Tharpa Choling Nunnery visit

An odd little visit to Tharpa Choling Nunnery. As soon as I walked in: shouts of “Anto-nia! Namaste!” One ani and a girl in jeans silently led me inside the gompa, which is beautiful—bright paint, everything clean and in its place, clean puja cushions and prayerbook bindings.

The lunch alone was worth the visit. It was dal bhaat, of course, but the dal had more lentils than soup, and spices added, and the chili was on one side instead of slathered over everything. An ani showed me where to wash my dishes (they use soap and teflon pads instead of ashes and leaves) and then led me to where their lama was sitting on a mat near the stupa. She told me to sit next to him, but didn’t introduce me.

After a few minutes, the lama, looking as bemused by my presence as I felt, spoke to an ani in Tibetan, and she said to me, “Excuse, please. Where you from?” I explained myself in broken Nepali and the lama and I chatted for a little bit. He explained that his ani-haru live in the nunnery all year round. The dorms are made of brick and wood, and there’s a beautiful office building with a round red roof and large windows.

I've become so accustomed to the way my ani-haru live, it has almost started to seem the norm, but looking at Tharpa Choling I remember it doesn’t have to be. Why can't my ani-haru have running water to bathe in, and warm bedroom, and well-kept gompas? They deserve better, especially the older ones who have worked so hard—I'd love for Hira to have new socks, and a coat. These ani-haru have balconies and rooftops to dry their robes on instead of rocks. It’s a bit like the Shambhala Mountain Center in Colorado. And exactly like what I hoped Muktinath would be, before I arrived. It’s like the rich and poor sides of the tracks. I wonder if they co-exist peacefully or if there’s rivalry between them.

Later:

Diki comes into bedroom to tell me to drink tea—she says: “Antonia room, shop, same same. Tomorrow I come shopping!” and here I thought I packed light—

Chenzom pushes what looks like a dead mouse towards me. “Meat. You eat?” The ani-haru always snack on the puja offerings people leave in the gompa—goat cheese, cereal, bread. They seem puzzled by my refusal to eat the charred remains of animals which have been sitting around for several days.

I tell my ani-haru about going to visit Tharpa Choling. Diki, wistfully: “I think, only Muktinath nuns very little Eng. Tharpa Choling nuns very very Eng.” Apprently they have 2 teachers, and they don’t have to work as hard. I reassure her (truthfully) that her English is at least as good as Tharpa Choling's.

I ask how her parents decided which nunnery to send her to. She explains it to me—it’s a great system. “I, one didi, one bahini.” She has one elder sister and one younger. Shows me on her fingers—she’s the middle child. “3 girl, this one nun. 2 girl, no nun.” So her destiny was decided from the time of her bahini’s birth. “Jharkot, Kinga, they Muktinath. No Jhargot, then no Muktinath nun.” She clarifies further: “Kathmandu, no Muktinath nun…”

We watch the sun set. Three other ani-haru arrive. We huddle on the bench, then Diki: “Kitchen, cold, we go!”

They tell me about Kelly, their last teacher. I ask what she looks like—long hair, short? “Same same you. Hair, this.”

And her eyes? “Same same yours.”

How tall? “You a bit long. Your face also long. Kelly, face like mine,” says Diki, cupping her square jawbone. “Everything else, same same.”

I wonder if Western women just look alike to them or if Kelly and I are really carbon copies. I'm about to ask about the mysterious Louise but Diki precedes me, “You know Louise?”

I explain that I don’t know her, but I read about her in the exercise book last night. “Louise ramro cha?” I ask. (Louise is nice?)

“Cha,” they agree.

They add, “You, Kelly, very very laughing. Good. Other come sometime, not so much laughing. Nun many many laughing, like laugh. You, Kelly, same same laughing.”

They tell me a story, but the details are too much for our vocabularies—something about making vegie momos in Kopan, Kelly’s face turning red because of the chili, and someone farting. The farting is the crucial point that I'm missing—who farted and when, and whether the momos caused the fart, I cannot tell—Diki is bent over soundlessly laughing. Chenzom tries to explain it further and her broken English words tripping over each other make us laugh harder.

The fire is burning low. “Your hand egg,” Diki says as I stretch my fingers over the coals. “White, like egg. Me black, like you coat,” Diki says.

Uppal had called herself “black,” also. She had said, “Black, no good, you good.” I thought I might have misunderstood her, but here are these 3 young women telling me, “You thumb, good, Hira thumb, no good.” They’re only about 2 shades darker than me—do I look that white to them? Why do they call themselves black?

Chenzom places a rolled blanket in my lap. “For you. Hira give.” It’s charcoal grey, thin and finely woven, but sturdy. Diki says, “Hira say, tomorrow she washing. I tell her you today finish.” I tell them I still have a few more things to wash, and Hira and I argue about who will do my laundry.

Everyone heads to the path behind my bedroom to pee. It’s cute the way they all line up on the path.

They come into my room and reminisce about when they first started learning English. “At first, we little English, only say ‘shoes off.’ Now say, ‘please take off your shoes.’”