronounced the same, providing some evidence that to her ear, [ɔ] are [ʌ] are the same sound (or, allophones of the same phoneme).
Of course, for an English speaker such as myself, it's still quite annoying because since I hear the difference between the two vowels all the time, sometimes I just want to know which one I should use!
Having learnt some Hindi before attempting Nepali, I started by assuming the inherent vowel in Nepal was also pronounced as schwa [ə]. I quickly learnt from Lauren and from my own ears that it is not a schwa, but rather an open back vowel, closer to [ʌ] (like the vowel in 'hut'). This analysis was further substantiated by Khatiwada's 2009 phonological description of Nepali as part of the Journal of the International Phonetic Association (JIPA)'s Illustrations of the IPA series which gives /ʌ/ as the underlying vowel phoneme. (Incidentally, I'm waiting to hear back from them regarding an article draft I submitted a few months ago.) However, Lauren and I also noticed that this vowel could be pronounced with rounded lips [ɔ] (like the vowel in 'hot'). Khatiwada notes such variation for this particular vowel, along with other variants, depending on the speaker and surrounding consonants (basically, there's a whole lot of factors and it's too hard to tease out right now.)
It was therefore with some satisfaction that my Nepali tutor asked me yesterday to say 'dog', which I pronounce [dɔg], and 'duck' [dʌk] (the latter with an unreleased [k], but the vowels themselves distinctly different to me). She then asked me if they were pronounced the same, providing some evidence that to her ear, [ɔ] are [ʌ] are the same sound (or, allophones of the same phoneme).
Of course, for an English speaker such as myself, it's still quite annoying because since I hear the difference between the two vowels all the time, sometimes I just want to know which one I should use!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Cursing in Sherpa
Going through the recently published Sherpa-English dictionary looking for volitional / non-volitional verb sets before next week's trip to Khumbu / Everest region, I found this nice little curse in Sherpa:
The translation: 'May you be buried in a hole!'
I suppose not all of us can get a decent sky burial.
རྨིག་དུང་རྐྱའུ།
(mīkdung gyau)The translation: 'May you be buried in a hole!'
I suppose not all of us can get a decent sky burial.
On castrated and uncastrated goats
The story goes something like this:
Years ago, my professor's partner flew into Kathmandu to visit her. It was around the 9th day of Dashain. As he got off the plane, his first image was of a group of men furiously masturbating a goat, which they then proceeded to kill by slicing its head off, splattering its blood all over the plane.
Lauren recently told me this story about one of our professors - I assume it was just the wheels of the plane they splattered with blood.
Today, my Nepali teacher informed me, Hindus would start sacrificing animals as part of the Dashain festivities. This BBC article from 3 years ago talks about the cruelty of the practice. While goats are the most common offerings, other animals such as ducks, chickens, pigs and water buffaloes are also sacrificed. The most important thing is that all sacrificed animals be male and uncastrated (so hooray if you're an animal eunuch).
Years ago, my professor's partner flew into Kathmandu to visit her. It was around the 9th day of Dashain. As he got off the plane, his first image was of a group of men furiously masturbating a goat, which they then proceeded to kill by slicing its head off, splattering its blood all over the plane.
Lauren recently told me this story about one of our professors - I assume it was just the wheels of the plane they splattered with blood.
Today, my Nepali teacher informed me, Hindus would start sacrificing animals as part of the Dashain festivities. This BBC article from 3 years ago talks about the cruelty of the practice. While goats are the most common offerings, other animals such as ducks, chickens, pigs and water buffaloes are also sacrificed. The most important thing is that all sacrificed animals be male and uncastrated (so hooray if you're an animal eunuch).
Male castrated goats are called खसी khasi in Nepali, while their uncastrated counterparts are called बोका boka. For a while, I assumed that castrated goats were the ones that were sacrificed, since young castrated male livestock grow to be bigger and yield more meat. However, I just learned today that khasi are the ones used for meat (which makes sense), while boka are reserved for sacrifice (although their meat is usually still eaten afterwards). Wikipedia tells me that castrated animals were excluded from sacrifice in ancient Judaism, as they were seen as being unwhole. I'm not sure if this is the same reason why Hindus here don't sacrifice castrated animals.
