On the Road with Nepal's Biggest Folk Band

I was a young writer once, and my work took me to Kathmandu, Nepal, for the very first time in 2010.

It was a complete cultural shock for someone used to the Sim City-like efficiency and skyscrapers of Singapore. Imagine my face when I got my first view of the city from the plane as it approached Tribhuvan International – a significant number of buildings looked pockmarked and incomplete (from war? From an earthquake? What was going on here?)

It was in this state that I began my stint at ECS Nepal, and on my second day I was sent on a two-week assignment (with my friend, Mr. Lim) to the far-reaches of the state, touring with local band Kutumba. They’re pretty popular now.  

Kutumba: Rubin, Pavit, Raju, Kiran, Siddhartha, and Arun (band manager Arun Gurung, not pictured)

It was a hell of a way to learn about a country – the roughest traveling and lodging imaginable, and close-quarters intimacy with locals passionate about their craft.

The Assignment

0845 hours: Mr Lim and I have no idea how to get to work, or where the hell it is. Do we panic? No, in this country, everything has a way of working itself out. I make a phone call and someone is kind enough to swing by and pick us up, so the three of us pile on a motorbike and ride off.

The usual introductions and faux ‘nice to meet you(s)’ later, I still don’t remember any names and just want to eat lunch. Before I can go and stuff my face with momo and thukpa, I’m given my orders.

“Tomorrow, can both of you be ready to follow Kutumba to Dadeldhura and Kapilvastu?”

For the uninformed, Dadeldhura is a town, or should I say, collection of small buildings, tucked in the westernmost hills of Nepal. Kapilvastu sits in the plains of the Tarai, somewhere in between Kathmandu and Dadeldhura. In total, some 1,500km of bumpy roads.

Naturally, we say yes. I mean, do you say no to your boss on the first day of work?

The rest of the day I’m just calling up these towns on Google to see what they look like. Google shows a small road, and a few houses dotted alongside (correct). It also says, 7degrees at night (wildly incorrect).

Day One

I’m pretty psyched.

But true to Nepali timekeeping, the initial meeting time of 11am gets pushed to 2pm, then 3pm, then 4pm. So at 4pm, Mr Lim and I sit at a nondescript chiya shop in Balkumari Chowk, waiting for the bus and the band.

Hours of waiting, with plenty of chiya.

At this point, we meet Dipendra, one of the organisers with the umbrella group of the tour, LEAD international. He looks like an Afghan warlord. The swagger, the army style jacket, busboy cap and rugged features, all characteristic of your typical Northern Alliance chieftain.

I recognize some of the band members from their website as they load their instruments on the bus. Pavit Maharjan (who I call “Little Stone”, because he resembles a Native American medicine man) introduces himself as the percussion player, and I soon realise these are all extremely friendly people. This is going to be fun.

Despite my best intentions to be this hardcore photojournalist, always on the ball and eyes open 24/7, I fall asleep almost instantly on the bus (as did Mr Lim).

Less than an hour later, I’m stirred awake by a jolt and the bus stopping, the first of many abrupt stops. This time it’s for petrol. Later, it will be for tea, pee breaks by the side of the highway in the darkness, smoke breaks, dinner/lunch/breakfast, armed checkpoints with soldiers boarding the bus checking for godknowswhat, and 28 painful hours later, to check into the ‘hotel’.

Decent highway food. The band and crew tuck into our last meal for many, many hours.

Much happens in 28 hours though.

At the very first pee break, I naively dug my shoe into a mushy black pile in the grass, as did some othes. Later, I smeared this substance into the metal footrest in front of me, thus rewarding myself and Mr Lim in front of me with a pleasant fecal odor for the entire trip. We even stopped again to identify the culprit, but this being my first day, I decided that owning up would have to wait for another time.

