Dahn Ropne Din
A story of rain and mud in Nepal
Monsoon season has finally arrived in Nepal. My little town of Surkhet has struggled with a hot drought, which dried up most wells and made drinking water scarce.
But now the rains have come, and with them, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

There is no doubt, monsoon season is difficult. Now that they have come, the rains never seem to end: roads wash away, trash piles up in swampy marshes, landslides are common, and there is a tangible fear of flooding that hangs heavily in the air. Flood camps still remain scattered around Surkhet — constant reminders of how quickly homes can disappear and how powerful and deadly the monsoon can be.
And yet. Despite it’s challenges, the people seem revived.
We can’t seem to stop the kids from playing in the downpours. Women laugh and sing as they slip and slide along the muddy streets of town. The tuk tuk drivers swerve their tiny vehicles into every puddle with mischievous smiles on their faces.
And then, in brief moments of reprieve from the rain, we have glorious skys. Here is a picture of the view from my flat.

The start of monsoon season brings the traditional first day of rice planting: Dahn Ropne Din. On this day, Nepalis everywhere celebrate by planting the first of the rice, and promptly throwing each other into muddy paddy fields.
I participated this year, and while I may never been clean again, it was one of the best days I have spent in Nepal.
Dahn Ropne Din makes everyone — old and young and somewhere in between — feel like a child again. I watched from the sidelines, taking as many pictures as I could as the kids tackled each other, and then turned on the aunties and uncles (respectful terms for adults). But soon they came for me. Here are a few pictures of the savage attack.



And then it started raining, again, which was welcomed as a nice afternoon shower to rinse off as much mud as we could. And together, kids, uncles, aunties, volunteers, and me, sat in our muddy, wet clothes and ate some juicy mangos from our mango trees.
Today I am grateful for the rain, for the mud, for the joy and laughter of both kids and adults, for finding my shoes, for fruits, for cold showers…
…and for this feeling that, I too, am revived.
