All this while, it was right there. Like a shoulder pad on the map. Quiet, innocuous, making its appearance in our legends, zooming in and out whenever we thought of the mountains, and patiently waiting for us. It took us a long time to get there and the time we spent there was nearly not enough, but it was the right choice. Just one month after our visit came the terrible earthquake, striking at the heart of the places that held us in awe. Place: Kathmandu. 3 days. The husband and I. A dreamlike retreat. The agenda: To connect over dal bhat and momos, walk aimlessly, gaze at the mountains and if time permitted, nirvana. The first evening, I was on my own and google told me Thamel was where I needed to be. It was the biggest shopping district that I had ever seen or hoped to see. I was lost within minutes. I was hungry and went in search of some local food. There were hundreds of shopkeepers telling me what I needed, viz. shawls made of cashmere, pullovers made of cashmere, bags made of cashmere, toys made of - you guessed it, lingerie made of felt (yes, this is a thing), scary masks and a trip to the Annapurna range. None of them offered any food. Finding local food in Thamel was not a trivial task. One, Nepalese cuisine could refer to Tibetian, Newari, Pahari or a dozen other local cuisines. Two, the streets of Thamel were filled with cafes that insisted on being European. I desperately wanted to try the Newari cuisine. Because that had the selroti which looked so like a kodubale! After an hour of walking, I found myself in front of a huge place located in an alley that was within an alley that was within an alley that was... Everything, from the name plate to the menu to the posters to the customers, was Chinese. No one spoke any of the two and half languages I spoke. I put aside my quest for Newari food and pointed at momos. They came steaming hot along with chop sticks. I asked for a fork. The waitress did not understand. I gave the sticks a try and the momo promptly disintegrated. A man who was sitting at the next table saw my struggle and came over. He gestured as if to ask if he could teach me. I nodded yes. He took another pair of chopsticks and showed me how to use them by popping a momo into his mouth. I caught on and managed to gobble down a few before he could attack my plate again. He laughed. Everyone else in the place laughed. I was forced to join in. By the time I paid for the momos, the streets outside had fallen deadly silent. Apart from a few stray cats and shop keepers hanging outside their shops, there was no activity. I hitched a ride back in a taxi, trying to give landmarks to a taxi driver who understood not a word of what I said. The similarity with India fast disappeared and in those dark lanes, I found the phoren country I was looking for. The next day, we visited the Durbar square. This square has the greatest density of Unesco world heritage sites. A guide convinced me into hiring him for a tour. The square is surrounded with stunning pagoda style temples, palaces and museums built by Newar craftsmen. We started with the Kumari Bahal, a three storeyed courtyard that is the residence of the living goddess. The living goddess is a 9 year old girl belonging to a particular clan, chosen as the goddess by the priests. Every day, for a couple of hours she makes an appearance from a window where tourists can get a glimpse of her face and pray to her; she is taken around on a chariot during festivals while the whole town waits on the sidelines for a fleeting look; her picture is put on fridge magnets and postcards. When she hits puberty a couple of years later, a new goddess is chosen, the picture on the post cards is updated and she is sent back to her previous, mortal life. And you thought Audrey Hepburn had it rough in My Fair Lady. The best part of the square was the mix of Hindu and Buddhist architectures. The guide took me to each of these and threw a lot of random information my way. A sample of the things I was told – The Jagannath temple that had erotic sculptures from the Kamasutra, was where children came along with their parents, to learn about sex before being married off at the age of 8. The Hanuman statue opposite this temple had its eyes covered, because he was a bachelor and looking at erotic poses is a no no. The police station is next to the Kalbhairav temple because he is the god of justice and keeps the police honest. The tall pillar inside one of the temples cured people of orthopedic problems, all they had to do was rub the joint that hurts against it; it will however not work for me because I had no faith. What made the visit to Durbar Street worthwhile, was the scores of