ONE OF THE MANY DRAWBACKS of living in a city such as Kathmandu is that its residents drastically lose touch nature. Given the limited number of parks and open spaces, Kathmanduites are increasingly choked. The city, with concrete structures built haphazardly, is home to burgeoning population facing myriad sorts of problems every day. The capital’s roads, unplanned and mismanaged, are putting up with not just smoke and dust, but also skyrocketing number of vehicles. Pavements are being encroached upon by vendors selling their wares, and only the remains of what used to be trees exist along the roadside. It is becoming unbearable to live in the urban nightmare Kathmandu has now turned out to be.
Of course, there are still things that a city dweller could be proud of – the splendid temples and rich cultural heritages. But even they stand in a decrepit and crumbling state.
How living a mundane existence in Kathmandu is taking a toll on my physical as well as mental well-being dawned on me when I once left the city’s hubbub and general chaos behind.
On a sunny autumn Saturday, a friend and I set out for a hike to a place famous among Valley folks who wish to take a break from hectic city life for some sylvan environs.
We were headed for Godavari, from where we planned a four-hour uphill trek to Phulchowki, called the ‘hill of flowers’ which is one of the highest points in Kathmandu Valley.
On our way, we saw many people with similar plans as ours. Families whizzed past us in cars and jeeps, young amorous couples on motorbikes giggled their way up beyond the city limits. For others who did not fancy the grueling hike, Godavari Botanical Garden was the place of choice for a cool Saturday.
We reached Godavari village after a short, winding ride. As expected, most of our co-passengers made their way towards the gardens. Knowing it could take us at least four hours to hike up the hill top, we quickly bought necessary supplies and some handy information from the shop lady. She said if we take a short trip to Naudhara temple, we could then find a shortcut to the top.
The morning promised a fine day with a brilliant sun against the blue sky. But the weather changed dramatically and dark clouds shielded the light. We feared the rain would play spoil sport. There was a light drizzle, but we still hoped it would subside soon.
Two girls who had been walking far behind caught up running in the rain, and we asked them for directions. After we reached the temple with traditional spouts that fed two pools in its premises, the girls smiled and just pointed us towards a meandering path up above the temple.
No sooner had we started our hike, the drizzle gave way to large drops of rain. We carried on. The trail had become muddy and slightly slippery, and it soon became obvious ti would be foolish to proceed further. We decided to return.
As we were coming down, a young couple was making their way up, hand in hand, heaving, their clothes, faces and hairs all soaked with rain, but they didn’t seem to care. They just took quick steps up not so much as throwing a glimpse at us while passing by.
We were telling each other how foolish it would have been to continue while drying ourselves under the awning of the temple when the two girls we had met earlier came outside. They gave us a smile; perhaps taking a pity on us. They pulled out their umbrellas, opened it, and set off once again. They had not even taken a few steps, when one of the girls tuned and offered to share their umbrellas with us. This was enough for my friend to run towards the two do-gooders. I followed soon after.
The umbrellas weren’t meant for two, so half our our bodies were soaked with rain. The girls said they were friends; but my friend, as he always needed to make witty remarks, said they could pass as sisters. This made the girls laugh a little and our conversation became lively. One girl was slightly chubby with long hair and a lovely smile. The other was slim and very pretty. My friend shared an umbrella with the chubby one and engaged in a rather colorful conversation, I managed some small talk with the pretty one.
The weather was indeed erratic (not erotic, as the girls and wrongly heard) and soon the rain stopped. After we came to the place where the van had left us earlier that day, my friend asked the girl out for tea at the nearby restaurant. They declined, inviting us instead to join them for a stroll at the Godavari Botanical Garden.
The weather cleared up and it was bright. The sunlight reflected on the rain soaked black-topped road. The botanical garden is where people come for picnics, recreation and family time amidst the wonderful greenery and assortment of flowers in full bloom. One can see many couples strolling about or sitting together holding hands under the trees, sometimes locked in tight embraces or stealing kisses. What the couples did privately at secluded spots in the garden was none of our concern. We would have certainly not come to this place if it were not for the girls.
We didn’t regret not being able to make it up the Phulchowki, though. Strolling along the promenade with the girls in the mild sun after heavy rain, seeing them splashing water at each other near the small stream, giggling and running, it was worth a missed hike. We went to the wonderful green house, adored the orchids and varied shrubs and marveled at amazing plants and trees with difficult names.
We watched a Nepali flick being shot, walking and talking, and occasionally commenting on the wonderful surroundings. Families and friends in large groups feasted, drank, laughed and took photos, lost in their own world. The days among flowers and trees, among the green lawns and ponds, strolling with new friends was indeed a pleasure!
Living in the city we invariably forget how it feels to pass time among natural surroundings. It was already becoming later for the girls; they had to head back home. My friend and I wanted to stay a bit longer, as it was pleasant just strolling, sitting on the grass, and watch other people go about their business. But then it was becoming late for us as well and since we were all heading back to the city anyway, we decided to get on the same van.
As the van gathered speed and left the botanical gardens far behind, there was certain quietness among the passengers, as if the calmness and the serenity of the gardens had seeped into them. We wondered how long it would be before the pristine beauty would be gone forever.
One look outside the window and the answer was all there: passing was the same kind of ugly houses and buildings that have completely defaced Kathmandu. And we hadn’t even touched the fringes of the city. We were approaching the Ring road. Paddy fields and open spaces were few and far between, and we knew it wouldn’t take much time for even these placs to be filled with things that make cities dreadful.
There are houses everywhere. Though the few built by the rich are a pretty sight with a certain sense of style, there is a sense that Kathmandu is swelling, its seams unable to hold back its ugliness. Though some outlying parts of Kathmandu Valley are still pristine and uncorrupted, it is only a matter of time that they too will be lost forever to concrete buildings, filth, dirt and pollution.
People will then stop going to places like Nagarkot and Godavari because they would have already brought the city to these places, and they, like we had planned earlier but without success, would have to hike up the Fulchowki or some other hills just to be close to nature and know their inner self.