Midnight was spent not in a hotel (there would be no overnight stops on this trip), but eating instant noodles by the roadside in Naryngat. A friendly local man claiming to be a student chatted with us. After the ‘so where you from’ type conversation, it shifted to apparent concern for our safety. “You should be careful in these parts, do you have a friend?”.

How sweet! From then on, he asked for Singapore currency, then failing that, that we give it to him as a gift. It was tempting to throw back the ‘be careful in these parts’ line back at him, but hoping to get back home alive, I swallowed my thoughts.

Wood and mud homes along the way to Dadeldhura. Most of Nepal lives in poverty.

Day Two

Still in the bus. 20 hours more to go. After all the darkness, it’s a relief driving with light, and our first stop is Chisapani (cold water, in Nepali). The landscape is quite incredible, and it’s the site of our first encounter with the wondrous Dhaal Bhaat.

Clouds rolling in from the hillside in the town of Chisapani.

This ubiquitous Nepali delicacy consists of 1. White Rice 2. Lots of Dhaal (watery yellow lentil gravy) 3. Potatoes 4. Chutney. With little to no variation, this is exactly it almost anywhere you go. Occasionally, the bhai will come by with small plates of chicken (mostly fats and wings) or mutton (just fat).

Nepal’s national dish: Dhaal Bhaat.

Post lunch in the town is just smoking, eating oranges and feeding the peel to pigs and goats. I could feel my neck turning red, geddit? Yeehaw.

An indeterminate amount of time later, and one incredible sunset overlooking the hills of west Nepal, the bus rolls into Dadeldhura and I am completely, utterly spent.

Sunset over far-west Nepal.

That’s until Pavit asks over our late dinner: “are you guys coming over to our hotel for the party?”. So it turns out, there’s a party. Being the dedicated journalist keen on the inside story, I say yes.

At this point, most stories go “and that’s all I remembered until the next morning,” but I’m the kind of drunk that remembers everything.

From our hovel (masquerading as a hotel), it was a short walk to where the band stayed next door, under a sky of glittering stars in the biting cold. The party, really, was just sitting around in a room with a jerry can of this ominous looking clear liquid, Newari Aila. Or rice wine. Sweet and strong, the men mix this with warm water and they can really knock it back. Again and again.

It was a good look into the mind of younger Nepalis, and that despite conservative trappings, life is pretty much the same everywhere. For young men who love their English music and modern lifestyles, it’s amazing that they would form a folk band playing ‘old-school’ instrumental tunes on old-man instruments.

For example: we were watching wrestling when suddenly this grainy footage of an old man playing some instrument comes on. Instead of changing the channel, everyone is suddenly transfixed. “He’s our idol,” says Rockstar (name changed to protect his privacy) to me. Later, he gets drunk, which is almost every night, and I don’t see him until tomorrow.

Day Three

The sun is up as we do the march of shame back to our hotel, but it strikes me immediately that I can see the Himalayas (for the first time in my life). They rise in the distance behind our hotel, just silhouettes in the morning as the sun climbs behind it. Incredible.

The Himalayas, crossing the border into India and beyond.

After breakfast of bread and (what else) dhaal, there is this steep climb, like Frodo’s ascent into Shelob’s lair, to get to part 2 of Dadeldhura town. Whither lack of exercise, local fags, or high altitude (2000m), it leaves me completely winded and I pant the rest of the way to the concert ground.

Set on a plateau, the half-constructed stage overlooked an endless line of undulating hills, stretching as far as India in the west. Behind them, as always, stood the majestic snow-capped Himalayas, and at times little snow clouds formed above them as strong winds blew.

Children play football in the dust - women lug bales of hay.

Kutumba practised nearly the entire day in a small karate hall nestled in a cove beneath the plateau.

The whole point of this 5-concert tour, as explained to me by LEAD’s two organisers Manish and Dipendra, was to connect the different cultures and languages of Nepal through music, dance and song. Admission to concerts are free, and the entire cost was heavily sponsored by the Norwegian embassy, with some local sponsors providing help in kind.