pigeons and the souvenir shops. Thangka paintings were the hot item followed by meditation bowls and Dalai Lama’s original design of the meditation mandala slapped on all kinds of stationery. We bought a painting of the durbar street, as it was a few centuries ago. At the end of the tour, the guide earned his full fee by turning out to be a Newari. He took us to his favourite lunch corner in Indra Chowk where mouth watering mung bara, masu bara and spicy aloo were made in a corner tucked away from the touristy streets. We discovered the brilliance of spicy food and ice cold water. Some more walking and café hopping in Freak Street and the neighbouring markets rounded up the day for us. The next day was our last day. We went through our list of things to do. We skipped the Boudhnath stupa, the Pasupathi temple and the trip to Bhaktapur. There simply was no time to waste in commute. Instead we went to the monkey temple. The monkey temple, like the ones in Durbar square was a mixture of Buddhist and Hindu deities. Served with a liberal sprinkling of monkeys. The expansiveness and openness of this place was charming beyond words. It is perched on top of a small hill. Any direction you turned, you would have either a view of the Himalayan ranges or an alleyway selling paintings of the view of the ranges. Any temple that doesn’t require you to take off your shoes or force you to fold your hands and pray to a deity is a winner in my books. It was more a place to congregate. Locals and priests doing puja. Tourists clicking photos. Kids coaxing their parents to buy them coca cola during a break of hide and seek. Monkeys grooming each other. A communal place indeed. We spent the afternoon just loitering around. We heard the Tibetian chant ‘aum mane padme hum’ for so long that we were lulled into buying a cd. I have not been able to get it out of my head till date. We headed towards Thamel for some more of the Newari food. Our favoured place this time was a small nook in the basement of a house. It satisfied the husband’s need to go to some place vague and I was just happy to finally see food. We plonked ourselves there and ate our way through chatamari (flat bread made from rice flour topped with meat, vegetables and eggs), chura (beaten rice made like chat), alu tama, chuela (fried meat that’s like a cutlet) and dal bhaat. All for less than 200INR.
It had started to pour, but we continued. One hour later, weighed down by 5 shopping bags and an umbrella that did not keep us dry, we gave in to the lure of the Himalayan café. Accompanied by some hot chocolate and marshmallows, I finished reading Looking for Alaska, while the husband went in search of wifi. The rain eased and we walked around until we got to the Mandala Street in Thamel. This was the answer to everything we wanted at that moment. Cafes, pubs, live music and the smell of pastries mingled with the smell of rain. Ever noticed how when you have so much choice, you end up not choosing at all? That was us, for an hour. We eventually made our way through some pies at Pumpkin café, thukpa at the Yangling, noodles at Sam’s club and settled down for the night with some beer at Zibro resto bar. The live band played soft rock and reggae in front of a large painting of Bob Marley. The mountains visible through the window and the soft lights over our table provided the back drop. It’s amazing how a single Bob Marley painting sets the mood of a place. We flew back home the next day having made the acquaintance of a city that is real and unreal at the same time. The mountains, a constant reminder of all that was real; the shopping streets, of all that was made just for tourists. To us, Kathmandu will always be this heady juxtaposition of nature, culture and showmanship. We promised ourselves we will go back soon, this time closer to the mountains and do more than just hunt for good food.
1 Comment
hayko
23/6/2015 08:47:01 pm
A hunt for a good food is always a good thing to spend time on. Although a time trap in itself. So did the agenda work out? food? connect? aimless walking? mountains? nirvana? :)
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Aishwarya KalakataThe loss of and search for individualism has never been felt more acutely. Everything changed after I had a kid. But this blog is not about me being a mom. It’s about the things I do when I want to stop being a mom. It’s about telling myself that it is possible and that it is ok. It’s about my little escapades. Mostly travel - sometimes physical, sometimes mental. A desperate bid to stop my identity from being rolled into a single word. CategoriesArchives
March 2021
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