Sights in Kathmandu

Sunk in a blanket of murky yellow dust, lies the valley in January. I take a bus ride from Kamalpokhari to Kalanki. The bus is more than full. I hold another lady's bag because I am sitting and she is not. I cough throughout the journey. My body is reacting to the smog.

The conductor slides open the window behind my seat and directs people to go to the back and make some more space. Passengers complain. He is persistent. There are some more people now. A young guy is on his phone, 'Yes, we are trying to sign Priyanka Karki for the event.' Outside I see so many young people. Probably my age. It is clear who is running the country, keeping it together.

I look at those destroyed buildings and walls. A lanky house is being built attached to another eight-storied one. An orange traditionally styled house is still standing and I admire the kirana pasals still functioning on the first floor. I see a wedding reception venue, recently dusted and waiting for people to get married and hold a party there. Then there is a dark little two storied house. It looks abandoned in the middle of two bigger buildings full of life. The owners have probably moved on. I wonder if they collected any anudan. I wonder if they really really needed it. 

A guy zips up his pants after he relieves himself near Rangasala. Three girls back from their school jumpily chirp ahead. An empty bench on the sidewalk. Another one with a couple. 

The bus stops at Tripureshwor. No takers this time. The young fellow continues to talk about possible sponsors for his event. Another guy standing by the seat ahead of us surprises me when I realize he had been staring at me the whole time.

P.S Aajako chiya

Reverse culture shocks

So I have moved back to Kathmandu (more on my decision and excitement later). My journey from Qatar to Nepal was memorable in that I was already feeling like I am in Nepal. Here I was surrounded by people coming back. It was nice to see that people were going back. May be just for a little while or may be more, but it told me that people still believe in their country, believe in going back. 

But more eventful are the reverse culture shocks. I had to tell the passenger behind me to not to push my chair with his legs while he enjoyed his relaxed sitting position. Then it was simply strange to be stared at. This happened through the journey and even in the street I grew up in. There are new people in the street. Then there was also that time when my mom took me to distribution queue to put our name on the waiting list for LPG gas. Man there was no personal space. If you try to create one people will probably cut the line and occupy that space.

Then everything at home, well most of them, are smaller, older or more worn. Also, my mom wouldn't let me do the dishes because she feared I would use too much water. 

And, Kathmandu is really cold right now. Without the indoors heating system, I wonder how people manage to get work done. But again, it should be our second name, Resilient.