Dejavu

A few months ago, I left India. A few days ago, I arrived in Nepal. Or was it India?

Dejavu didn't hit me at first, as I was still basking in the glory of the landing. Soaring in the bright blue sky, through my peephole window all I could see were mountain tops peeking out of the clouds. Soon, I could no longer see anything accept a thick wall of grey for what seemed like forever. And yet, then I was floating over Switzerland, green rolling hills, a yodler. A city appeared, sprinkling Switzerland with South Asian architecture. I stepped onto the tarmac, letting the fog mist my skin.

Once I left the quaint little mountain aiport of Kathmandu and was hurried into a car, I quickly woke up from my dream. Swirling through the dusty traffic, dodging motorbikes, bicycles, and powerlines, I kept thinking to myself, "am I in Delhi again? But wait, I see prayer flags. And no, I don't see any cows. Puppies, yes. Indian food, yes. Hindu temples, yes. Salwar kamiz and saris, yes. Namaste, yes. I have already spoken more Hindi than I did all of last year... what does this mean???"

It means that I have arrived in a place overwhelmed with influence from its neighbor. Nepalis speak Hindi because of Bollywood, gods and godesses are worshipped with pooja, and foods are spiced the same.

Perhaps the differences between these two neighbors lie in the nuiances. I however, remain warily confused.