Each location was chosen to represent a specific culture and language, and because of recent political trouble in the area. Remote regions rarely have large scale entertainment, and they figure that showing up with a ‘big city band’, incorporating local musicians and regional styles, would get everyone feeling the love just a little bit.

So, in this little hall, with a worn-out punching bag in the corner, Kutumba sits and practises local tunes with some Dadeldhura musicians. This goes on until after sunset, and well into the darkness. LED torches cast shadows on the walls, and it looks like puppet shadow-play.

Sunset in Dadeldhura is one of those times where you can’t really believe that you’re seeing it. One way, you see the hills turning into gorgeous orange silhouettes, look the other way and the Himalayas take on a stunning pinkish hue.

A posse of kids assault Mr Lim’s camera while I look the other way, naturally. Later he is upset with me, I have no idea why.

Eventually the band wraps up rehearsals and we walk back in complete darkness, in potholes and bumps and crests to our long-deserved dinner: Dhaal Bhaat.

More Dhaal Bhaat, and more, and then more.

This time we lose all sense of respectability and nearly double over laughing as the bhai places the thali in front of us. Tears are literally rolling down my face as I contemplate this latest lentil assault. How much more dhaal bhaat can you throw at me jigne! (jigne: not a polite word) Once the dust subsides and the lentils are rolling around my intestines, Pavit catches my eye. “Party?” his eyebrows seem to say.

Tonight is movie night though, with liberal application of Aila. We watch Eastern Promises on a tiny laptop screen, totally missing the Russian conversation no thanks to Dutch subtitles. Our attempt to leave early is foiled though, as by 11pm, our hotel is completely shuttered, and nobody responds to our calls for attention.

Tails in between our legs, we return to the band room and beg for a bed yet again. Pavit warns me: “if you are going to sleep with *Tiger, you must be drunk”. I take this as good-natured ribbing and ignore his warning. To my peril and doom I went, into *Tiger’s room. He was already asleep, and all was silent. But no more than 10 minutes later, the man unleashed a cacophony of animal noises. After several hours, I was on the verge of death.

Day Four

No thanks to *Tiger and his cornucopia of zoo noises, I rose alarmingly late and had a quick breakfast, climbed up Cirith Ungol, and found the concert (schedule to start at 12), not even close to ignition.

Alarmingly, the generator that was lugged all the way from Kathmandu in a Tata truck, decided to output irregular voltage and eventually just failed to support the sound system completely.

In a series of events that would make any Nepali proud, the local power station graciously decided to cut the power to the entire town for a few minutes, so that someone could climb the electricity pole, divert the cable with his bare hands, and run it into the sound system.

The crowd kept pouring in - men in their dark fake designer jackets and women resplendent in red and orange saris. A group of particularly friendly teenagers clung to me, asking about Singapore, local girls, gawping at a 50-cent coin I had on me, and my personal favourite: “you like Hashish?”.

Kutumba in their ethnic Newari outfits. The members are all of the same ethnic group.

Raju executes a perfect flying kick at the less-than-perfect punching ‘bag’.

About two hours late, the show finally started and the emcee introduced local leaders to the crowd - a Maoist bigwig, etc, yadda yadda.

Kutumba set off with a few of their own tunes, then threw in some local songs, but almost throughout the 3 hour show, the crowd was poker-faced. Lady Gaga could have gone on in a cow-outfit and I’m sure they would have just stared blankly.

Raju on the percussions.

Pavit, also on percussions.

Local teenagers put on a few amateurish song and dance numbers that drew mild applause, and my strongest recollection of that evening was running in the dust with children playing football.

The whole crew was in high spirits that evening, first concert out of the way, and yet another ‘party’. This time they pulled out a stronger Aila, and karaoke night became memorable. “Oooohhhhh we’re halfway there!!! Whooaaaaa whooaaaa!!”.

Day Five.

