I reached into the bottom of my large backpack and pulled out the slacks and two button-down shirts I had been carrying around for precisely such an occasion. The black shoes I haven’t seen since Cannes also got to once again see the light of day as Emily and I got ready for a Nepali wedding reception.
We were shooting in the dark with this one. We asked several people about what we should wear and what we should give, but there were as many answers as momo on my lunch plate.
“Wear whatever you want”, “Wear anything”, “Wear a black suit”, “You can wear pants”, “Wear a dress”, “It’s the groom’s reception – so you don’t need to bring anything”, “Give flowers”, “You can give 500 rupees – that’s nice.” “Give a watch.” “Give a hat, maybe.” “Give 1005 rupees and put it in a nice envelope.” “You really don’t need to give anything.”
So, we decided to split it down the middle and wear the most conservative clothes we already had and to give 505 rupees (odd numbers are considered lucky) in a handmade artisan paper envelope. Emily had the black dress and pashmina I bought her in France, I wore my collared shirt and slacks and we went.
The etiquette confusions seemed to stem from two things – that it was a reception, not the wedding and that it was being thrown by the groom’s family, not the bride’s. While this event is perfectly normal – being the final event of the wedding after two ceremonies in two towns and a reception by the bride’s family – it is the least formal and is taken more and less seriously by different people.
Everyone seemed to agree that we were under no obligation to give anything because all the giving events were done and we didn’t even know the bride and groom. But because we weren’t comfortable with that answer, the ideas about what to give were…interesting…. But apparently, you can’t go wrong with cash as that’s the gift of choice for weddings in Nepal. So it was.
When we arrived at the Anmo Party Party Palace, Emily’s frustration with me running late due to my poorly anticipated ironing needs (which were resolved when instead of lending me an iron, the hotel took my clothes to the laundry room and pressed them perfectly for me) ended immediately when we saw that people hadn’t yet arrived to the event. While we were 20 minutes late American time, we were about 40 minutes early Nepali time.
So, we didn’t even step foot on the Party Palace patio when Devendra saw us and came up to greet us enthusiastically. The elation he had when we arrived only bloomed through the evening. Devendra was a proud papa and couldn’t be happier to be hosting a reception for his son’s wedding.
The Palace itself was really more of a clubhouse or banquet hall-type place with a very large patio space which probably exceeded the are of the building itself. Neon and strung lights decorated the Palace and a sign board meant to list the event of the day had nothing in it at all. Inside, four rows of seats ran the length of the room, leaving it so that guests sat shoulder to shoulder, not face to face – and there were no tables. It was clearly designed for maximum seating capacity without being theater-style. A buffet was being setup in the back of the room while on the patio a bar, barbecue chicken station and a hot soup station formed the “cocktail hour” attractions.
First we went with Devendra to meet his son and new daughter-in law who were seated inside, on a stage on special thrones – because where else do you sit a bride and groom at a Party Palace?
We stepped up to the stage, the rose to greet us, we congratulated them, handed off the envelope, enjoyed an awkward pause since we didn’t know each other at all, and then stepped down. The couple remained on their thrones the rest of the evening and never at any time joined in the mingling and discussion of the crowd.
Then Devendra took us along with him and began introducing us to just about everyone there who spoke English. Among then was a psychologist Emily knew from her human rights work eight years ago. We spoke with this woman for some time while appetizers were enthusiastically passed by waiters who seemed to be genuinely concerned about whether we were eating enough. One wouldn’t take no for an answer on the paneer pakoda and another was devastated that I didn’t want anything to drink.
About fifteen minutes later, Devendra brought over his niece who is just graduated nursing school in India. She wants to go to America and he wanted me to explain to her how she can do that since I used to recruit foreign nurses for a living. The very well-spoken and intelligent girl got me some paper.
