Past is present this week

thoughts on two very different days

B— has been on my mind this week. Perhaps it’s because Saturday is Maha Shivaratri, his absolute favorite Nepali holiday. And even though Valentine’s Day has never been a big deal to me, yesterday I found myself remembering two in particular. He and I had met a little over a week earlier, then inseparable since meeting. That day, however, work beckoned: the lab he was part of needed his help entertaining some visiting scientists over dinner. I got a call from him as soon as he reached the restaurant. “There are red balloons everywhere… I forgot it was Valentine’s Day.” He seemed abashed, and afraid I’d be mad. I wasn’t, not even a little bit. We’d only just met, after all.

The next year, I think it was a day he wasn’t feeling well—there were many of those. Instead of going out to dinner, he suggested buying something for our kitchen; cooking together was one of our favorite activities. We had moved in together within weeks—I remember that I was embarrassed to tell people, sure they’d consider me absolutely foolish for moving so fast. We weren’t to know what was to come, of course, but I’ve been grateful, a million times over, for following my instincts on that one. There wasn’t any holding back, all the time we had we spent.

***

This in turn takes me back to another conversation, some months after the accident, with a painter I know who runs a small art gallery in Thamel; we ran into each other at an art exhibition after not meeting for many years. He asked me what had been going on with me since we’d last met, and I think he got more than he bargained for. As I finished the summary, I was in tears. He looked at me, hard.

“You’re sad.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted more time.”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t have any more time. He would have stayed if he could have. But he gave you all the time he had.”

Strange, yet somehow comforting.

***

As Shivaratri, a major Hindu festival, is celebrated on the day before the new moon, so, as with all local holidays, its day on the Gregorian calendar fluctuates, and beginning weeks earlier, sadhus from all over Nepal and India gather at Pashupatinath Temple. It’s not only one of the holiest Hindu sites in the world, but of special significance to Shiva devotees, making it, in Kathmandu at least, the epicenter of this festival.

I’ve visited Pashupatinath over the years, but not often, and never on Shivaratri. The crowds have always intimidated me. Last year, though, I went there on the day for the first time, pulled along by a friend’s enthusiasm. Note that when I say I “visited” I’m referring to having been within the grounds of the sprawling temple complex. The Pashupatinath Temple, the proper inner sanctum shrine, is only accessible to those of the Hindu faith. However, there are many, many smaller temples to wander by and through—518 according to Wikipedia. It’s huge.

We started early in the morning, skirting the already long lines of worshipers waiting to get into the shrine itself, to, after some effort, enter the grounds. Inside, along the queue, street vendors had laid out plastic sheets, displaying flowers, fruit, and other items needed for worship. Volunteers, many of them students, helped with distributing free drinking water and face masks as needed. Everyone seemed to have a purpose; it was much more organized than I’d expected. It was the first big Shivaratri since covid; 2020’s coming just before it and 2021’s being more subdued.

Across the river, past the cremation ghats along it, empty but a few ready, stacked with wood. Through the space where the holy men have congregated and set up camp, a smoking log in front of each. Up a long, wide staircase: various sadhus stationed along it at intervals: one young man completely transformed into Shiva, blue skin included; another, clad only in a sort of metal-plate loincloth, exhorted the crowd.

This is where things started to get a bit wild. Cannabis—both smoked and in an edible form called bhang—are a major part of this festival, especially for the sadhus, though many partake. There were a lot of high people, and not just spiritually.

It was peaceful and much emptier at the top of the hill, where small temples lay at attention in rows. A group had set up a sound system and were playing music—another key part of Shivaratri—and I knew it would continue long into the night. In a quiet corner, a photo shoot was in progress, unrelated to the festival; I always find it interesting how even holy spaces here are public spaces, and used by people as such—their spaces; they are fully comfortable in them.

In the end, I opted more for observation than photography, though of course I took some; up top, the golden glitter of the temple roof as seen from that high staircase.

The experience was a bit of a sensory overload, I’m not going to lie; but I’m really glad we went. After over two decades here, it was about time.

***

I never finished telling you about the Valentine’s purchase B— and I made. For years I had a selection of rather ugly, stained mismatched plates. In December, we’d bought six colorful plates of locally made ceramic after we invited friends for Christmas dinner and realized we had nothing decent to serve them on. Lovely plates, but large.

A few days after February 14, we bought five small, equally colorful plates. Maybe we meant to buy six, too, but they didn’t have enough; I can’t remember. It could seem a funny sort of Valentine’s Day present, yet I have used them almost every single day since—along with bowls they fit my eating style perfectly—and they never fail to remind me of him and make me smile. Who knew plates could be romantic? But they are to me, a sweet memory of our shared life.

It was never going to be enough, never; but the time we had, we lived it all.