This day was marked by a ridiculous bus-ride to the Tarai in central Nepal, 16 hours of the bumpiest roads I’ve ever encountered. The guys insisted I sit at the back, for ‘Maximum Effect™’. Initially the bus was filled with song, while I had a personal karaoke with my beloved iPod. Then the road decided to hit us with double bumps. First bump throws you out of the seat, then second bump kicks in halfway, projecting your head firmly against the hard ceiling.

The bus froze overnight - starting it would require pissing on the axle, or yanking hard.

My thoughts darkened significantly as the light levels fell, but at our last stop for dinner the mood lightened as Arun told me what the words on the front of our bus read: “Super Luxury Video Bus”. Teski ama kalo chak (also rude) indeed, with ‘Bus’ being the only word that accurately describes the vehicle.

At Chisapani for lunch, Mr Lim’s bag of oranges broke and a goat made away with one of the little globes of sweetness. Great. Aside from the usual crash-site nightmare scenes along the way (overturned trucks, smashed in front cabins, the works), there was a procession of Maoists with red bands and long sticks. Just a day in the life.

The hotel we pulled up at in Kapilvastu was nothing short of creepy. Half constructed and with a manic dog yelping, preparing myself for the worst still fell short of my low expectations. A grand total of 10 of us squeezed into seven beds. I slung myself in between Raju and Siddharth and the Aila thankfully turned *Tiger’s snore into a gentle lullaby. I recall hearing *Rockstar crash to the ground at some point, drunk dial one of his several dalliances, then it was the next day.

Kapilvastu’s house of horrors.

Day Six

Shockingly, we were spared Daal Bhaat for breakfast, instead feasting on a stack of oily poori and aloo. As always, we wiped our hands with old newspapers and doused them with handpumped water.

Bollywood with breakfast for the Poori-walla and his family. The Indian border is no more than 30km from here.

Kapilvastu is a dusty and poor town. Perhaps characteristic of the other towns we passed through, are the numbers of people just standing by the road, staring. While more developed than Dadeldhura, the Tarai is one place where the sun don’t shine in winter. In the afternoon, you can stare directly at the sun, just a pale, faint orb in the sky shrouded by thick fog and clouds.

Locals were quite excited about the concert, as most of them had only seen or read about folk instruments but never heard them. A show of this scale had never taken place in the town before, so the local chief apparently ‘gave’ everyone half a day off to partay.

Finally, my pathetic mobile decided to pick up the signal, so I sent a few more messages that got swallowed in the fog and called my boss. “Go to the birthplace of Buddha and take photos.”

She orders, and we follow. A jeep takes us in the late afternoon down the dustiest stretch of road, caking up my camera with a layer of sand that eventually makes its way into my mirror.

Lumbini, the birthplace of Siddhartha Gautama, is probably much nicer in summer/spring. In winter, it’s just a grey expanse of trees and temples. The actual birthplace of Buddha is housed in a structure that tourists must pay a ‘camera fee’ to access. The reward is a little stone in the ground that marks the apparent spot where He was born. Just outside the temple, is a sea of colorful Buddhist flags fluttering in the cold breeze.

The stone marking the spot of Buddha’s birth. A pinch of salt is required here.

Made a few simple snaps, then I noticed a commotion in the distance. A white man was surrounded by a couple of fat babus giving him a personalised tour. Being naturally inquisitive, I made several strides in his direction and looked into the white man’s face – which caused mine to go limp from a mini-stroke. Recognizing that expression, none other than Mr Richard Gere waved at me. In Lumbini, an hour out of Kapilvastu. Incredible.

Later in the night, practise ran so late that the few bored band members snuck out for a candlelight jam on an old acoustic guitar. Musicians can play everything and anything. Still no shower.

A frozen candlelight jam.

