Road rage | Readers Write | wavemag.com.np

The other day a friend called to tell me we were meeting at Basantapur to say bye to another friend leaving for the US. I have a religious mother—and bad graha and dasha, which means no bike for me. So I have to always travel by public transport, mainly microbus, as safa tempos are too slow and taxis too expensive.

There's little left of the road for a microbus after you count the pedestrians, animals, garbage, and people who park anywhere they please. As for the microbus, it's stuffed. "Ali milayera basnus na. Uthera jane ho? Aagadi khali bhai halcha ni, tehi samma ta ho." This is a regular part of the public transport experience. Then there are drivers with the need for speed, who weave, lurch, and race to the front to pick up passengers. Once, the microbus I was in nearly hit a boy as he dashed to cross the street. I was so spooked, I switched to safa tempos for a week. I don't know who to blame, the driver for his speeding or the kid who didn't look left and right before he ran across the street.

I usually get off at RNAC as far as the micro will go. But even before I can get to New Road Gate, I'm tripping over all the stalls and shops and all on the footpath, with the vendors loudly hawking things many of us don't need or want. Just try to reach Basantapur at your own pace. Impossible. The footpaths are too narrow anyway, but now life is made more miserable by all the stalls. Pedestrians walk on the street where they have more space, but this hampers the traffic. I feel an enormous hatred and anger towards the 'shopkeepers' most of the time. I don't want to purchase any of the items they sell, yet sometimes a long line of people backs up because someone is checking out the stuff for sale, examining and haggling. Sometimes I wish I could kick the stalls and walk on what used to be the footpath, and free pedestrians from the torment of being forced to walk slowly. Of course I would be instantly pulverised if I did so.

When my friends and I visited Pokhara, we found it extremely clean and less crowded. It was like heaven to be able walk at any pace. There were stalls on the footpath, but the footpath itself was wide, so it made no difference at all. People followed rules and the enforcers were strict. In Kathmandu, though, traffic rules are just formalities to us. You can park even in a No Parking zone. You can drive without a licence, and chances are you will never be caught.

It used to be that police carrying lathis wouldn't let street vendors set up stalls just anywhere. But since the andolan, people are getting away with a lot, as policemen are now afraid of common people. Sure, you can argue that these 'poor' folks, 'shopkeepers', have nowhere to go, but do they have to colonise the footpath? Is the footpath a grand mall for all? I do not even know where the problem starts—overpopulation, ignorance, lenient rules? One thing is sure, we can't go on as we are.

The little trip to meet my friends ended as annoyingly as it started out. We finished our chiya, and started heading home. At the night market I saw traffic at a standstill and walked further down to public transport, thinking 'suckers'. But when the khalasi in the micro made me sit as if I was on a toilet, again, how I wished for a bike!