We sat at a table on the side of the vast patio where I gave her a tutorial on which exams to take and the steps she’ll need to take to qualify for US immigration as a nurse. It had been awhile since I had explained things like Visa Screens and NCLEX exams to a Nepali nurse and it seemed like a very bizarre setting for it. Despite it all, I had a moment where I felt like I still had it….
As people arrived and the Palace began to fill, staff set up two empty half-oil barrels filled with long pieces of firewood and tons of newspaper which they doused and lit on fire in the middle of the patio.
The most surprising part was that despite the flames jumping up ten feet in the middle of the crowd, no one was surprised or affected. Eventually, the flames went down and the elders crowded around for warmth in the evening air. About a half hour later, one of the oil can-fire pits had a piece of wood crackle and explode sending embers and ash all around it as the elderly fled at top speed. Once the staff had it handled, the resumed their original positions.
While there was no central entertainment or organized ceremonies, events or speeches, contemporary pop dance music was playing. There were some interesting house-mixes of Black-Eyed Peas, Lady Gaga, Shakira and then later some Eurythmics. No dancing, just loud music with a fast-beat.
For almost two hours, beverages and appetizers floated. Wine with all the punch of water, whiskey mixed with hot water and soft drinks were the beverages of the evening to be enjoyed with deep fried cheese balls, spicy wontons and small pieces of fried chicken.
Meanwhile, people were crowded around the spicy barbecue chicken station as if this was the latest and greatest thing. It was equivalent to what the chocolate fountain was in America five years ago. You know that the next day, people will be sitting around saying things like, “Can you believe that soup?! I’ve tasted soup that great at a wedding and that barbecued chicken station was to die for! I have to ask Devendra for that caterer’s number!”
Emily and I mingled with the psychologist and other of Emily’s former colleagues for a good while. One man owns and operates a private business college. He wanted Emily’s help to get American universities to accept his school’s credits so that his students can transfer to programs in the States. He hadn’t been able to get any schools to accept his classes as credit-worthy, but seemed to feel that being a professor, Emily could make a couple of calls and make it happen.
In exchange, Emily could come teach the classes of her choice at his school whenever she wants. We tried to explain to him that his curriculum would have to mirror that of US schools and that he would have to demonstrate how his students would be coming to America with an equivalent education. He seemed to feel that some clout and money should be able to fix this. We decided that he was kind of a douche – Emily’s word.
Eventually we hit the buffet which was basically a very nice “make-your-own-dal-bhat” line. It contained all the highest quality, nicest variations of the same basic meal that Nepalis have for meal. It was one of the nicest dal-bhat meals we’ve had.
Eventually, we realized we had talked to just about everyone who spoke English and/or wasn’t frightened to speak to the only two whities at the party. Some people were already leaving because receptions like this seem to be a revolving door. There’s no set length of time to be there and no such thing as too late or too early. Our friend Tony was at the hotel and we wanted to see him before it got too late, so we started making our good-bye rounds.
We found Devendra, said our goodbyes. He talked to us in between his numerous cell phone calls he had been receiving throughout the evening. It seems that people who can’t attend call and the custom is to take the calls and receive the congratulations no matter what. So, Devendra was busy with guests and calls. It was a little difficult to finish a conversation, but he was nothing but warm and clearly in the most elated mood. He even made his attempt at boogying to the music for us. He is truly one of the nicest people you could ever meet.
And just as we were heading out, the psychologist’s husband came rushing over to us. He excitedly told us all about the fact that he’s a PhD, has done extensive work on conflict management and wrote a book – both in Nepali and English – on the Maoist conflict in Nepal. He ran out to his car to get us a copy as a “wedding present” from them and then autographed the book for us.
It’s a big hard-bound book with an illustration of a Maoist rebel on it. He wrote it in 2004, well before the conflict ended, but during a peak of tensions. He’s very proud of the work and feels it has insights from which many countries can benefit.
And with that, we departed the Anmo Party Palace – a little amazed and definitely richer for the experience.
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