Day Seven

The night before was semi-debauched, going by their standards, so we all managed to rise at first light. This time the concert was in a large park, filled with tall stiff weeds that make crowd walking extremely cumbersome. The stage itself was the usual simple wooden plank construct, but with several 20 feet bamboo poles sticking out into the sky as decorative pieces.

Enterprising locals had set up stalls all over the grounds, one catching my variety-starved appetite. Eggs and toast. Just like finding an iron lion in zion.

Arun (middle) and a member of another band, Minap, dig into a rare meal of eggs.

This time though the show received a better response, audience clapping and singing along, later even requesting encores.

Siddhartha with his myriad of effects.

The Awadhi cultural performance was a raw, strenuous labour of pain. Just 4 or 5 men went on stage with a drum and this knife-like instrument, and a ‘dancer’ who went through all sorts of pain rituals and gymnastic feats. Later, his head was on fire. There was clearly more than met the eye for this group of humble gardeners.

The Awadhi peformance.

During clean up after the match, we bet on beer by kicking used bottles into tight spaces. Life is simple outside the valley. It was movie night, but eventually my harddisk became unpopular due to a lack of ‘horny’ content. I took that as my cue to sleep.

Day Eight

This was supposed to be the day we parted company with the band. The plan was simple: they drive us some 8 hours to Naryngat, where we catch a connecting bus for another 5 hours to Kathmandu. But nothing is simple here.

When we finally reach Naryngat at around 5pm, there are NO buses left. Executive decisions must be made, and the organisers decide to drag us along to their next destination in Birgunj, a major detour for us by at least 10 hours. (Actually, it was 12). We would spend the night there, and then depart early in the morning. Laughable how naive we were to think that this would happen.

Reaching the hotel at 10pm, the receptionist smilingly claims there is hot water. I am excited, I am going to shower for once! When I strip down and get ready to enjoy the steam bath, I am greeted with melted ice. I immediately jump out and admit defeat.

Here I recall sitting with my worn out notebook and having an epiphany about my trip here so far. Despite what some say, Nepal is not full of nice people. It is a normal place like anywhere else in the world. Strangers stand well within your personal space, asking for your cigarette then making away with it after a single puff. Toothy old women overcharge you for oranges, then cackle behind your back as your naive foreigner ass walks away. Later, another stranger demands said orange and turns away without a smile after receiving his gift.

Day Nine

It’s all over the news. Some Maoist got killed, sending all his cadres into a tizzy. Block the roads! Demand action! There’s no way into Kathmandu, so we stick with the band for yet another day. It’s rehearsal day, I’m bored stiff.

I feel like Balin son of Fundin, stuck in his chamber in Khazad-dum as the forces of Sauron approached. Fuck you, Maoist orcs! I want my internet and hot water!

The day goes by in a blur, a visit to a mostly abandoned palace which is now being fought over by 16 descendents (what’s new), and the site of the most brutal slaughtering in Nepal, the notorious Gadhimai Temple where last November, 50,000 animals were sacrificed.

The grounds of the Gadhimai temple at sunset - sans blood.

But without blood running through the fields, it’s not particularly noteworthy, except for a peacefully moving sunset that got several cameras clicking away.

From dinner onwards, my recollection is hazy thanks to *Rockstar. I believe Mr Lim made several videos somewhere. I do not wish to see them anymore than you do.

But today is where I got my quote of the trip from *Rockstar: Where there is no light, there is a toilet.

Day Ten

The concert is routine to us now, and bidding farewell to the band (the would go on for another two weeks) wasn’t sad at all – we would end up being close friends for the next few months.  

The 7pm bus that was supposed to take 8 hours ended up taking almost 12 hours, but nothing fazes us no more.

At 6am the streets of Kathmandu are already alive as we stumble back to our barely lived in lodgings, feeling like we were going from the fire back into the frying pan.

Kutumba has since become a household name in Kathmandu, and the band has performed in North America, Europe, the Far East – you know, like rockstars do. I’m just grateful we’re still good friends.