So what does this have to do with the men masturbating the poor goat? Nothing I assume, since even castrated goats can reach orgasm. But since appeasing Durga during Dashain is about maximum bloodletting, an excited goat is going to be pumping a lot more blood through its arteries than a calm relaxed one.
Oh, and here's the goat that was in the garden the other day. Haven't seen it since Tuesday...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Sundarijal
4 boys. 2 motorbikes. An afternoon at Sundarijal. What better way to spend a Sunday in the Kathmandu Valley (bearing in mind that Sunday isn't exactly a day off here, but Dashain holidays have started).
Sundarijal, meaning 'beautiful water' is about 15km northeast of Kathmandu and is one of the entry points for the Shivapuri National Park. It's meant to be incredibly rich in biodiversity, but I'm not going to talk about that, since my short visit late in the afternoon didn't allow me to see any first hand. Most travellers enter further to the west from Budhanilkantha, but my guides wanted to see the waterfalls and have a picnic at the reservoir further upstream (there's a reason why it's called 'beautiful water').
The area is also important because it provides water for people in the Kathmandu metropolitan area. Along the main hiking route is a large water pipe which carries water down to the valley. The sentry warned us not to swim in the river and reservoir, though the main reason for this wasn't to prevent water pollution but rather because most Nepalis (my friends included) can't swim.
Me with the guys, whom I dubbed the '3 Musketeers' (though they didn't mind the term '3 Idiots' after last year's smash Bollywood hit starring Aamir Khan.)
Walking uphill for 30 minutes was a good (if completely insufficient) warm-up for all the hiking I'll be doing once I land in Lukla this coming Sunday. The problem is, I've been in Kathmandu for two and a half weeks, leading a rather sedentary existence. I suppose I'll have 2 weeks up in the Khumbu region to get fit. And if not, I'll just hide out in Namche eating apple pie.
Sundarijal, meaning 'beautiful water' is about 15km northeast of Kathmandu and is one of the entry points for the Shivapuri National Park. It's meant to be incredibly rich in biodiversity, but I'm not going to talk about that, since my short visit late in the afternoon didn't allow me to see any first hand. Most travellers enter further to the west from Budhanilkantha, but my guides wanted to see the waterfalls and have a picnic at the reservoir further upstream (there's a reason why it's called 'beautiful water').
The area is also important because it provides water for people in the Kathmandu metropolitan area. Along the main hiking route is a large water pipe which carries water down to the valley. The sentry warned us not to swim in the river and reservoir, though the main reason for this wasn't to prevent water pollution but rather because most Nepalis (my friends included) can't swim.
Me with the guys, whom I dubbed the '3 Musketeers' (though they didn't mind the term '3 Idiots' after last year's smash Bollywood hit starring Aamir Khan.)
Walking uphill for 30 minutes was a good (if completely insufficient) warm-up for all the hiking I'll be doing once I land in Lukla this coming Sunday. The problem is, I've been in Kathmandu for two and a half weeks, leading a rather sedentary existence. I suppose I'll have 2 weeks up in the Khumbu region to get fit. And if not, I'll just hide out in Namche eating apple pie.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Kathmandu on a motorbike (II)
Yesterday, P. took me on a motorbike ride with two of his friends to Sundarijal, about 15km north-east of Kathmandu, but more on that later. Here're some pictures from the road.
Because there's not much else to do when you're waiting in traffic.
Kathmandu Ring Road, turning onto the road that leads to Boudhanath and Sundarijal beyond.
Note the old lady on the motorbike right in front of us. It's very common to see sari-wearing ladies sitting like this. Also, if you look closely at the truck on the right, you can see a man, legs stretched out, having a nap.
Our route
Because there's not much else to do when you're waiting in traffic.
Kathmandu Ring Road, turning onto the road that leads to Boudhanath and Sundarijal beyond.
Note the old lady on the motorbike right in front of us. It's very common to see sari-wearing ladies sitting like this. Also, if you look closely at the truck on the right, you can see a man, legs stretched out, having a nap.
Our route
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