Sinamangal & Aroma of Barbecue
The surrounding looks gross and different. Decades old airport is tired,weak & fragile. The village in eastern hills appeal me its concrete jungle. The greenery scenic beauty with the tapestry of burgeoning real-sate affairs looks like invaders. Those empty play grounds now succumbed to bulldozers and, a new colony on raise repleting with modern conveniences. It looks Kathmandu underwent in big damn tectonic shift.
As I was about to turn left, I saw almost a dozen young villagers. Family in tearful eyes clearly visible, perhaps asking to stay back in home at least for Dashain. An every sons, with their dream to bring back prosperity and new hope are so firmed, gives no heed. The boys ready to bare all the encroaching heat of Arab summer. All the new hope for my motherland.
At the west, Nagarjun hill looks so beautiful. It tells me how reach it has become, a dense dark green jungle. Atop a white object is still visible. Since those early 90’s, I had some kinds of fairy tale about it.
In few minutes, The smooth pitched merge with 2 lane cracked ring-road, gracefully sleeping on cow dung. My eyes so desperate to see northern Himalayas but the beauty of Kathmandu is covered with billboards, displaying women adorned in gold jewelery, Cigarette proving once again the taste of success, erotic model provoking to taste Indra ’s Amreet, and lots of new brand Noodles. I was reeling through the visual feast of attractive billboard, I saw a glimpse of Sinamangal. Where I had spent some good bad days of my life. As I was about to reach the crossroad, the aroma of Sinamagnal barbecue goes through my nostrils. So compulsive, force me to taste it.
Hill Changes Color
Oh! Look my valley sand. Its sparking, scintillating as doing since thousands years ago. Quartz grains in gray sand seems like compressed and melted pieces of glittering diamonds. Once A huge lake reign this gigantic valley, time passed and mythic tells, Goddess Manjushree broke Chobhar gorge and drained away the waters to establish a habitable land. The remains of the huge lake is my Kathmandu.
The snaky highway of Kathmandu has story of ghoulish wreck. Narrow road, You have to watch your move and other side very carefully. As I reached near Little Angles School, I start recalling days when I used to visit to see one my cousin who was pursuing her High School degree. The school used to be in middle of field, as time has passed so fast, the whole area has became lavish. But still same cold fresh breeze spells out from Himalayas, pull you back to past, some unchanged story of Hatiban.
I was moving crossing the small bridge where a stream moves south to north, saw a Hiphop chick in loosed lowrider jeans with ipods, pushing the limit of the paint, revealing gleam looks of her pantie. The other spiky hair chaps, with a cap, wearing opulent pieces of jewelery around neck, with a trademark hollow denim blue jeans almost revealing the half of his butt and the unconventional oversize jeans crunch against the timberland shoes. The T-shirt was long enough to cover the entire torso. Both of them in The iPod earphones, slung around their necks so they could murmur together, giggling as they hear some hiphop songs.
Few Km. away from Hatiban, Into the road dashed, old men in threadbare sport coat, women with traditional newari dress and 7-year-olds with protruding bellybuttons ploughing with spirit. No matter what ages they are. The season has come to harvest the crops and enjoy the long awaited moment.
You go to the hill side, you see a wattle and daub house, roofed with rice straw thatch. I could make the living standard guess . Whether its terracotta tiles or metal roof or cemented, All reflects something. A decade ago, I have seen a lot of field around and more than enough straw thatch of a typical farm cum home. Its like you have hens, sheep, goats, cow, buffalo living just near you and of of course their waste turning organic fertilizer. A ground floor like storehouse, store your crops, maze and vegetables. The guest are beseated in the veranda of ground floor. You find no sofa or something you have right in your house. Just sit in handmade mat and enjoy the feelings. In side of the room, A wooden ladder take you 1st floor, usually find peaceful clean room and the kitchen at the topmost floor. A typical Newar’s house. The waste never to be wasted. Just few meters, you see reach field with vegetables. They dig it and pour all organic fertilizer. Do I see Jyapu here now? Jyapu in local slang, which literally means a hardworking deeds, is common term to refer the farmer especially from Newar community . The Valley Hindus tradition tells that laboring sacred Cow in the field invites cursed from Pasupatinath, which is Lord Shiva. Here Hindu discriminate Cow and Buffalo as different breeds. They scarified Buffalo in thousands but The cow represents religion. A well perceived Hinduism inside the valley and especially Newars enjoy it like anything.
I saw some remaining sands hill atop of rich muddy field. And few kids climbing up like a Everest mission. Its a playing ground where you have more fun if you fall down. It should have been those wonderful days as like I ran in Tribhesuwan Airport surrounding sand hills, I ran from the peak, like a 100m sprinter, steep down to the base, and get back ready for another small sand hill. I had no fear to be caught. There were no fence atop to stop me. There were no camouflaged troops with M15 machine gun to shoot me. I just kept running breathless running to reach the runway. Like, I had no fear swimming against high current of Tinau river. I had no fear losing myself. I had no fear reaching my dreams.
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