Dance Dance Revolution (12 February 2010)

Mem constantly invites me to hike for a few hours to attend a random wedding or celebration or just to meet some people and everywhere he takes me I am treated like royalty.   The treatment is occasionally uncomfortably deferential, like when I’m given a chair while everyone else sits on bamboo mats.  It’s generally wonderful and I am always happy that I came, but I have at times had the distinct impression that I am not only the guest, but the entertainment.  During these moments, a subtle change creeps into a crowd and they occasionally have the impish compulsion to see what kind of amusing things they can get the white guy to do.  My strategy has been to join the activities in which locals also participate, but refrain from those where I will be the sole performer.

Yesterday, after an hour of hiking, Mem and I arrived, along with a couple of Nepali teachers, at a wedding.   We approached a group of women who were singing and beating drums while a few people traded places dancing on the dirt patio.  One of my fellow teachers, a friendly, smiling man of about 40 took his turn and launched into an impressively sharp jig for the crowd’s enjoyment.  At the host’s urging, taking my colleague’s participation as a queue, I followed his excellent performance with the trademark hip-hop/rave/free-form interpretive combination that I always attempt when compelled to dance.  For some reason- and I’m not too humble to say that it might have been a singularly good performance, although I have seldom been told that I’m a good dancer- this crowd absolutely loved it.  They begged for more.   They cheered.  Those that spoke English complimented me again and again, “You are very good dancer!”  I felt exceedingly pleased about this and had a great time at the wedding.  The food (pork, mutton, chicken, rice, several curries) was fantastic and the raksi flowed freely.  When one of the hosts, a board member of a local school, asked me to attend a function for the school’s anniversary, I happily accepted.  

The following day, at the event, I was asked to dance again.  Mem and I were seated in our customary positions of honor while we watched a student in full costume perform a traditional solo dance for the attending crowd of students and parents.  Mem leaned over to me and whispered, “You should do your dance.  People would be very happy.”  I resisted the forceful expectation in his voice and politely declined to perform a solo.  After the dancing, I delivered a passable speech in Nepali that Mem had written and I had dutifully memorized.   I thought I was done performing, but Mem had other plans, herding three girls to the microphone (actually a mike hooked up to a megaphone that sounded sort of terrible) urging them to sing, bringing in a drummer, and finally starting up an impromptu dance party.  This time, emboldened by the presence of others, I gamely joined in, although most of them edged themselves inconspicuously to the outskirts, leaving the focus on me alone.  When the song finished, the man who had invited me hurried over directly and thanked me, leading me to wonder if my prowess on the dance floor was the only reason my attendance was requested.        

The same night we hiked by the light of my faithful mobile phone flashlight back to Samibhanjyang to attend another wedding party.  This time a circle of seated women with a few male onlookers standing on the fringes called to me to dance in their center while they sang.  This not being my first Nepali wedding, I noted the woman currently dancing and the absence of males in their midst and declined politely, saying, “It’s for ladies…isn’t it?”  They shrugged and agreed that it was, having apparently hoped that I didn’t know that.