Enveloped and Embraced

~ ~ ~ मेरो त भगवान हराएको छ, मन्दिर गएर कसलाई खोजौं ? ~ ~ ~

~ shuvangi ~

It has been years since I've found myself seeking at Basantapur. Over the years, I've grown familiar to the lanes here. I have vague memories of me typing and discarding notes I have written about the place - with an ever present hint of melancholy plastered around d the edges of each letter. I've spent many afternoons embracing the blaring horns, the squealing tyres, the soft murmurs of passerby's, the whiffs of dried spices and meat that find me in every alley. On those afternoons, I am away from my playlist. I don't need a mellow voice crooning a song on coming home when I am in these streets. Because this is where I've found my home.

~ ~ ~ "चिया खाने हैन?" भनेर सोध्न नथाकेकी दिदी र नाइँ भन्न नसक्ने हामी | ~ ~ ~

~ sudip ~

Basantapur is a stranger to me. A stranger who stays put as if he knows I'll come find him either way. A stranger who will ever so kindly open his arms to me, put my pieces together and make me whole on my own. A stranger who will see me walking down his alleys every alternate afternoon and turn on all the street lights so I find my home. A stranger whose breath reminds me of strong tea and makes me wonder if he has a favorite tea shop.

~ ~ ~ भत्किएका सपनाको सिरानी ~ ~ ~

~ jimba ~

For every tree I pray to, for every stone shrine I worship and every window I bow my head to, Basantapur has an answer. Even on red painted bricks that are tickled by dust, and splattered with vermilion, Basantapur has my name carved in my favorite fonts. Basantapur always has a seat for me in it's park benches. Basantapur also has tree shades enough for me and my daydreams. And even though I fear steep staircases, Basantapur has kept my childhood dreams safe at the top.

~ ~ ~ घामको सुन्तला, बादलको बरफ ~ ~ ~

~ saras ~

My father's hands guided me through many alleys and streets here. My mum told her childhood tales to me fondly, each time we walked these streets. Both of them still do the same. They take me to shops, introduce me to new corners that remind me of things I can't correctly remember. My aunts have fed my hungry stomach one too many times in these streets. I remember sitting near one of the shops with my father on a warm Saturday afternoon and watching an artist from afar. I remember wrapping my arms around my best friend in a park bench that fit us perfectly. I remember us dancing with the pigeons under the umbrella of a clear blue sky as our feet jumped in and out of puddles.

~ When in Kathmandu, find me. Not like I was waiting to be found. But like you were trying to get lost too. ~

~ rupesh ~

Even now, with all the broken walls, bricks and windows, Basantapur is beautiful. Even with all the clutches and bandages that hold together the roofs and walls of all that Basantapur is, it has never been this strong. And even though my afternoons through this place are tragic and I never have enough tears to wash away the smoke and dust from my skin, I shall not stop finding my home here. I shall not stop finding myself here and losing myself all over again.