 |
|
Vignettes
by USHA RAI
| FROM ISSUE # 64 (April 2001) | IN THIS ISSUE | |||
 |
|||
 |
REFER TO FRIEND |  |
PRINT THIS ARTICLE |
A Winter Morning... A Bus Ride... A Walk Through Sundhara... King's Way... Patan Durbar Square... Sunset, Kirtipur... As I Write...
A white opaque morning. A myopic sight, before the sun filters in and clears the vision.
When you and me talk, our mouths become spouts of steaming kettles, sitting adjacent.
People on the window seats look like side profiles of passport size. My bones heave a sigh of relief, as I get down from a bone shaking ride.
Sundhara and Dharara. The 'ra, ra' still vibrates. Amidst the milling crowds the blind beggar's song pulls at heartstrings that has long stopped playing.
The broadest and the widest road (amongst the roads of Kathmandu. I've traversed so far). I guess, that's why it's called King's Way.
The public way is a bit narrower. It brings people together and creates serpentine traffic-jams.
The pagodas look majestic against a peacock sky. It rests, framed, beside four little Laughing Buddhas.
The sun peeps through his keyhole and throws a shaft of beam across Swayambhu.
The spotless white turns into inky-indigo curls, arcs, lines and loops, as my thoughts shape into words.