Stumbling through unknown London suburbia, I found it difficult to believe that within minutes I would find a living manifestation of a memory now idealized in nostalgia and as exclusively intimate as they come. Nepal was a long way away both in time and space and although I hated to admit it and struggled to resist it, the "out of sight, out of mind" ethos had taken its toll. So, when I eventually saw the make-shift HVP banner hanging with a Nepali-esque precariousness, what struck me most was the surreal symbiosis of those distinct characteristics with which I fondly remember Nepal now super-imposed onto an environment so uniformly familiar and yet so alien in its London anonymity. For a hall reminiscent of school plays or gymnastics or post-Holy Communion coffee held bright Nepali faces, the harmony of their language and huge containers of delicious Nepali food whose tantalizing and exotic aroma fused somewhat incongruously with the musty smell of a thousand dunked digestive biscuits.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, however, and was greeted with the ready warmth and generosity of spirit so abundant in Nepal, any disorientation I might have felt was quickly calmed; to be replaced instead by a sense of immediacy in terms of my position on Nepal. Here it was personified, talking to me, smiling and I remember feeling a marvelous objectiveness at seeing a memory take on a solid form and reviving me from a static, self-indulgent, wistful nostalgia. But more importantly, I recognized my role in maintaining the ideals of HVP and how my until then introverted, frozen perspective on Nepal could be transformed into part of a public, proactive cause. Perspective was the buzz word of the day for I saw generations of volunteers at the tables, both before and after my time and I realized how valuable a day such as this could be in pooling current information, contacts, experiences and ideas; knowledge both shared and unique. More than just providing a something-in-common ice-breaker or a forum for the squeals of clichéd backpacker camaraderie, the day unified complete strangers with a sense of belonging to a fine cause. It installed in initiates such as myself the responsibility of preserving the entity that provides volunteers with a genuine, philanthropic purpose and above all, for the students, the wholesome education, which they deserve. Towards this end, Dr. Shrestha who himself has become the epitome of HVP's indomitable spirit through his own defiant struggle against physical illness, consolidated ideals and history in his speech and aroused within us a sense of crucial involvement. To complement such essential idealism with practicality, Aarun Naik's and Christine Russell's reports on the progress of HVP-UK and the three schools were optimistic in terms of the continuation of Anglo support and of the recognition and acceptance which HVP is achieving in its communities. Such a diverse gathering of nationalities and ages reminded us that HVP is not confined to Nepal, not a trendy logo to take with you to university, not a package-deal charity holiday and, perhaps most overlooked, not just for a Gap year. Rather, I was struck by the sense of a tradition being nurtured through its formative stages and how helping at a grass-roots level in Kathmandu, Dang and Thali can transcend to ideals which address an international human and spiritual identity.

To the delight of all the food was eventually served and for providing such a treat, all involved must be congratulated. For myself, Indrayani, (now Thali) where I had been stationed as a volunteer, now gushed over the table as I listened with wonder to the two girls who had just returned from their stint at the school. I emerged from my rapture, hands once again happy to be dripping with takari and dal, to the familiar strains of Resham Phiriri; a song which every volunteer has heard and adapted with relentless frequency, but which always returns with the timeless poignancy of an old friend. The ensuing raffle yielded no fruits to our table, but I was not to leave the event empty-handed. For adorning the cover of the handful of cassettes on sale was none other than HVP's very own celebratory. Mr. Om Yogi has clearly hit stardom with his devastating looks, not to mention his dulcet tones and has propelled HVP into the limelight with some classic night-bus numbers. Ever since, if you listen carefully on a quiet night, you might hear the gentle lull of Om's reassuring harmonies drifting over Brighton suburbia. Thus, I don't hesitate in calling the day a success for afterwards I walked out into unknown streets replenished in ideals, dal bhat and song. What more could you ask?