Magar

Last weekend, our neighbour kindly invited us to a Magar cultural program – the AGM of the society of the Magar people of Nepal. These people are very proud of being ‘indigenous’, as compared to some other castes such as Brahmin and Chitri, who originated in India. Brahmin and Chitri families who have lived in Nepal for hundreds of generations unsurprisingly find this attitude a little exasperating. The Magar people hold a strong sense of indignation that they are not well represented in government office, so the meetings of their society are intended to raise awareness of this issue and encourage high achievement amongst their members.

The gathering took place in a large hall with a stage at the front and fragrant toilets at the back. We were not expected at the meeting, but we had not been sitting in the audience for more than a few minutes when we were invited on stage to receive scarves and rosettes and to join the guests of honour. The introductions of Magar luminaries went on and on while we sat sweating on the stuffy stage, with hundreds of eyes staring back at us. Eventually we risked being rude and returned to our seats next to our neighbour in the auditorium. The program started well, with some lovely dances performed by girls and boys in traditional dress. Strangely, a key part of the boys dress seemed to be a tartan scarf.

Next came the speeches. They averaged at about 20 mins each and were either delivered in a low monotone or haranguing, evangelical tones. The greater the heights of the oratory to which the speaker seem to aspire, the less attention the audience paid them, merrily chatting amongst themselves while the speaker’s amplified voice reverberated around them. Mercifully for us, this meant we could talk to other people in the audience and chat with the children since we couldn’t understand a word coming from the lectern.

The talking was interspersed with entertainment, including an emotional piece of dance in which 6 lonely boys met 6 lonely girls who fed them and gave them hats in exchange for hankies. Then all tearfully parted, because the men had to move on to find work. Although a traditional dance, this situation has special poignance for the present because so many men here leave their wives and young families for years at a time to go and find work in Qatar, Dubai or Malaysia. Men between the ages of 25 and 35 were almost entirely absent from the audience.

The lowlight of the entertainment was an astonishingly bad comedy routine in which a man in a silly hat crept about the stage making funny ‘ahhh’ noises and repeatedly saying ‘namaste’ when meeting invisible people or talking on the phone.  The sequence involved a young boy whole followed close behind the man most of the time and occasionally slipped round into the man’s field of vision, eliciting no reaction whatsoever. There was only one laugh in a routine of 15 mins: when the man pretended to snore.

At this point we were asked if we would like to address the audience about our experience of their cultural program. They insisted, so Alastair made his way to the lectern and spent a couple of minutes saying how much we enjoyed the singing and dancing and admired their sense of community. The final humiliation of the day came when Wiebke decided it would be a good idea to join the small group dancing on stage to music provided by a singer. So Alastair’s first attempt at Hindi style dancing (all writst and wavy hands) was also horribly public. There is video evidence.

After 5 hours, the speakers still breathing hellfire into the microphone, we decided to beat a retreat and returned home to a very welcome lassi.