TESTING TIMES
Sita Tharu, 23, paid Rs. 5000 to hire a jeep in early August, and made her way back from Bansghari, Bardiya back to Kathmandu where she works as a daily wage earner. When she arrived at her rented house in Dallu, Kathmandu, the landlord refused to let her back. “The landlord and our neighbours started behaving like we were criminals because we had returned from the Tarai recently, “ says Sita, “They threatened to call the police if we tried to enter our house and demanded a negative coronavirus PCR test.”
Today Sita woke up early to make her way to the Teku Hospital in Kathmandu and has been queuing up since 4 AM to get tested for COVID-19. Nine hours later, at 1 PM, they called her name and took her swabs. After this ordeal today, Sita still has to wait another three days to get the test results.
Today Sita woke up early to make her way to the Teku Hospital in Kathmandu and has been queuing up since 4 AM to get tested for COVID-19. Nine hours later, at 1 PM, they called her name and took her swabs. After this ordeal today, Sita still has to wait another three days to get the test results.
OF KILN AND KINSHIP
In Satungal, Hira Brick Factory is quiet and deserted. On non-lockdown days the area is busy, and the kiln’s big chimney throws out black smoke as far as the eye can see. Around the factory are small one-roomed brick huts where workers live. These paper-like houses are narrow, dim and without proper ventilation. Jamuna Rokka, 26, lives in one of these huts with her daughter Angel who is 28 months old.
In Satungal, Hira Brick Factory is quiet and deserted. On non-lockdown days the area is busy, and the kiln’s big chimney throws out black smoke as far as the eye can see. Around the factory are small one-roomed brick huts where workers live. These paper-like houses are narrow, dim and without proper ventilation. Jamuna Rokka, 26, lives in one of these huts with her daughter Angel who is 28 months old.
Rokka used to work at the brick factory but is unemployed and without much support. Monsoon is an off-season for brick factories, so she had hoped to work as much as she could before the rain arrived. However, the pandemic and lockdowns meant that she was left without work. Now she has no savings or other means of income. Her boss at the factory has given her an advance in her salary, which she is using to support herself and her baby. Rokka’s husband, Sagar, lost his job as a waiter in Saudi Arabia when the pandemic started. Sagar cannot return home because he can't repay the loans he took to leave for the Gulf.
Rokka puts a brave face, and she smiles as he talks but admits she is struggling. “I can’t go back to the village because of travel restrictions,” says Rokka, “And even if I made it back, the loan sharks will come to ask for their money back.” Rokka hopes that the lockdown will be lifted so she can resume work after Dasain. “The stay at home orders are a vacation for people who can afford it, but for the poor like us, it is worse than a prison sentence.”
DUCK AND COVER
The chaos and violence that erupted after the police intervened in the chariot festival of Rato Machchhindranath could have been easily avoided with prior planning and discussion. The inner alleys of Patan were suddenly transformed into a war zone, with local youths pelting stones, using catapults and vandalising infrastructure. The police used water cannons and tear gas shells to disperse the crowd.
The most irresponsible act from the protesters was publicly lynching a traffic police personnel, videos of which has been making rounds on social media. Some of the youths were deliberately enticing violence and the scuffle between the two sides went on for almost the entire day. A few locals, police officers and even journalists and photographers were injured in the incident.
I feel disgusted at a few acts of unnecessary violence and utter lack of humanity shown by the youths yesterday. While I think the police could have taken a different approach rather than trying to suppress the demonstration using water cannons to begin with, the Jatra organising committee could have taken a proactive approach to prevent the ill fated violence. It was a really unfortunate day and personally concluded, "We deserve the government we have."
The chaos and violence that erupted after the police intervened in the chariot festival of Rato Machchhindranath could have been easily avoided with prior planning and discussion. The inner alleys of Patan were suddenly transformed into a war zone, with local youths pelting stones, using catapults and vandalising infrastructure. The police used water cannons and tear gas shells to disperse the crowd.
The most irresponsible act from the protesters was publicly lynching a traffic police personnel, videos of which has been making rounds on social media. Some of the youths were deliberately enticing violence and the scuffle between the two sides went on for almost the entire day. A few locals, police officers and even journalists and photographers were injured in the incident.
I feel disgusted at a few acts of unnecessary violence and utter lack of humanity shown by the youths yesterday. While I think the police could have taken a different approach rather than trying to suppress the demonstration using water cannons to begin with, the Jatra organising committee could have taken a proactive approach to prevent the ill fated violence. It was a really unfortunate day and personally concluded, "We deserve the government we have."
