WH EN D IN ESH A ND RA JA N WERE TEEN A G ERS , D IN ES H

H YP N O TIZED RA JA N S O H E CO U LD S EE H IS PA S T LIF E, BEFO RE

H IS R EIN CA RN A TION A S HIS CU RREN T S ELF .

Dinesh charged his hypnotic powers by staring,

unblinking, for hours at a time, at a flame up
against a white wall. In Rajan’s past life, he
checked the calendar and it was 1976; he was an
Indian accountant who left work one day and was
stabbed in the stomach with a knife. He reported
experiencing his soul traveling out of that body —
like a flame — and into his mother’s stomach.

Rajan’s son Nitesh uses the word “roasted” in a

non-culinary sense and improvises “diss tracks”
based on the raps he hears his favorite American
Mindcraft gamers make on Youtube. He
downloaded a bunch of games to play on my
phone, sang a lot of Ed Sheeran, and wants to be a
Youtuber when he grows up. Rajan wishes he
would meditate. 

Nepal doesn’t have summer break, and, while I

was there, the two kids (age 13 and 14) were in the
middle of taking eleven exams in eleven different
subjects, including topics like “Occupation,
Business and Technology.” Rajan thinks Nepal’s
education system is absurd — somewhere between
his kids’ 15-kilogram school bags, his son’s
gaming obsession, and his daughter’s 1,000-person
Instagram following is why Nepali kids don’t read
books anymore. 

Nitesh and Nikita are 13 and 14, and are both

fluent in Nepali, English, French and Chinese,
which they learned from a combination of
schooling and TV. Children in other countries
never cease to humble me.

THE YOGA
IT IS BY FAR THE MOST AUTHENTIC
YOGA EXPERIENCE I’VE EVER HAD.
I’ve been to occasional yoga classes for the past
few years in the States (mostly with my mom at
our local gym, or sometimes with friends at UVa).
I’ve had mixed feelings about Western yoga — I
sometimes find classes confusing, hard-to-follow,
or too fast-paced, and have found class quality to
be highly instructor-dependent.

 I was specifically looking for a meditation retreat

— not a yoga retreat — but decided that traditional
Buddhist meditation in a monastic environment —
with full days of silence, only dharma-related
reading, men and women separated, etc. — might
not be that what I needed. On the other hand, the
prospect of living with a Nepali family in their
home profoundly appealed to me.

 I wanted meditation, not yoga, but I didn’t realize

the extent to which, in ancient Hindu tradition, the
two go hand in hand. I didn’t realize what was
missing from every yoga class I’d ever attended
until now. During class, classical piano music
resounds through the studio; soothing, hypnotic
melodies emanate from Rajan’s singing bowl; and
crisp incense flows from a small clay pot. Artistic
renderings of Hindu gods adorn the walls. The
glass windows reveal intricate patchworks of
terraced rice paddies lining the studio.

Traditional Hatha yoga consists of 84 poses of

varying difficulty, provide deep stretches to all
areas of the body. 

Yoga was born out of Hinduism and sanskrit.

Rajan knows the Hindi words for each pose, which
automatically feels authentic than Americanized
yoga (it’s adho mukha svanasana, not downward-
facing dog). Hindu philosophies of the seven
chakras, different mudras (hand positions), and
mantras (like “Om”) are seamlessly woven into the
yoga practice.

“Namaste” (the cliche finale to every Western

yoga class) is “hello” in Nepali, which directly
translates to “my soul greets your soul” or “I
recognize the divine in you!” Yoga is as
characteristically Nepal as is Himalayan hemp,
roving goats, prayer flags, and power cuts. 

Every class begins with repetitive chanting of

“Om” (the universal sound) and “shanti” (which
means peace), with palms together at heart center.
“Rub your palms together,” Rajan instructs us,
“Closing your eyes, massage your face…massage
your neck…massage your whole body. Namaste,”
he says, bowing his head. “Namaste to your
beautiful neighbor. Find a comfortable seated
position, spine straight, head straight, happy
smiling face, eyes closed, shoulders down. Relax
your head, relax your neck, relax your legs, relax
your stomach. Relax all internal organs. Just relax.
Find peace inside of you. Stop thinking. Just focus
your breath on the music. Meditate to yourself for
a few minutes. Get ready for the yoga.”

After meditation, we launch into warm-ups to

stretch your whole body, which Rajan says is
essential for every yoga class, particularly in the
morning. “When animals wake up from a long
sleep, what do they do?” he once asked.“They
always stretch. Humans need to do the same.”

In Western yoga, I’ve often struggled to inhale and

exhale on cue, especially because it often follows a
fast, complicated flow that only happens once (i.e.
exhale come to table pose, inhale raise your right
leg, exhale right leg between your hands, left leg
on your mat— how is that possible? You’re taking
at least three breaths for each instruction, I can’t
hold my breath for that long). Here, I understand
how the inhalations and exhalations could actually
benefit deeper stretches in a rhythmic pattern. It
will be repetitions, like “inhale, raise your
shoulders, exhale, shoulders down” for 30 seconds
or so, so your breathing can follow the motions in
a regular manner.

Rajan’s mastery of hatha yoga is abundantly clear.

He knows how to explain precisely how to arrive
at each pose (in English, which is impressive!);
exactly which adjustments can make a pose more
difficult; which parts of your body each pose is
benefitting; and exactly how to touch your body to
give you a deeper stretch. 

