Mazing Kathmandu

by SABHYATA TIMSINA

FROM ISSUE # 167 (November 2009) | IN THIS ISSUE
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The Kathmandu Valley must have been a majestic sight back in the time of Prithvi Narayan Shah. Within seconds of having set eyes on it, he decided there was no other place that was worth more. A perfect amalgam of natural and architectural beauty, Kathmandu was a gold mine in more ways than one.

People say it looks much the same, and it does in some sense. For it's not places that change, it's the people that inhabit them, the stories and memories of their lives there, and the traces they leave behind. We can't make anything of this place without its tea-time chatter, clanging bells, the sound of small running feet against the red-bricked pavements playing bhettai or the smell of momos being steamed in a nearby pasal.

For our forefathers Kathmandu was 'Nepal'. Making a living here ensured status. In their times, life meant just that. But in between life's responsibility calls, our dads still had time to chase after lassies outside PK campus, some of whom are our mums today. Ladies shied away from the Bagmati river banks, in fear of coming eye to eye with men taking a dive in their kattus. That was what leisure meant. And if you had a cycle back then, you had everything. Times were different then, but life did happen.

Our lives are different. We know of things far beyond the plummeting hills of Kathmandu. But we have stories to tell of our time here too. Every time you get on a bus and watch the city pass by, places and people remind you of a nice time you had with a friend, and sometimes even of how a plate of chana chiura tasted on a particular day at a particular place.

Prithivi Narayan Shah looking upon Kathmandu Valley up from Nuwakot

And it's always been a small world here. Our mothers used to know every phalano and dhiskano. Even now for us, it's difficult to cross a street without exchanging a few friendly glances, or stopping to chat with some friend of a friend, or inviting ourselves to tea at a neighbour's house. And the meat of the conversation through tea is sure to be about somebody else the two of us have in common. These are occasions when Kathmandu feels like home, times that prove we are still a very much connected city.

Sometimes though, the city seems to be frighteningly asleep. The way people dose off at a transit, intoxicated by the flight but half alert, careful not to miss their next ride. Most of us are here, but what good is that when we'd rather be in a pretty fairyland glass dome somewhere else? We can spend our lives here complaining about this and that and expecting more out of this city. Or we can decide that this is as free as it gets and make the most of it. Our choice.