CHASING X-MAS
"Christmas has always been full of mystery to us. While we used to flock to the restaurants and clubs in Thamel as teenagers, we always wondered what goes into the actual celebrations during the festival. We got to experience it first hand in a small protestant church tucked in the narrow alleys of the outskirts of Gwarko, Lalitpur dwarfed by the sprawling suburb. The ‘Protsahan Methodist Church’ has 150 members in total but only around 50 attended the event today.
The highlight of the event was the performances of children depicting the birth of Jesus Christ in a dance drama. Shanti Praja, 22 trains the kids in dance, music and stage performance. She has been a member of the church for 12 years. “The celebrations start in the morning with the National anthem followed by our prayers and few words from Pastor. Then the floor is open for everyone to showcase dance, plays, songs, poem recitation and even jokes.”
Originally from Makwanpur, Shanti lives in the vicinity and apart from her studies, she is also training to be a teacher. She spends her weekends in the church helping the children with their studies. The church had been closed due to the COVID-19 lockdown and it recently opened its doors to followers. Few of the attendees were in the church after a nine months long hiatus. It might also be a reason for many to celebrate."
"Christmas has always been full of mystery to us. While we used to flock to the restaurants and clubs in Thamel as teenagers, we always wondered what goes into the actual celebrations during the festival. We got to experience it first hand in a small protestant church tucked in the narrow alleys of the outskirts of Gwarko, Lalitpur dwarfed by the sprawling suburb. The ‘Protsahan Methodist Church’ has 150 members in total but only around 50 attended the event today.
The highlight of the event was the performances of children depicting the birth of Jesus Christ in a dance drama. Shanti Praja, 22 trains the kids in dance, music and stage performance. She has been a member of the church for 12 years. “The celebrations start in the morning with the National anthem followed by our prayers and few words from Pastor. Then the floor is open for everyone to showcase dance, plays, songs, poem recitation and even jokes.”
Originally from Makwanpur, Shanti lives in the vicinity and apart from her studies, she is also training to be a teacher. She spends her weekends in the church helping the children with their studies. The church had been closed due to the COVID-19 lockdown and it recently opened its doors to followers. Few of the attendees were in the church after a nine months long hiatus. It might also be a reason for many to celebrate."
THE RECYCLER
Ram Pravesh Prasad’s store in Teku is all crammed with junk metals, plastics, electronics, and furniture. There is no available space, and all corners are stuffed, there are things lying on top of other things. Visitors are met with constant banging and a heavy dust fills the air of the store.
Prasad has been a recycler for 38 years. Originally from Motihari, Bihar, he calls Kathmandu home. He raised his family in the city, and his son goes to college. Furniture, electronics, plastic ware--Prasad has a knack for repairing things. He says people just don’t want to mend anymore, they’d rather throw it away. “Everything in the world is of some use, even trash, one just has to have an imagination,” he says, “If it weren’t for recyclers like us, Kathmandu would be covered with heaps of trash”, says Prasad.
The nation-wide COVID-19 lockdown has been especially hard for Prasad’s business. He has had to remain closed for more than four months. His family is not eligible to receive a relief package from the government because they are not Nepali citizens. “What I worry about the most is this is just the beginning,” says Prasad “The aftershocks of this pandemic will last for a long time, especially for small business-owners like us.”
Ram Pravesh Prasad’s store in Teku is all crammed with junk metals, plastics, electronics, and furniture. There is no available space, and all corners are stuffed, there are things lying on top of other things. Visitors are met with constant banging and a heavy dust fills the air of the store.
Prasad has been a recycler for 38 years. Originally from Motihari, Bihar, he calls Kathmandu home. He raised his family in the city, and his son goes to college. Furniture, electronics, plastic ware--Prasad has a knack for repairing things. He says people just don’t want to mend anymore, they’d rather throw it away. “Everything in the world is of some use, even trash, one just has to have an imagination,” he says, “If it weren’t for recyclers like us, Kathmandu would be covered with heaps of trash”, says Prasad.
The nation-wide COVID-19 lockdown has been especially hard for Prasad’s business. He has had to remain closed for more than four months. His family is not eligible to receive a relief package from the government because they are not Nepali citizens. “What I worry about the most is this is just the beginning,” says Prasad “The aftershocks of this pandemic will last for a long time, especially for small business-owners like us.”
