Nepalese Sherpa wedding: a photoblog
It is 6 am when the three of us from Variant Bio (Kaja, Erin, and Tom) rush through the streets of Thamel, the touristy neighborhood of Kathmandu, to catch a taxi to Siphal. Many Sherpa live in this area of the city, either permanently or just throughout the coldest months of winter. The house is easy to find, the entrance is elaborately decorated with flowers, and there is a constant stream of deliveries coming inside. We have no doubt this is a wedding. We don’t know what to expect because the traditional Sherpa wedding is a multi-day affair, with different events reserved for either family or friends. We definitely don’t fall into the family category — Dr. Sonam Sherpa is a brilliant colleague and together we are studying Sherpa health and genetics in the Himalayas — but he invited us to witness the actual wedding ceremony, an intimate family event we wouldn’t have missed for the world.
We are some of the first guests to arrive at Sonam’s family home. We’re ushered upstairs to meet the slightly anxious groom. He shows us around the property which is actually a multigenerational compound consisting of three large houses connected by a tented courtyard that is being set up as the main event space. We wander around and witness the family getting ready. Women are braiding each other’s hair, adding colorful threads to their long braids, and men are trying out their finest outfits.
From conversations with other guests and what we found online (and we might be completely wrong) we gather that the basic garment is called the chuba. Men wear their chubas on top of a shirt with a stiff high collar and tied at the waist with a cloth belt.
The female version of the chuba is a piece of art. Traditionally they were made from home-spun wool or sheepskin but now they are mostly silk. Women also wear colorful striped aprons, often held together by an embossed silver buckle and only married women wear the front apron. A large and heavy-looking necklace provides the finishing touch.
Both men and women own incredible hats. They are very intricate and are trimmed in fur.
More of Sonam’s family starts to arrive and women greet the guests with salty Tibetan tea, sweets, and bowls of spiced rice.
In every corner is a new tradition, overwhelmed and surrounded by so much culture, much of it slips by unnoticed. There is a man walking with a bowl of flour, asking everyone to sprinkle it on his arm three times. He mentions good fortune. We just go with the flow.
The wedding is a whole day event beginning with breakfast. There’s a spicy Sherpa stew for breakfast and behind the scenes the dinner is already being prepared for the hundred guests. Nobody is rushing. It seems that Sonam’s family (or maybe it’s all of the Sherpa) are always in a state of calm dignity.
Sherpa remain deeply religious and part of the top floor of the household is a dedicated prayer room. Inside is dark, incense burns in the corner, and the atmospheric chanting of Buddhist mantras is only interrupted by the rising beat of a large drum. Placed on an altar in front of the monks are items to be blessed: the wedding cakes, various items of food, and alcohol. One can only assume they’re asking the gods for a good party, and the gods certainly delivered.
In the room next door, Sonam stands like a prince ready for his ascent onto the throne. His closest family members rush around putting on various items of clothing. Each, a new layer of color and grandeur. After a short while the Buddhist priest places dots on people’s foreheads, used to denote members of the groom’s entourage.
Sonam’s brother is searching for something and in the center of the room Sonam looks on anxiously. After a short while he appears with a box, and out of it comes an elaborate hat which is placed on the head of the groom. A sword is placed in Sonam’s hand and a familiar Sherpa calm descends on the room once again.
In the courtyard, preparations are being made to move the party to its second location, the house of Kalpana the bride’s family. The marching band waits in the covered driveway by the wedding car. The car’s decorations are fit for the Raj, and the band wears uniforms similar to those of a British military guards unit.
Smoke begins to fill the tunnel and, accompanied by cheers and commotion, Sonam appears, led by the monk. The band explodes into life, the drum skins beat, and the brass contingent swings their instruments wildly.
The haphazard procession spills into Kathmandu’s streets, the younger members of the family temporarily stop traffic, and the band marches on with a vigor fit for Disney.
At Kalpana’s house we are greeted by a row of baskets, each its own tradition, and each as confusing to us as the other. The first, a branch dipped into water and sprayed in the air three times. Second, a crumbly substance we assume is flour, three pinches thrown into the air and a final one placed on the shoulder of the person presenting, it seems, left shoulder for women, right for men. Third, a bowl of yogurt to put on our palms. Last, more sweets and Godiva chocolates — these we know what to do with! We are really hoping to understand the meaning of all of this once Sonam is back from his honeymoon. The internet provides minimal explanations.
The procession slowly trickles to the tables and the party calms for lunch: an exuberance of flavors followed by a dessert of yogurt, pomegranate seeds, and fruit. The drinks arrive, including chang, a homemade and quite brutal alcohol. The driveway becomes a dance floor.
There is a separate, long table set up for Sonam and his closest relatives. Opposite them is another long table for Kalpana’s family. The bride is still inside the house with some of her close relatives; occasionally we catch sight of them on one of the balconies, having a small, competing party.
In the precious moment after lunch when everyone is fed and before they have too much to drink, the ceremony begins with the arrival of the bride. She walks up to a podium and joins Sonam on an elevated dias. They look and smile at each other.
There are readings, singing, and blessings. They involve bowls, scrolls, and swords. We desperately want to understand the language to know what is happening but at the same time it all feels very natural, as if we have witnessed it many times.
At last something familiar to us — the “khata” ceremony. This is when guests offer khata, the ceremonial Tibetan scarf, to the bride, groom, and their families. The scarf is presented by various members of the now adjoined families. A white scarf is placed over the necks of Sonam and Kalpana who both receive two of them from each side of the family.
At the end of the ceremony a group of close family members rushes around the guests presenting each person with a khata. We feel incredibly welcomed and humbled. The famous Sherpa hospitality is quite moving at times.
When the official part of the ceremony is over, the dancing and singing resumes. It’s less organized now and it seems appropriate to join in. The moves are simple but there is a certain grace to them that is difficult to mimic. We do our best and provide the onlookers entertainment with our efforts.
After multiple more drinks, dancing attempts, singing attempts, snacks, and more drinks, it’s time to go back to Sonam’s house. This time the whole crowd sings and dances and it feels as though the entire city is watching. It is a spectacle to remember for the rest of our lives. The traffic jam caused by this procession may be felt across the city but nobody seems to mind. Some people even join the procession and motorbikes squeeze through the melee, their passengers cheering and clapping. The constant honking of Kathmandu is replaced by music.
When we get back to Sonam’s house, we continue to savor the rich, multi-layered culture, as well as the makes-you-want-to-move-there hospitality, and the night becomes blurry. As we leave, we’re presented with a final khata and sit with the close relatives in one of the upper social rooms of the house. Immersed in a culture so beautiful in its charm and quiet grace, we will hold on to the feeling of being welcomed for a long time to come.
Written by Kaja Wasik and Tom Martienssen.
Photos by: Tom Martienssen from https://dustofffilms.com/
