Last night was a noisy one, with drums and singing going on in the village above our house until daylight (and even a bit beyond). All of this was on the eve of today being the main day of the Tihar festival and no doubt the rumpus represented a final drive to encourage a visit from Laxmi, the goddess of prosperity. Having a goddess of prosperity seems a bit of an odd concept within a religion. It certainly goes totally against the drift of other main religions, like Christianity and Buddhism, that postively eschew wealth (at least in their teachings if not in practice). It also strikes me as being rather simplistic to assess prosperity in terms of rupees; a nation's true prosperity lies in its values and how it manages those at the bottom end of society. From what I have seen here this nation is very poor in that regard. It also seems that it is optimistic in the extreme to expect a goddess to arrive and deliver "prosperity" in whatever form one wishes to intepret that term. Prosperity, be it financial or social, has to be worked for and in respect of the latter a sea change in attitudes within society is an absolute prerequisite.
This was Remembrance Sunday and the occasion was marked at The British Embassy in Kathmandu in spite of the general disinterest of The British Ambassador who, as anticipated, was absent from the ceremony. The service was held in the open air and I was delighted to see extra chairs having to be brought in to accommodate the numbers that attended. The Gurkha officers and soldiers looked splendid in their Service Dress and slouch hats; they were displaying an admirable collection of medals, reflecting a huge amount of service to the Crown. And the padre spoke well, the criterion of that being that he kept my attention from drifting unduly on a day that in its nature lends itself to mind wandering.
That said, I did find myself thinking a lot about a lad called Gordon Turnbull, killed in 1943 at Anzio (south of Rome) while fighting with the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers at the age of 23. Gordon was my father's cousin and 24 years ago while on holiday in Italy I made a pilgrimage to his grave. That visit was particularly poignant as at the time I too was in uniform as a young Army captain, I was also 23 and I believe the first member of the family to pay respects at his grave in 40 years. At the time of his death Gordon was unmarried and I had thought that was the end of it all. That is until this year when I dipped into "Genes Reunited" on the internet and found a lady mentioning his name and seeking relatives. I responded and it emerged that Gordon had fathered a girl before joining up; that girl had been adopted out and forgotten about. She had lost her roots, a loss that must have seemed very final after her father's untimely death. She has suffered severe depression and is now in care back in Northern Ireland. However I have been very pleased to make indirect contact with this hitherto forgotten second cousin through her daughter and to start to broker links between her children and their cousins that I do know of from within the family. This all illustrates that a soldier's death sixty four years ago is not necessarily in the past and as well as remembering that sacrifice we must also remember the legacy of loss that so often continues to this day.
On a brighter note, the Kathmandu refuge children came to my house yesterday to perform song and dance ("Bhailo") as part of the Tihar festivities. Seventy of them - former street children, prison children and circus children - turned up along with a few of their carers. It is amazing and hugely rewarding to see how they have matured (some have been with us for almost seven years now) and exude confidence and joie de vivre. For me, that's what the charity is all about. Here's some of the footage that I recorded:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_h0CdZ_BWxA