NO TAX ELASPE
"On the last day to pay taxes, the Inland Revenue Office in Pulchowk, Lalitpur was in full swing The office was crowded and disorganized. A bottle of hand sanitizer here, few people with masks there, and not much social distancing. What was most worrisome was that the service seekers were licking their stamps and sticking them on their application forms.
The wait was long, and I didn’t want to fiddle with my phone, so I walked around to explore. That is when I met Jamuna Thapa, 43 in a quiet corner of the office compound with deposit vouchers and a token on her hand, waiting for her turn. “It’s scary to be in that crowd of people, you never know who is infected. I have my family at home, I don’t want to take the virus with me,” Thapa told me.
Jamuna runs a photo studio in Manbhawan, Lalitpur and was hoping that the government would extend tax submission during the pandemic, but that did not happen. There hasn’t been much business lately as photo studio is a non-essential service. Thapa supports her husband, son and in-laws and worries that the studio may have to shut down and the financial loss they suffered during the lockdown will never be recovered."
WRATHFUL DEITY AND PANDEMIC
‘Bhairav’ is known to be a wrathful face of Lord Shiva in Hindu mythology and is dreaded to penalize humans with disasters and pandemics. That’s one of the reasons why the locals argue that the annual festival of ‘Pachali Bhairav Jatra’ must go on regardless of the current pandemic situation. This week, the chariot of the wrathful deity was paraded amidst lesser fanfare by volunteers clad in yellow Personal Protective Equipment (PPEs) with attempts to maintain physical distance. The procession even paid a courtesy visit to the Living Goddess in the Kumari Ghar. The Newars of Kathmandu who are well known for their elaborate Jatras and functions, had to be content this year with the make-do procession. There was a mix of joy and angst in the atmosphere, with many elderly people also attending the festival. There were masks on most people, few in places where they are supposed to be. Meanwhile the festival of Dashain has also already commenced, so has many similar celebrations in the community.
Many of the Jatras have already been postponed and some are being organized in smaller capacities. Sanu Maharjan, 47 a local participant says, “We can always celebrate the festivals next year if we remain alive and safe from the Coronavirus but we cannot also let go of our tradition that has been going on for centuries. We will have to find a middle ground.” Where the middle ground lies, differs from opinion to opinion.
May we all be protected from the ire of the mighty Bhairav this year.
‘Bhairav’ is known to be a wrathful face of Lord Shiva in Hindu mythology and is dreaded to penalize humans with disasters and pandemics. That’s one of the reasons why the locals argue that the annual festival of ‘Pachali Bhairav Jatra’ must go on regardless of the current pandemic situation. This week, the chariot of the wrathful deity was paraded amidst lesser fanfare by volunteers clad in yellow Personal Protective Equipment (PPEs) with attempts to maintain physical distance. The procession even paid a courtesy visit to the Living Goddess in the Kumari Ghar. The Newars of Kathmandu who are well known for their elaborate Jatras and functions, had to be content this year with the make-do procession. There was a mix of joy and angst in the atmosphere, with many elderly people also attending the festival. There were masks on most people, few in places where they are supposed to be. Meanwhile the festival of Dashain has also already commenced, so has many similar celebrations in the community.
Many of the Jatras have already been postponed and some are being organized in smaller capacities. Sanu Maharjan, 47 a local participant says, “We can always celebrate the festivals next year if we remain alive and safe from the Coronavirus but we cannot also let go of our tradition that has been going on for centuries. We will have to find a middle ground.” Where the middle ground lies, differs from opinion to opinion.
May we all be protected from the ire of the mighty Bhairav this year.
DELIVERY NINJAS
The threat of coronavirus outbreak and the subsequent lockdown from March 24 this year has brought services in Nepal to a screeching halt. However, the nation’s recently blooming online delivery sector has been given a unique and powerful impetus to hit the accelerator after they have been allowed for home delivery of grocery items during the lockdown period. Joining the bandwagon is ‘Khaanpin’, a previously established service for online delivery of food in Kathmandu with an attention to the safety of both its customers and staff.
A day at the office is busy these days, with phones ringing and computers buzzing with orders from different locations in the valley. Two delivery persons, dressed in white PPEs check the order list and pin it onto maps on their phones; ready to navigate nearly empty streets of the city to deliver food and other essential groceries to the doorsteps of customers. A white van filled with orders for the day make trips all round the clock, calling clients and making sure all the orders are delivered in time and to exact precision.
From birthday and anniversary cakes, ready made coffees, frozen momos to bare essentials like rice and pulses, name it and deliveries will be made at your doorstep. They also accept POS payment through cards or even mobile wallet transfers to prevent spread of contamination through hard currency. “If we didn’t start doing online deliveries, business would have died. We had to reinvent ourselves to keep afloat,” says Shaswot Adhikari, founder of 'Khaanpin'.
