An Interview with Shrestha Sarmila
It does not have to be said, but I’ll say it anyway: it has been a very difficult time for the world since the last time we connected in the pages of this magazine. There are days when each of us runs the gamut of emotions, from ‘this feels like the end of days’ pessimism to cautious, but growing optimism that real change is finally coming.
Usually for these interviews, I try to find and speak to changemakers in our communities—the social entrepreneurs who employ refugees or women around the globe; the politicians with agendas meant to save our children, schools, or cities; the educators asking tough questions and shaping our collective consciousness; the artists expanding our perspectives; the people on the frontlines who push us all to do and be better.
This time around? I just wanted to find someone who makes me happy and interview them. Some would call it fluff—I was calling it a bit selfish. But I was determined to follow this editorial path whenever it may lead. Over the course of the many hours spent social distancing and self-quarantining this spring, in an attempt to stay positive, I made a list and titled it: What Makes Marian Happy? On that list was Shrestha Sarmila, co-owner of Himalayan Curry and Grill in downtown Lancaster. Why was Ms. Sarmila on my happiness list, you may ask? We don’t even know each other well, beyond our quick two minute greeting when I pick up a delicious bounty of takeout food. But, in those two minutes, Ms. Sarmila has always greeted me by name and cared for me like I was her long-lost friend. She was my happy interview. If I could feel two minutes of such happiness during a quick dinner pick-up, was it possible for us to spend 60 minutes basking in feelings of joy?
Both of us donning face masks, our interview began with Ms. Sarmila sharing the story of her past and her family, growing up in Kathmandu (the capital of Nepal). She is the oldest of five children, in a family she describes as extended yet tight. Her mother was a housewife and her father a successful export/import businessman, until he experienced a fall during which he lost consciousness for months and did not recover for years. After the accident, her mother went to work knitting sweaters for sale, and Shrestha began teaching typing classes at a local college. At 16 years old, she became the main breadwinner for her family, which included a sister who lived with epilepsy and severe scoliosis, a father who needed to be cared for, and younger brothers who had to continue their schooling (which meant fees and uniforms).
Many years before, a neighbor had taken her to a local international hotel and introduced her to the world of tourism and the exciting possibilities it presented. Shrestha always remembered that introduction to the world beyond, and decided she would continue working as a typing teacher and caring for the family, but would also attend hotel management classes. She shares that she “worked hard, loved her work, loved meeting people, loved helping people. I was so happy.”
It’s at this moment that I share a story with Shrestha that I have actually told before in the pages of this magazine—it is one that bears repeating. I was late in my appreciation of Himalayan Curry and Grill. The restaurant opened on E. Orange Street in 2012, and many friends had been effusive in their praise of the food and charming atmosphere, but it was not until 2016 that my daughter and I finally visited for their lunch buffet and the restaurant quickly became a family favorite. As we departed from the restaurant—giddy from the high of delicious food—we encountered a man looking through a trash can in front of the restaurant. “You don’t have to do that,” we heard the owner, Shrestha, say to the man. She handed him a menu and asked, “What would you like?” As I am retelling this story to her many years later, I still tear up remembering her kindness. “Oh yes,” she tells me. “That man came by every day for many years. Every day, I would hand him a meu and every day he said the same thing—chicken. I always offered him a menu, so he knew he could get what he wanted. I have not seen him for many years.” She then turns from me and looks out the big bay window toward the street, searching for him, frowning with worry.
By Marian Pontz
