Broadcast

Life has a sense of humor sometimes. Like now, as I start to realize that my time and work in Nepal is limited, and begin to panic that I don’t have a specific plan yet for what comes next. ( I don’t know that I would normally panic, except that people keep asking me over and over again – what will you do when your placement is over? And I don’t know yet, I really don’t).

In the midst of this, I get an invitation to talk on a live radio program with my friend, Rajesh, about career planning for jobs in NGO and INGOs. As an “expert”.

Ha! Career planning? Well, okay, I do know some things about finding and applying for jobs. And I know Rajesh really wants me to do this. He’s taken me to his village home for the most important festival of the year and I feel part of his family. How can I say no?

So there I am this morning, waiting on the corner for Rajesh to come by and pick me up on his motorbike. Times like this, I find myself thinking: wow. This is it. This is Nepal. Here I am. Just watching everything happen around me. I could have never imagined this 2 years ago. Ever.

Rajesh came later than I was hoping (but not expecting) and whisked me off to the Capitol FM radio station, a tall building on the far side of town near where the riots and tire burnings happen when that sort of thing is going on. It looks so peaceful and normal today...

I am happy that VSO has a rule about wearing a helmet on motorcycles today as I sit behind Rajesh and he weaves quickly and sporadically in between cars. I’m grateful for his speed, though, as – frankly – I am nervous as hell about being on the radio live and would really like to arrive at least 15 minutes before we are live on the air.

Inside, the building is narrow and tall. Bright blue, green, and pink walls. Recently painted. A guard lets us in once he confirms we’re welcome, and we step into a fancy office with windows that oversee what really must one of the best views of the Kathmandu valley I’ve seen from the city. I can see all of it from here.

The radio staff are walking about in nice suits, barefoot. It is Nepal, after all, and even though the building is modern, people wouldn’t be comfortable if they didn’t leave their shoes at the door, or the markings from the last puja weren’t visible at the top of their doorway. This makes me feel happy.

I wonder about whether I’ll ever get to run an office at home in the US and make taking off our shoes mandatory. I would like to make that rule someday.

We have all of 10 minutes now that we have arrived to meet the man who will host the show to tell him what we want to talk about, to hand him the questions we’ve written up, and to help guide him. He’s a bit sidetracked by the fact that the questions are all in English. After a seriously condensed introduction, we walk down one flight of stairs to our studio. We slide into our seats at 12:01. The show has started, but we have 3 minutes of intro commercials and music before we have to start talking. And for me to figure out how exactly these headphones work.

I want to be really focused on what I’m supposed to say, but honestly am just trying to take in the whole environment and what it is exactly I am expected to do. My first answer is not very clear, as I am distracted by the music piped into my earphones in the background, and I am sure that everyone must be able to hear the total panic in my voice. This is live?? Like – I don’t get any re-dos? All these random, faceless people are listening to what I say, as I say it? The thought is quite terrifying to me.

I am put at ease somehow, however, by the fact that my host admits during our first break that he is equally nervous. He hasn’t ever had a foreigner on his show before. And also doesn’t feel confident about his English (even though it’s really good). I figure if he can be nervous and still sound really good and talk easily, then I should convince myself to try to do the same. I try to will myself to relax and sound really confident.

When I can’t follow certain parts of what is said in Nepali during our show (it’s mostly in Nepali, but I am allowed to answer in English), I am fascinated by looking at the glass that separates our small compartment and the producer’s compartment. It is just like a fish tank. Without any fish, or water.

At the bottom are shells, coral, and ceramic mermaids. I can count the number of Nepalis I know on one hand who have seen the ocean or shells. Who exactly chose THIS is the decor for a room suspended up above the city in a land of mountains?

As if to anticipate my discomfort with the waterless tank summoning the ocean in the mountains, someone has hung a traditional Nepali purse on the side of the wall inside the glass. Yes, that feels about right. It is from the hills. Ok. I can focus again. Which is good, because Rajesh is finishing, and our host is getting ready to ask me another question.

After my initial panic, I start to ease more and more into the interview. I don’t say anything very brilliant, but try to convince myself it’s okay, because I’m at least sure I’ve not said anything false or harmful. And for today, that has to be enough. I am lucky that Rajesh is on a roll – he can speak forever about anything and everything. And this fact is extremely comforting to me all of the sudden.

I am enjoying this experience, but in kind of a painful suffering way. The kind where you know you’ll be really excited about it afterwards. But during, it just really wasn’t that fun. I am watching the clock the whole time, just waiting for it to be over.

And as soon as it is, I feel relief. I think – okay! Now I get it. And our host is really great. I like him. It’s fascinating watching him and the producer do their thing. Ok, now I’m ready to do it again. Let’s go!

Our host is really kind and invites us for tea after the show and says he’ll have us back. I’ve already decided I won’t come back – unless I can talk about something I feel really passionate about and have adequately prepared for. I feel grateful he didn’t tell me that I was terrible (or say nothing at all).

Rajesh and I have to go back to work, so we say no to the tea and pop onto the bike and go to grab a quick meal. Somehow I have worked up an appetite. I think it was the nerves.

On the way, I notice a man in a crowd who is dressed all in yellow, walking barefoot, with long dreadlocks and a long, narrow u-shape painted on his forehead. He is a wandering holy man. This is common to see. What is not, is the heavy load that he has balanced on his head as he walks. And the spectacular trident he carries in his right hand. It is bright red and I think it has sparkles.

We also pass something that feels in between a holy celebration and a parade. Apparently it is the Hari Ram Hari Krishnas. They are singing and dancing, carrying colored masts with no writing or pictures, and are handing out fruit and juice to people as they pass by. They have completely blocked one side of the road and traffic is stalled for 10 minutes.

When we get to the restaurant, our egg thukpa soup isn’t very good, really. But it’s simple and easy on the stomach. And it’s come to be my comfort food here.

And I am grateful that life can somehow feel familiar and absolutely new at the same time. Over and over again here.