THE DRIVE TO LIVE
Deepa Budhathoki, 32, is a Safa Tempo driver who drives the New Road-Baneswor 6 KM-route. Originally from Gaighat, Udaypur, she has been a Safa Tempo driver for 12 years and used to make an average of 8 trips every day pre-pandemic. Driving the tempo has given her financial independence and joy. Her husband works in Saudi Arabia, but she was not dependent on him. Budhathoki earns money to pay off her loans, pay rent for her room in Baneswor, and support her brother and daughter.
Deepa Budhathoki, 32, is a Safa Tempo driver who drives the New Road-Baneswor 6 KM-route. Originally from Gaighat, Udaypur, she has been a Safa Tempo driver for 12 years and used to make an average of 8 trips every day pre-pandemic. Driving the tempo has given her financial independence and joy. Her husband works in Saudi Arabia, but she was not dependent on him. Budhathoki earns money to pay off her loans, pay rent for her room in Baneswor, and support her brother and daughter.
This changed when Nepal imposed a nation-wide lockdown in March. Her tempo was in the garage for five months. Now she is unable to repay her loans and is struggling to pay her rent and worries about how she will pay her daughter’s school fees. “I am fortunate that my husband has been able to retain his job and can help us survive, but it is difficult to sustain a life in the city,” says Budhathoki.
In July, Nepal lifted the nation-wide lockdown. Budhathoki took her tempo out after five months and was roaring to go. Soon after the country opened, the rate of infection surged again, so the government shut down the county one more time. Last week She made her last trip and parked the tempo in the garage, “Even with the precautionary measures, we are at risk all the time and I really don’t want to carry the virus back to my family,” she says, “Who knows how long I am going to be out of work again."
MARKET RUSH
Spread over 5,000 square meters just outside the Ring Road circling Kathmandu Valley, is the Balkhu Fruits and Vegetable Market. Privately managed, this open bajar has over 450 vendors and sold 700 tones of fresh produce on an average day pre-COVID-19. “We have a sustainable system—the vendors sell most of their produce, the waste, about 10 percent, goes to pig farmers to use as feed,” says Resham Tamang, spokesperson for the market.
The vegetable market was thriving, and so were the vendors, such as Mohammad Jabahar, 67 from Rautahat (pictured), a district bordering India. When the lockdown was imposed on 24 March, Jabahar’s friends and neighbors left, while he decided to stay put. The vegetable supplies come mostly from the neighboring districts and have not stopped during the lockdown. The Balkhu market has stayed open. “I can at least keep working here,” says Jabahar. He says he feels safer in Kathmandu. "Besides, I would have to be in quarantine for two weeks if I traveled to Rautahat," he adds. However, Jabahar worries about his family. “We are a Muslim family, there have been false stories about Muslims spreading the COVID-19 virus in the Nepali and Indian media and it makes me anxious for my loved ones," he says.
Back in the Balkhu market, vendors are masked and gloved and busy on this 41st day of the nationwide lockdown. When the Kalimati Vegetable Market, the biggest fresh produce market in Kathmandu, closed due to the lockdown, buyers rushed to Balkhu. For now, the vendors are trying to maintain distance and the market has stopped selling smaller quantities of produce to minimize the crowd inside. “We start walking early morning to get here, sometimes police detain us," says Jabahar, "It is hard, but not doing business is not an option for us."
The vegetable market was thriving, and so were the vendors, such as Mohammad Jabahar, 67 from Rautahat (pictured), a district bordering India. When the lockdown was imposed on 24 March, Jabahar’s friends and neighbors left, while he decided to stay put. The vegetable supplies come mostly from the neighboring districts and have not stopped during the lockdown. The Balkhu market has stayed open. “I can at least keep working here,” says Jabahar. He says he feels safer in Kathmandu. "Besides, I would have to be in quarantine for two weeks if I traveled to Rautahat," he adds. However, Jabahar worries about his family. “We are a Muslim family, there have been false stories about Muslims spreading the COVID-19 virus in the Nepali and Indian media and it makes me anxious for my loved ones," he says.
Back in the Balkhu market, vendors are masked and gloved and busy on this 41st day of the nationwide lockdown. When the Kalimati Vegetable Market, the biggest fresh produce market in Kathmandu, closed due to the lockdown, buyers rushed to Balkhu. For now, the vendors are trying to maintain distance and the market has stopped selling smaller quantities of produce to minimize the crowd inside. “We start walking early morning to get here, sometimes police detain us," says Jabahar, "It is hard, but not doing business is not an option for us."
