A Bideshis Slice of Life

Kathmandu, the chaotic, vibrant, ancient, Asian city". Some thoughts from EWB volunteer Crispin Underwood in 2008

Posted by Stewart Davies to South Asia, 10th July 2009, 6:58am

Kathmandu 08 – A Bideshi’s Slice of Life.

Kathmandu, the chaotic, vibrant, ancient, Asian city. 

Here it is a mash of the very old and the old, with rare splashes of the new. The very old takes the form of Buddhist stupas, said to be built by a passing Indian Emperor in 250 B.C., and Newary temples that share many similarities with ancient Chinese pagodas and palaces. These temples are a trifling 1000 years old - it’s also said that these designs originated here, travelled from Nepal, across Tibet, through Mongolia into China from these early times. The old takes the form of 1900 era apartment blocks, densely sandwiched together along perilously narrow streets, often with hop-scotch additions. The new on the other hand, takes the form of a full scale billboard or three at strategic, fully visible sites touting the values of the sexually alluring Orangeboom beer, Sunsilk Shampoo or the latest Yamaha R1 styled motorcycle.

The main streets are gritty. Rich Kathmandu valley dust fills the air, mixed with healthy doses of high sulfur, non-euro 3 compliant diesel fumes. Streets are chaotic: Vehicles do not usually speed, though there is a continual weaving, an ebb, a flow, a pulsing.... like a living organism. The line between one side and the other is not set - it constantly moves given the numbers, and the personalities, of drivers on either side at either time. Despite the apparent chaos, there is a strange kind of gentleness of movement. Drivers are somehow sympathetic to being cut off, pulled out on and more besides. Nepalis it seems, have a soft, resigned and immensely patient view of the trials and tribulations of life around them. Kids, old men, traditionally dressed women, motorbikes, scooters, cars, trucks, cows, bicycles, dogs, vegetable sellers, rickshaws, tuk-tuks, minivans, buses, a vehicle that looks like its been resurrected from a backwoods farm dump after 20 years.... Tuk-tuks (tempos as theyre known here) the size of a small station wagon crammed to the brim with lithe Nepalis. Pedestrians, and the ubiquitous Nepali horn, a compulsory adornment, to be used at any intersection, any cross street, any traffic light (of which there are few), any ticklish situation (of which there are many), at any pedestrian or at any time whatsoever....The scene is very occasionally broken by the appearance of a shiny UN Landcruiser or black diplomatic Lexus saloon, ferrying away a Government official or diplomat.

Back streets are a contrast. Narrow and windy, often a small car width wide. Despite this, big Indian Tata trucks pass down them too. Dogs live in the streets, they sleep soundly, seemingly unrousable to a full blast only a wheel away. The dogs listen out for horns - I was viewed with apparent disdain by a local dog after ringing the bell on the bike as he crossed my path - as if to say, what, move for you....get serious pal. In the back streets, bicycles reign... wheeled merchants with their distinctive calls to business - the fruit and vegetable sellers, the Indian scrap-metal collectors...the occasional ex-pat sticking out like the proverbial dogs testicles.....kids....groups of talking women. These pass by walled houses, their high exterior walls studded with broken glass set into the cement, small shop fronts, eateries, barber shops and butchers. Butcher shops in these parts are made of a couple of corrugated tin sheets, propped up on spindly timbers, over a rickety table. Usually tomorrows product is tethered to this table, in most cases an unfortunate goat. With no refrigeration you do get fresh meat...

Striking images abound....the garbage truck emptying its load down the river bank into the town river, a holy site....the beautiful woman immaculately dressed in a powder blue sari perched on a scooter passing by a refuse filled gutter and diesel belching soviet era tip truck.....school children in pressed white shirts, ties, skirts and long socks with spit polished black shoes and neat school bags...casual looking young males with slicked back hair and new looking motorbikes....the bicycle rider wearing full facial pollution mask....the tiny Maruti Susuki taxi, filled to the seams with sacks of produce and 4 passengers to boot...the army platoon, dressed in blue and black camouflage patrolling the road... the traffic cops, doing absolutely nothing at all, amidst a crammed intersection....a Buddhist stupa, resplendent with colourful, fluttering prayer flags, green grass, white adobe paint and Kathmandu eyes peering over the scene, protecting its devotees.

Ancient temples have been restored in seemingly incongruous locations...wedged tightly between concrete and brick apartment blocks, partly obscured by the ever present spaghetti junction of power lines, electrical cables and leaning power poles. The odd building seems to go for the tall, skinny and top heavy approach, with a small ground floor, and each progressive floor up seeming to bulge outward front the floor beneath, giving a somewhat comical appearance. Perhaps not so comical given that the UN has rated Nepal as the 14th highest earthquake prone country, and Kathmandu as ones of the world’s highest at risk cities to a serious earthquake. 

Back onto the bike and time to head into the afternoon throng. My tailored jeans, crafted in a 2.5 square meter shop from Indian cloth on a ancient singer sewing machine by a low caste, born again Christian tailor, for about AU$9.75, should just about be ready...

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