Deconstructing Robin

FROM ISSUE # 171 (March 2010) | IN THIS ISSUE
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TENDON

ANUP PRAKASH Guitar Hero Robin performing in Sikkim at a concert, in September 2009.

. I have people banging on my gate at seven in the morning:
"Robin dai, I love You, I love You. Can you teach me how to play the guitar".

Robin Tamang, band leader and vocalist of Robin 'N' Looza, proprietor of Bamboo Club, father, husband, and perhaps Nepal's first 'rock star'. During the photo shoot in the gallis of Patan, several, i.e. SEVERAL, fans came with 'exercise book' in hands asking for autographs. An extrovert on stage, Robin has 'cool' oozing from his fingernails. Clad in black, Robin towers over his fellow Nepalis and commands the attention of his audience, his peers, and even strangers Robin has successfully walked that thin line between cool and aloof. And perhaps that is what makes him a star – awesome but out of reach.

Summary of last 5 years
I've had the Bamboo for the last six years. My restaurant keeps me busy. It started off as a platform where I could play my music. Now it makes me enough money so I can take my wife and daughter to France. My wife, Helen is from Bordeaux. So there is the restaurant, there is my music, and then there is Tara, my daughter.

At home with my girls
Tara is four years old. She was conceived here and born in France for practical purposes. 

I met Helen here in Kathmandu. She is an artist, an independent thinker, and she gives me my personal freedom – something I need. We've worked around a lot of things – for instance it is difficult for her to live here and at times it was hard. We asked ourselves: should we move to France? But once you're over there, it is a different world. You're back into the world of institutions. I've been married for six years. We got married in Pokhara with close family and friends around.

We don't have any 'servants', we don't believe in having any. We have a two-storied house and there is a lot to keep us busy at home. If Mommy is tired, I entertain Tara in the garden with her bicycle or just play with her. But my daughter just started school, so Helen has some time for herself now. She does things like hunting for old furniture–she literally knocks on peoples' doors and asks if they have any really really old furniture they would like to get rid off. Then she brings them home and we fix them together – new hinges, new doors, hammers and nails.

Mom leaves and my brothers too…
I was born in Singapore and then my family moved around. We were in Brunei, Hong Kong, England, and finally I went to Canada for my university. I have two older sisters who are both married. One is a nurse and the other teaches at Lincoln High School and has a six-year-old son, who Tara is very fond of. When Mom died, I was 12, my oldest sister had completed her nursing degree but she put her career on hold and took care of everyone in the family. She was Mom to all of us.

Mom had a brain tumor but we didn't know about it. It all happened so suddenly - one day she was complaining about headaches, and a few days later she was in a coma. Then in '82 my older brother died in a plane crash. He was a pilot. And in '92, my oldest brother, who was a doctor, died.

I am the youngest in the family. My siblings were all musically inclined – each of them knew how to play an instrument – they were very supportive when I decided I wanted to pursue music, even though I had a degree in Mechanical Engineering from a Canadian college.

Back in the Ghetto
I've lived in shit holes in Canada. One of them was in Seaton St. – a ghetto in Toronto with the junkies and the hookers and the streets kids. There was always a lot of activity in the neighbourhood - drug deals gone bad, hookers getting beaten up, I saw everything go down. At the same time I had a restaurant uptown in a pish-posh area. The two neighbourhoods were at such extremes.

There were drugs. Common' I owned a nightclub. Drugs take you out of the realm of reality. You forget your fears, your insecurities. All of a sudden you respect the senseless world that surrounds you. But this is just an illusory respect. If you think about it, you started on the 'trip' to get away from the bs…. so it's kind of idiotic to be 'high' and all of a sudden go "yeah it's all cool"… Nothing has changed in the world. The only difference is that your brain is working under the influence of chemicals.

And I am glad I did it all. I pushed myself through some extremes but in the end I know myself, I know my capabilities. But not everybody can ride out a drug habit. The drugs take control so easily – you loose your soul. You can't write, you can't think, you're addicted, you're chemically dependant. But I don't preach 'Quit'. All I can suggest to those who genuinely want to, is – change your lifestyle, your friends, and your situation, change your state of mind and you will change your reality.

Sober in Buddhachowk
It got to a point where I had to leave Canada. So I changed my situation. I sold my club, and came to Nepal. I went straight to Pokhara, a place called Buddhachowk. At that point, I was 33 years old and I'd been to Nepal only once before, and that too before I was
a teenager.

The thing is, we are all looking for individuality. But we don't know how to be creative. You do drugs to be 'cool' but some choose to stay sober and be 'cool'. It's important to know where you stand. Some latch on to art, sports, books. The point is, if you're not active in one form or another, you're complacent, you're ordinary.

I spent a year and a half working with Prerna, a NGO focusing on empowering HIV+ve individuals. Prerna organised Kathmandu's first AIDS concert, HOPE Concert at JP High School in Thamel. The issue of AIDS is very close to me. I have had loved ones die of AIDS.

I do what I do best 
Now that I have my music, my business and most importantly a family, I am learning to plan ahead. Both me and my wife are learning to plan ahead. Now it's about our lil' daughter. Financial security for her is important. Her school bills, her injections.

But my general attitude is go with the flow. I do what I do best. I play music.

The journey Home
It's funny because, being raised outside the country, I perceived the 'Nepali family' as a perfect entity. But that was an illusion. More and more often you hear Nepali kids saying, "my parent's don't understand me". But that works the other way too. Kids don't know their parents. Parents set themselves so far apart. And the older you get, the more you understand your parents are NOT Gods. They're not super-human like they want us to believe they are. They make commitments, mistakes – in fact many mistakes.

I understand my father better – we have a great open relationship. But when I was younger, it wasn't like that. I had a great deal of respect for him, but I put him on this pedestal. He was an officer in the British Army. He was respected everywhere we went. But in the end, he was just a British mercenary working for minimum wage.

Growing up overseas, I thought all Nepalis were equal. But I found out that it is not true. In Canada, no matter what caste you were, there was always an enthusiastic greeting, "Oh bhai, bhat khana jau". But here because my surname is Tamang, I am treated a certain way.

I think we should take every Nepali outside of the country once in their lifetime. They will suddenly be conscious of their skin color – they will realise that their skin color is different and they will appreciate fellow Nepalis. When I first came here, I was blown away – after being discriminated in the west for the colour of my skin, it was a shock to come here and still be discriminated against. The caste system is entrenched in our society. That's the downfall in our society – no unity.

When I have to deal with officials here, I take off my earrings, put on a topi, and do namaste. Image has everything to do with how people react to you. I change my image according to what I'm dealing with. It all comes down to one thing – people discriminate because they don't understand. So I present myself according to the situation.

I am a non-violent guy. I would never pick up arms. But since the recent Iraq crisis, I go to WAR everyday. It's pretty amazing how you can sit in your living room, smoke a cigarette, and watch this guy on TV run around while bombs are going off in the distance.

But with music you can break the social, political and economic barriers. For instance at my concerts, the kids, whether they are junkies or rich upper class kids, are all jumping around together. At that point it doesn't matter if you are bahun or bhote.

* This article originally appeared in issue #88, April 2003