THE RICKSHAW DRIVER
Gopal Bishwakarma, 65, used to make a decent living from driving his rickshaw around the narrow streets and alleys of Kathmandu. Foreigners and Nepalis would take a tour around the city. He tried doing other things for a while—he sold vegetables and even worked as a porter but they were not for him.
In his 37 years, Bishwakarma has experienced many upheavals--Nepal bandhs, curfews, unrest due to Nepal’s war, but never before has he faced as difficult days as he has due to the pandemic. “I haven’t had a single passenger in the last five days,” he says, “To add insult to injury, police officials harass and beat us with their batons for violating lockdown rules.”
Gopal Bishwakarma, 65, used to make a decent living from driving his rickshaw around the narrow streets and alleys of Kathmandu. Foreigners and Nepalis would take a tour around the city. He tried doing other things for a while—he sold vegetables and even worked as a porter but they were not for him.
In his 37 years, Bishwakarma has experienced many upheavals--Nepal bandhs, curfews, unrest due to Nepal’s war, but never before has he faced as difficult days as he has due to the pandemic. “I haven’t had a single passenger in the last five days,” he says, “To add insult to injury, police officials harass and beat us with their batons for violating lockdown rules.”
Originally from Dhangadhi, Bishwakarma lives in a rented room near Lagan, Kathmandu with his wife and four children. They haven’t paid their rent since the lockdown began and have been relying on his meagre income. As we talk his mobile phone rings and he answers. His eyes light up because he learns about an organization distributing relief near Thamel for rickshaw drivers. “We are not beggars; we just want to continue our work.” While the government distributed 5kg rice, lentils, oil, and other essentials in the early days of the lockdown, that was five months ago and there has been no more relief. Bishwakarma adds, “It would have been long gone even if we ate a spoon of rice every meal.”
STRAINED CELEBRATION
Appeasing the rain-god without agitating the lockdown rules, the Kathmanduites today marked Indra Jatra within the restrictions of their own community spaces. Amidst the lockdown orders imposed by the government, the denizens devised their own ingenious ways of keeping up the spirit of the festivities. The people gathered around in small groups in open ‘chowks’ and ‘bahals’ with small chariots of the living goddess Kumari and paper masks of the ‘Lakhey’ to impersonations of ‘pulu kisi’ dancing around in traditional tunes.
This might be the first time in centuries that ‘Indrajatra’ has been cancelled. The festivals in the valley are not only religious celebrations, but also communal activities. However, the priests this year have performed different rituals and ‘Chhema: Puja’ which literally means “prayers seeking forgiveness”. As the Lockdown 2.0 extends yet again for the second time, maybe this mini celebration might bring a smile on peoples faces who are looking at an uncertain future ahead.
Appeasing the rain-god without agitating the lockdown rules, the Kathmanduites today marked Indra Jatra within the restrictions of their own community spaces. Amidst the lockdown orders imposed by the government, the denizens devised their own ingenious ways of keeping up the spirit of the festivities. The people gathered around in small groups in open ‘chowks’ and ‘bahals’ with small chariots of the living goddess Kumari and paper masks of the ‘Lakhey’ to impersonations of ‘pulu kisi’ dancing around in traditional tunes.
This might be the first time in centuries that ‘Indrajatra’ has been cancelled. The festivals in the valley are not only religious celebrations, but also communal activities. However, the priests this year have performed different rituals and ‘Chhema: Puja’ which literally means “prayers seeking forgiveness”. As the Lockdown 2.0 extends yet again for the second time, maybe this mini celebration might bring a smile on peoples faces who are looking at an uncertain future ahead.
FUMIGATION PARANOIA
Municipal workers and locals attempt to sterilise the neighborhood I live in, spraying disinfectants to whatever and whoever they find out on the streets to prevent the Coronavirus from spreading in the community. The disinfectant is chlorinated water in mild concentration as per the officials.
"Spraying or fumigation of outdoor spaces, such as streets or marketplaces, is not recommended to kill the COVID-19 virus or other pathogens because disinfectant is inactivated by dirt and debris", explains the WHO and doesn't recommend the action under any circumstances as it could be physically and psychologically harmful instead.
BANSHIGHAT
Everybody calls it Sukumbasi Basti (squatter settlement) but very few know the name of the place-Banshighat. The residents here also carry the tag of being Sukumbasis. Different reasons, different back stories and still united by a thread of belongingness.
