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More like a flirtatious call-and-response, yo momma Bollywood pop battle, than the folk tradition it is, Dohori began as and continues to be a way that men and women celebrate Nepali festivals. Thankfully, for the festival oblivious among us, you can also catch Dohori nightly in many Kathmandu clubs and bars. In addition, if you’re really lucky, you too can have your photo taken with a Nepali celebrity. Burned by folk performances in the past, like balcony seats for the subtle eye and finger movements of Thai dance, I was a bit dubious about seeing Dohori for the first time. But, you’re in Nepal and you just have to go. Right? Rather than heading off to my friends neighborhood Dohori bar, we decided to stick close to Thamel—the major Kathmandu tourist hub—for our Thursday outing. Now, I’ve noticed the Gambesi Dohori Club at least 100 times since my arrival, attracted by the brilliant colors and deafening music that came from inside, and yet I always just kept on walking. Perhaps this was because of its location, above a black-light lit “dance bar with shower”, or maybe because until a week ago I didn’t know Dohori existed or what fun it could be. Taking my first steps into Gambesi Dohori was visually and audibly hypersaturating. Flute, harmonium, madal and table drumming, and choral singing penetrated the hotel dining meets village-esque tiki bar. A man onstage dressed in tight white pants and thigh-length white shirt under a small black vest belted out cad-like lyrics to his female counterparts. Other male Dohori singers, audience members, and the all male band followed his amorous pitch with a well-known chorus. The lead female singer then countered with her own teasing advance, backed up by audience members and the other female Dohori singers. To punctuate their harmonic retort, the women, dressed in Chinese inspired sari tops, hip-slung ankle length skirts, long red sashes, bangles, and sparkling necklaces bounced, swayed, and shimmied to the pounding tempo. If you can imagine a toned down Nepalese Shakira at a raver house party—they you are kind of close to what this dancing looked like. It was great fun to watch and, after a beer or two, join the other lay-Dohori dancers on the stamp-size floor. Just about all of the Dohori singers come to the trade without professional training. Having grown up singing at festivals, most filter in from rural Nepalese towns. Their talented voices and expert improvisational lyricism bring them to the nightly city banter. The best thing about Dohori is its dynamism. While the choruses are well known, Dohori lyrics change with every new singing. This living folk tradition requires that singers are alert and ready to respond to anything their opposite sex competitor slings or intimates in their direction. It was only a matter of time before the Dohori singers would incorporate me, the only westerner in the bar, into Dohori clowning. Like Karaoke, talented nonprofessional Dohori singers can request to sing a song with members of the onstage crew. Such was the case when I became part of the joking. The exchange between the male volunteer and his onstage female counterpart went roughly like this: Guy: “Look here, we have a foreigner with us tonight. Is she here for Dohori or to
take photos?” Gal: “Oh, she is here with her friends, don’t use making fun of her as a pretext for
looking at her”. Guy: “Sitting next to here is indeed her handsome male friend, so don’t use
singing about her as a pretext for looking at him. But he is so quite that he must not
be enjoying your singing” Gal: “He is so quiet because he can’t stand to interrupt looking at and listening
to me.” Mind you, this was all in Nepalese, of which I know maybe five phrases. Fortunately, I was there with my friend-turned-translator and thus able to join in the fun by snapping pictures as my personal retort. Going with your Nepalese friends can be extra beneficial when Rajendra Khadgi—a Nepali star—is in the crowd. You can return their translation favors for some international flattery and be photographed with a celebrity to boot! |