 After “shavasana” (relaxing while lying on your

back), the last 15 minutes of class are pranayama:
breathing exercises. These include exercises to
balance your left (moon) and right (sun) nostrils
(i.e. covering up the non-active one with your
finger, inhale 4 seconds left, exhale 4 seconds
right, inhale 4 seconds right, exhale 4 seconds
left); inhaling/exhaling with your chest and
stomach; inhaling with your tongue or with your
teeth and exhaling with your nose; and plugging
your ears and making a “mmm” sound, which
sounds like a bee buzzing. I don’t quite buy into
any of this, but it’s interesting to dabble in a part of
traditional yoga I’d never before witnessed.

I often wake up with soreness in my neck or lower

back, but by the end of morning yoga, my entire
body is rejuvenated. 

I was in “boat pose“ yesterday (lying on your back,

feet together, raise your legs and head 30 degrees,
hands on your thighs) and was amazed to feel how
strong my legs were. My butt has also somehow
gotten more toned, through some combination of
yoga and all the hiking. Regardless of the amount
of dal bhat I’m eating and my daily fluctuations in
food consumption, my body is so powerful and
strong — it’s carrying me up mountains, to holy
temples, through bamboo jungles and to waterfalls
— and that’s so much more important than being
traditionally skinny. 

After six days, I clearly feel more flexible, better at

balancing, and strong.
The family believes a lot in herbal, Ayurvedic
medicine to maintain good health. Ayurveda holds
that the body is divided into three “doshas” (three
different sections of the body) which must be kept
in balance; one way to do this is by eating trifula, a
bitter, absolutely disgusting medicine made from
three essential herbs. I don’t quite buy into
ayurvedic medicine either, but seeing people
passionate about homeopathic remedies is
endearing, as long as they’re not closed off to
traditional medicine when it’s needed.

Rajan will pick some wild lemongrass and tell you

it’s good for digestion, but, when I had a stomach
bug, he gave me a (chemical) pill that remedied it.
His kids get all the necessary vaccines; his dad has
taken antibiotics for his health problems; and
they’ll go to a normal hospital for serious issues. 

The family has lived in Nagarkot for twelve

generations. Rajan and Dinesh have spent
practically their whole lives here, and know almost
everyone in the village. On our daily hikes, Dinesh
is constantly running into people he knows and
making pleasant conversation. I’ve oft-overheard
the word “panni” — which means water. Panni.
Panni as in, panni is life — panni, as in, the
essential molecular compound upon which
millions of livelihoods depend. This year, climate
change has delayed the onset of the monsoon —
the summer season when ocean circulation patterns
from the Indian Ocean bring heavy rain, almost
daily, to most of the country. Crop rotations are
based on annual precipitation patterns. Rice is
planted on the day of the rice festival — June 28
— at which point the monsoon is generally in full
swing. Rice needs the most water to grow — it’s
planted in mud lots, arranged strategically in
terraces for optimal water retention. It’s also the
backbone of Nepali cuisine. If the rains don’t come
soon, millions of families could starve. This is so
much bigger, I‘ve thought, than my tourist desire
to see snowy mountain peaks unobscured my
cumulonimbus clouds. Nepal needs the monsoon. 
On the hikes, Rajan and Dinesh are constantly
identifying wild plants and explaining their
medicinal uses and cultural significance. Dinesh’s
face lights up when he talks about plants, and he’s
always gushing about his dreams to expand the
garden. Cheuk once cited this quote: “drink and
you’ll be happy for a night, fall in love and you’ll
be happy for a month, tend a garden and you’ll be
happy for your whole life.”

The passion that both brothers have for this village

— its people, landscape, and plants — is so
apparent. Rajan bounces around Nagarkot like a
magical forest sprite, leaving a trail of fairy dust.
He has validated me on a couple of my theories
(for ex: that walking around barefoot is good for
your feet, and that jogging downhill gives you
more balance than walking). One day, Rajan took
us hiking through the jungle to bathe in a remote,
pristine waterfall and swimming hole. We then
ascended a grassy ridge on a trail of orange pine
leaves to a three-hundred year old holy tree, on a
cliff overlooking the forest-drenched mountains.
He said: “This is my favorite spot in Nagarkot,
I’ve come here for peace since I was as a kid — I
often come here alone to meditate.” 

Dinesh is sweet, kind-hearted, and genuine. He has

a soothing voice and a smiley, well-meaning
demeanor. He wakes up at 5 every day to hear the
morning birdsong. After working at a University in
Kathmandu for 20 years, he quit his job after the
earthquake to help his family with the homestay,
which he feels is a lot less stressful. Dinesh is
constantly relaying Hindu myths and stories of the
land to us during our hikes — which are strenuous,
3 hour-long, steep ascents to viewpoints. He fits
the trope of a middle-aged Nepali man who can
run up a mountainside while babbling to you about
its history, without needing to stop to breathe or
hydrate. (For me, actively responding to Dinesh’s
constant rattling off of information is more
strenuous than the hiking — which is why I’ve
hired Cheuk as my personal extrovert to engage
with him while I walk ahead in silence.) 

At a Hindu temple, he explained the “unity in

diversity” saying that accounts for why Hindus
have so many gods (“ultimate reality is one; it has
many forms”). He took it one step further, saying
that all religions are worshipping different forms
of the same god; so we’re all right and equal in our
beliefs. Praying to a Shiva statue, he said “god
bless us” and then corrected it to say “no, god
bless everyone — not just the three of us, or all of
Nagarkot or Nepal — but the whole universe.) 

I am constantly surprised at the prevalence of

Hinduism in the family’s lives, and at the diversity
in gods they worship. One day, after we’d lost
power, Rajan’s daughter Nikita said to me: “so I’m
a devotee of Ganesh, and my brother Vishnu, my
mom Shakti, and my grandma is a huge Shiva
devotee. When the power went out, my grandma
said ‘if it doesn’t come back within ten minutes,
then Lord Shiva isn’t truly the Destroyer — and it
came back after nine minutes!”