They have always been neglected by the state, no matter who is in power. The only time they see any powerful politicians in the area is right before the election. The lockdown has a different meaning to different people. It requires people to stay indoors in their homes to maintain physical distancing, but what is a 'home'? Someone would say, 'Home is where the heart is' or is it 'Heart is where the home is'?
BACK TO BASICS
It is the second week of the Kathmandu-wide lockdown and I have made it a routine to out for groceries at 7 AM. As I walk my neighbourhood, I notice that the number of shops selling daily essentials has increased considerably. The government allows daily essential shops like vegetables and groceries to open for a limited number of hours every morning, usually, between 7 - 9:15 AM, so many businesses are diversifying what they sell so they can open during those times to keep afloat.
It is the second week of the Kathmandu-wide lockdown and I have made it a routine to out for groceries at 7 AM. As I walk my neighbourhood, I notice that the number of shops selling daily essentials has increased considerably. The government allows daily essential shops like vegetables and groceries to open for a limited number of hours every morning, usually, between 7 - 9:15 AM, so many businesses are diversifying what they sell so they can open during those times to keep afloat.
They used to be shoe stores, sunglasses shops, hair salons, laundries and mobile repair shops. The shopkeepers have put a big bed sheet to cover what they used to sell earlier and have set up shop outside. Most are selling fresh produce. “We have to continue to pay rents for our shops, whether we can sell or not,” says Shakuntala Chaurasiya in Kilagal, “We won’t have anything to eat if we don’t do alternative business.” Another elderly vendor, Maya Tamang agrees, “People rarely have enough money to eat these, we have to do something to survive.”
THE COIN GATHERERS
Over the Bagmati river beside the Pashupatinath Temple, a handful of boys are often seen in groups looking for coins along the riverbed. They walk around with ropes, at the end of each is a magnet, tied to attract the coins.
The river, considered holy by the Hindus, is an open sewage, and it gets worse during the dry winter months when the snow is yet to melt, and the monsoon is many months away. Every day, the thick and dark waters of the river bring with it flowers, worship leftovers, ash, wood, polythene bags, from the nearby ghats; a place where pyres are set up and bodies are cremated.
On this particular winter afternoon, the stench from the river, smoke from the pyre and the burning of incense sticks created an uncomfortable experience. Not for the coin gathering boys- they move about in the river and are focused on finding those coins. Kundan Giri, 18, has been doing this since he was 10 years old. He makes his way every day from Tilganga and gatherers up to Rs, 8000 every day from the coins collected. With the money he gathers, he supports his family of four.
He says he has saved Rs 9, 00,000, which he wants to use to buy a piece of land in his village in Samastipur, India. He was in his hometown for some personal work when the lockdown began and could not enter Nepal for months as the India-Nepal border was sealed. When asked whether regular exposure to such contaminated water has any health implications. He says he has not fallen ill yet, then he asks, “The water that flows in the river carries the faith of many who visit the temple every day, how can it be polluted?”
Over the Bagmati river beside the Pashupatinath Temple, a handful of boys are often seen in groups looking for coins along the riverbed. They walk around with ropes, at the end of each is a magnet, tied to attract the coins.
The river, considered holy by the Hindus, is an open sewage, and it gets worse during the dry winter months when the snow is yet to melt, and the monsoon is many months away. Every day, the thick and dark waters of the river bring with it flowers, worship leftovers, ash, wood, polythene bags, from the nearby ghats; a place where pyres are set up and bodies are cremated.
On this particular winter afternoon, the stench from the river, smoke from the pyre and the burning of incense sticks created an uncomfortable experience. Not for the coin gathering boys- they move about in the river and are focused on finding those coins. Kundan Giri, 18, has been doing this since he was 10 years old. He makes his way every day from Tilganga and gatherers up to Rs, 8000 every day from the coins collected. With the money he gathers, he supports his family of four.
He says he has saved Rs 9, 00,000, which he wants to use to buy a piece of land in his village in Samastipur, India. He was in his hometown for some personal work when the lockdown began and could not enter Nepal for months as the India-Nepal border was sealed. When asked whether regular exposure to such contaminated water has any health implications. He says he has not fallen ill yet, then he asks, “The water that flows in the river carries the faith of many who visit the temple every day, how can it be polluted?”
