Kathmandu is a defaced city at this time. We are expanding our roads. In the process, the encroaching houses, shops lining the roads have had to nibble off their faces. Side walks are all covered with rubble. During the day, sounds of electric breaking hammers or the manual hammers chipping away the concrete walls permeate the city. At night, empty roads with the sides filled with rubble and ragged tarpaulins making feeble attempt to cover the vast ugliness give a spooky feeling. I heard one person say the other day that at night the city looked as if it had been bombarded. In a defaced city, we live in filth and chaos. At least, this is the impression you might have if you just landed in the city from North America. But give it some time and the filth and the chaos will gradually sink in. You will recognize that in the dust covered lives of this city exact same humanity ticks with all its passion. There is an unmistakable order in this chaos. An order which people have a natural respect for and rely on.
The humanity is especially lively in the bottom echelon of the society. It is easier to connect to the people squeezed to inhumane levels in microbuses, sick people lined up to see a doctor in public health institutions, an uneducated man trying to open up a bank account, a patient's family trying to negotiate entry to the hospital ward during the day time in a public hospital, a fruit seller from Tarai trying to make some profits out of a mango sale: everyone pursuing basic instincts in the given circumstances. It is simple.
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