Holy Shit.

Ladies & gentlemen, the Tuk Tuk Tempo

Summer is officially here. I figured this out while riding the Tuk-Tuk-Tempo this afternoon. For those of you who have never been to Nepal or live in Nepal, but have the luxury of private transportation you may be unfamiliar with this strange contraption. Tuk Tuks are three-wheeled iron death chamber-like vehicles that run half on electricity and half on gas. The front compartment has room for one driver and one passenger, though often times you will see three, sometimes four people. The back has room for two rows of five people each vertically lined in a manner where they face one another with a little aisle space in between for feet or bags. Usually, this total number of ten designated slots exceeds upwards of twelve passengers. Not to mention the teeny tiny iron ledge attached to the very back, the open entrance. On this piece of iron people, usually no more than one, but I have seen with my own eyes seven people, stand gripping bars on the side of the open doorway, hanging on for dear life. So, back to summer's arrival.

Yesterday afternoon while riding the Tuk Tuk I could smell the body odor of my fellow passengers. Each one wreaked of a completely foreign aroma. I rode for about 20 minutes and when I jumped off at my station (it's actually pretty comical to refer to my drop off point as a "station" since there are never even any markings) I noticed my obliques, hips and upper arms were drenched with my neighbors perspiration. Well, this'll be a the start of a beautiful day!

A random cow chillin' in the streets of KTM

Shuffling to cross the road during peak traffic hours, I found a group of people I could huddle with. Though Nepal is no longer an official Hindu kingdom there are still remnants of a regime where Hinduism reigned supreme. Cows are left alone regardless of how much they may be affecting drivers/jaywalkers/police, etc. Eager to cross the road and smack-dab in the middle of this random collective of people crossing sides, I didn't pay attention to my steps. I skipped up the stairs of Himalayan Java in Thamel to meet with my boss, Sam. In an exceptionally jolly mood--I was meeting with her to discuss a Yoga workshop for women I want to conduct--I ordered a banana lassi and plopped down on a plush leather couch and began chatting away.

Sam was extremely responsive to my idea and I was feeling great; so why did something smell fishy? Was my contract for the aforementioned workshop too good to be true? Along with sweat, did I also acquire the funk of my fellow Tuk Tuk passengers? I did a quick armpit check--the old, spread my arm wide across the couch, tilting my head to the side as if I spotted lint on my shoulder & sneak a smell routine--and nothing. Still, there was something very foul lurking. And there it was.

On the sole of my Tevas, a huge chunk of cow dung. Holy Shit. In Western society and even most Eastern countries cow dung is just the shit of a cow. In Nepal, it is considered to be very holy. People smear Cow Dung (Gobar), around the walls of their home's exterior to ward off evil spirits and ensure a year full of prosperity during Laxmi Puja--the ceremony to worship the Goddess of Prosperity & Wealth. In years passed I always scoffed at such an idea. Since being here almost a year, however, I'm starting to realize a lot of societal norms are just based on one's preconceived notions usually shaped during childhood. In short, it's all perspective.

My grandma reading

 her holy book The Mahabharata

Shit stinks. Or does it? The same cow dung I was disgusted by to an average Nepali person would seem like a blessing. In fact, the moment my boss agreed to my outrageous request would have been directly correlated to God's blessing: stepping on the Gobar brought me the luck and fortune that led to Sam's approval. That is how my 94 year old grandma saw the whole incident and she's old, experienced and extremely wise.

That evening as I sat in front of my MacBook to write up a synopsis of the workshop-in-the-making, I couldn't help but think of all the cows of Kathmandu. They're thought to be so holy and yet for the most part are completely ignored and abandoned except on major celebrations like Gai Puja. I thought of the Tuk Tuk passengers who all consciously chose not to wear any deodorant. In America bodily smells are such a cultural faux pas, at an early age citizens become indoctrinated to cover up their natural aromas.

Now, many studies are popping up with claims that deodorant may indirectly be a great cause for breast cancer. Though no sufficient scientific data supports these assertions, one would be foolish not to consider a minor possibility for a link between the two. Afterall, it is--though very pleasant to one's nostrils--unnatural to conceal one's sweat glands as they are a necessary function for daily life. Also, in India people are going through great lengths to prove the superior quality of cow dung. Apparently it is known to kill germs, bacteria and heal wounds. All of this begs the question, what is normal? Who's to decide what's smelly or sacred?

My take is, shit happens. We just have to continue inhaling and exhaling as that is the one and only cultural norm that unites us all; our breathe. Whether through your nostrils or your mouth if you are alive you are breathing. Enjoy every breath.