AAMO KO ROTI
Basantapur locals call her ‘Aamo’ and they throng to her shop to eat the rotis she makes. Savoury fillings of spiced minced meat, mashed potatoes are accompanied by the sharpness of the Aamo-made ‘achaar’. Tucked away in one of the small gallis of old Kathmandu, her hotel is dark, cramped, but surprisingly warm for a cold winter afternoon. Aamo, whose name is Phungo is in her mid-sixties, lives and runs her eatery all by herself. Two loyal local dogs follow her around everywhere she goes.
Originally from Ladakh, India, Phungo has run this eatery for more than 15 years–– selling roti, savoury fillings‘ tarkari, and she recently added ‘laphing, the spicy mung bean noodle dish, to her limited menu. She came to Kathmandu almost two decades ago via Khasa and has made the city her home.
She opens the place at around 11 AM, and is done by late afternoon. Phungo then goes shopping or supplies for the next day. She is active, lively, and pays very good attention to her customers. Phungo stayed indoors and couldn’t open her shop for most of the lockdown. She is open now, and does what she can to keep safe from COVID-19, “Who will feed me and my regular customers if I close the shop down,” she asks, “I will continue this hotel as long as I can stand on my feet.”
Basantapur locals call her ‘Aamo’ and they throng to her shop to eat the rotis she makes. Savoury fillings of spiced minced meat, mashed potatoes are accompanied by the sharpness of the Aamo-made ‘achaar’. Tucked away in one of the small gallis of old Kathmandu, her hotel is dark, cramped, but surprisingly warm for a cold winter afternoon. Aamo, whose name is Phungo is in her mid-sixties, lives and runs her eatery all by herself. Two loyal local dogs follow her around everywhere she goes.
Originally from Ladakh, India, Phungo has run this eatery for more than 15 years–– selling roti, savoury fillings‘ tarkari, and she recently added ‘laphing, the spicy mung bean noodle dish, to her limited menu. She came to Kathmandu almost two decades ago via Khasa and has made the city her home.
She opens the place at around 11 AM, and is done by late afternoon. Phungo then goes shopping or supplies for the next day. She is active, lively, and pays very good attention to her customers. Phungo stayed indoors and couldn’t open her shop for most of the lockdown. She is open now, and does what she can to keep safe from COVID-19, “Who will feed me and my regular customers if I close the shop down,” she asks, “I will continue this hotel as long as I can stand on my feet.”
THE COVID WARD
The staffers in the Covid ward in the TU Teaching Hospital look much more relaxed than they were a few months back, when the nation hit peak numbers of the infections. Though the chaos has subsided and the stigma surrounding the disease has mostly been eliminated, there was a somber silence in the ward. Few of the patients were having breathing difficulties and others simply looked jaded. The adjacent intensive care unit recently discharged its last patient but it has been a witness to continuous suffering and even a few miracles, it also seems to understand the job is not done yet. It's not over yet.
While those on the streets, in markets and in public vehicles appear to have already forgotten the pandemic; those who were directly involved in caring for the infected remember it as a nightmare that tested their limits both on personal and professional fronts. Many have even experienced the virus first-hand, most catching it while performing their duties. While the new cases continue to rise around the world triggering fresh measures to track and trace the virus amidst nascent vaccination drives, the health workers in the ward hope that they won’t have to face the similar situation from a year back. It's not just over yet.
While those on the streets, in markets and in public vehicles appear to have already forgotten the pandemic; those who were directly involved in caring for the infected remember it as a nightmare that tested their limits both on personal and professional fronts. Many have even experienced the virus first-hand, most catching it while performing their duties. While the new cases continue to rise around the world triggering fresh measures to track and trace the virus amidst nascent vaccination drives, the health workers in the ward hope that they won’t have to face the similar situation from a year back. It's not just over yet.
DEMANDS OF A THIRSTY CITY
Shyam Budhathoki, 29, does not have much free time. He migrated to Kathmandu from Gaighat, Udaypur some five years ago and specialized in a niche Kathmandu industry–Budhathoki builds water wells around Kathmandu, a city that does not stop demanding more water every year.
According to Kathmandu Upatyeka Khanepani Limited (KUKL), the entity managing Kathmandu’s water supply, Kathmandu's water demand reached 377 million litres per day in 2017 while the supply was just 120 million litres per day during the wet season and only 73 million litres per day during the dry season. Privately-owned wells and water supply tanks fulfill the rest of the water demand of the city. With the exponential boom in Kathmandu’s population, the demand for water in the city is high, and water well construction and maintenance workers like Budhathoki are high in demand.
Budhathoki works in a team of four and they take turns to go down the wells. Dry winter months are particularly busy as they dig up new wells and clean up old ones. His team could not work much during the COVID-19 lockdown but were able to acquire a letter of permission from the local government, which allowed them to travel and work in locations reachable by foot.
Water well construction and maintenance is not without risks. Budhathoki admits knowing someone who suffocated to death inside a deep well due to lack of oxygen. He doesn’t take unnecessary risks when he is inside. “Recklessness and inexperience lead to accidents,” says Budhathoki adding, “If you are in this for easy money, this is not the job for you–I worry about those who have entered the profession during the pandemic without proper training.”
Shyam Budhathoki, 29, does not have much free time. He migrated to Kathmandu from Gaighat, Udaypur some five years ago and specialized in a niche Kathmandu industry–Budhathoki builds water wells around Kathmandu, a city that does not stop demanding more water every year.
According to Kathmandu Upatyeka Khanepani Limited (KUKL), the entity managing Kathmandu’s water supply, Kathmandu's water demand reached 377 million litres per day in 2017 while the supply was just 120 million litres per day during the wet season and only 73 million litres per day during the dry season. Privately-owned wells and water supply tanks fulfill the rest of the water demand of the city. With the exponential boom in Kathmandu’s population, the demand for water in the city is high, and water well construction and maintenance workers like Budhathoki are high in demand.
Budhathoki works in a team of four and they take turns to go down the wells. Dry winter months are particularly busy as they dig up new wells and clean up old ones. His team could not work much during the COVID-19 lockdown but were able to acquire a letter of permission from the local government, which allowed them to travel and work in locations reachable by foot.
Water well construction and maintenance is not without risks. Budhathoki admits knowing someone who suffocated to death inside a deep well due to lack of oxygen. He doesn’t take unnecessary risks when he is inside. “Recklessness and inexperience lead to accidents,” says Budhathoki adding, “If you are in this for easy money, this is not the job for you–I worry about those who have entered the profession during the pandemic without proper training.”
THE MILL OF LIFE
If these were normal times, the markets all over Nepal would be bustling with activity. Dasain, the Hindu festival, which just concluded, gives the Nepali economy the yearly boost. Almost a third of the yearly consumption in Nepal occurs during this time, which puts production and distribution in high gear. But not this year.
Ratan Oil Mill, a small cooking oil factory in Chasaan, Kathmandu was set up 50 years ago. Every year in Dasain, Kiran Manandhar, 53, preps, stocks and organizes the production and distribution line. The mill starts extraction early at 4 AM and is done by noon, so as to avoid the hottest time of the day and give respite to the workers. Manandhar’s father established the oil mill and there used to be nine just in the Chasaan locality. Hidden away in the inner Kathmandu settlements, these factories provided oil for the locals but when the big oil factories came, it impacted the local oil mills. They started shutting down and now there are only three left. Manandhar has seen many difficult days and persevered, but he is not sure he will survive the economic hit of the pandemic. “Big companies might survive these difficult times, what about small cottage industries like us?” he asks.
Manandhar has already had to cut down on the number of employees. Although he is trying his best to hold on, his sales have plummeted. He says that the family business has survived for half a century because they have been able to adapt, but now, he is not sure. “We haven’t faced anything like this before,” he says, adding, “I don’t see light at the end of the tunnel.”
If these were normal times, the markets all over Nepal would be bustling with activity. Dasain, the Hindu festival, which just concluded, gives the Nepali economy the yearly boost. Almost a third of the yearly consumption in Nepal occurs during this time, which puts production and distribution in high gear. But not this year.
Ratan Oil Mill, a small cooking oil factory in Chasaan, Kathmandu was set up 50 years ago. Every year in Dasain, Kiran Manandhar, 53, preps, stocks and organizes the production and distribution line. The mill starts extraction early at 4 AM and is done by noon, so as to avoid the hottest time of the day and give respite to the workers. Manandhar’s father established the oil mill and there used to be nine just in the Chasaan locality. Hidden away in the inner Kathmandu settlements, these factories provided oil for the locals but when the big oil factories came, it impacted the local oil mills. They started shutting down and now there are only three left. Manandhar has seen many difficult days and persevered, but he is not sure he will survive the economic hit of the pandemic. “Big companies might survive these difficult times, what about small cottage industries like us?” he asks.
Manandhar has already had to cut down on the number of employees. Although he is trying his best to hold on, his sales have plummeted. He says that the family business has survived for half a century because they have been able to adapt, but now, he is not sure. “We haven’t faced anything like this before,” he says, adding, “I don’t see light at the end of the tunnel.”
