Proud boy holding Spider-Man

Proud boy holding Spider-Man
Kathmandu, early 2003

Sometimes in Nepal when a house or building is built, the roof is left un-finished or half-done; columns and re-bar, but little else, in case more storeys want to get added later. These mostly-flat roofs make a great place to put up a clothesline, spread out and dry vegetables in the sun, or keep potted plants.

It was the tail end of winter—probably early February—when I took this photo. The air was still cool enough for extra clothes, but the winter sun brought a gentle warmth if you caught it directly. This proud boy was on the roof of his family's building, enjoying the sun with his mother and his new Spider-Man toy.

Behind him, you can see the fallow fields that later will be awash in the yellow flower of mustard plants. In the far distance, above the dark green hills surrounding the Kathmandu valley, you can catch a glimpse of some of the Himalayas.

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Update: Above is a field of mustard in bloom in Balaju.
Below is a photo taken on the same roof on a different day.
I'm unsure if that is a neighbor or a sibling

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Sushila and Sumi, friends

Sushila and Sumi, friends
Betrawati, 2002

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Cool morning in Manamaiju

Cool morning in Manamaiju
Manamaiju, Kathmandu, 2002

Friends and neighbors share a cool morning in Manamaiju. 

Walking through this area nine years later with a copy of this photo in hand, I was directed by neighbors to Alisha (above in the blue shawl), who now runs her own shop.

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Alisha (in yellow) and friends, in front of her shop in 2011

Update: I also recently ran across the photo below. Seems to be taken in 2002 as well, although on a slightly warmer day.

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Sogot on his grandfather’s lap

Sogot on his grandfather’s lap
Betrawati, 2002

This porch, tucked under the eaves of the front of the house, is a great place to rest from the sun (or rain), and just watch life flow by.

Friends, neighbors, and relatives walk by on the wide dirt path out front. 

In the mornings, sit here with a metal cup of buffalo-milk tea, blowing on it until it's cool enough to hazard a sip. Watch the children in their school uniforms, with their crisp white shirts and colorful ties, walking by from right to left, wool hats protecting them from the cool morning air. In the afternoon, see the same children come back the other way—now hatless in the afternoon's warmth—laughing and playing and chasing each other as they go.

On the far side of the path, eight steps made from large rocks lead down to a small path. You may hear the family's buffalo, or her newborn calf as you descend; reach out to give her a caring rub on her velvety forehead.

Forty meters on, beyond the rice field, feel the roar of the mighty Trishuli river as she crashes by. A deep, unending torrent of Himalayan snowmelt smashing and tripping and tumbling over boulders that survive only because they are larger than elephants. 

Half a kilometer beyond, the brilliant green forested hills of Tupche rise up steeply. They become grey, then greyer still, then suddenly black as the sun drops behind them and the valley falls into night.

All of this is taken in by Sogot, as he sits here
on the lap of his loving grandfather.

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Three sisters

Three sisters
Balaju, Kathmandu, 2011

While visiting Sanju’s family, I got to meet her downstairs neighbors—a trio of little girls—all dressed up in their school uniforms and ready for school.

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Rajendra, Rukmani, and little brother Khancha

Rajendra, Rukmani, and little brother Khancha
Betrawati, 2002

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Gayatri’s son

Gayatri’s son
Betrawati, 2002

[text below from a postcard I wrote on October 2nd, 2000]

"Gayatri and I were going to her office today; it's about an hour away, far up on one of the hills. She works for women's rights in Nepal. My aama (mother) here joined us for about half the way, then turned off onto a separate path to go see about a bi-see-quo (buffalo). Gayatri and I continued on—even though it was still early, only about 9:45am, it still felt like we were carrying the full weight of the sun on our backs.

The office where Gayatri works is tucked into the side of a hill, surrounded by green fields of millet. Inside it was nice and cool, and there was such a good cross-breeze that I was soon shivering in my sweat-soaked shirt. She and her co-worker Sangita prepared some tea for us which helped rid me of the shivers. They went about their work and I took the time to write. A little while later we ate the lunch that they prepared while Sangita softly sang along to a Nepali song on the radio."

(In the background of the above photo, you can see our neighbor seated in front of her house, stripping dried ears of corn of their kernals.)

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Gayatri, with her brother Ishoor, during a festival in 2000.

The make-up around Gayatri’s son's eyes is called kajal. You can see me holding a small tin of it below.

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Dipika and Deepak, sister and brother

Dipika and Deepak, sister and brother
Betrawati, 2002

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Three boys at a swing

Three boys at a swing
Tupche, 2000

Near a tributary to the Trishuli river, stood this swing where small boys took turns swinging. Swings are often built especially for the Dasain festival (celebrating Rama’s victory over evil spirits) but this swing may be there year round (I’ll check on my next visit). Usually Dasain swings are huge things about thirty feet tall. Made of four tall pieces of bamboo, they are arranged in a large square and tied together at the top. 

The tributary here is quite beautiful, running through large rounded stones. Crossing is by means of several rickety wooden bridges with an occasional small hop if you’re feeling especially adventurous.

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One such wooden footbridge.

Nisha harvesting

Nisha harvesting
Betrawati, 2002

When a rice field is ready to harvest it is drained and let to dry. Once the ground is hard, the grass is cut by hand. When it’s dry enough, a tarp is laid out and a large stone is placed in the middle. Swinging handfuls of the grass against the stone, the rice is separated off and gathers on the tarp. A child collects the clumps of grass and makes large stacks, which can later be fed to a family buffalo.

The sickle-like tool Nisha is holding is called a hi-shuh.

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Nisha, all but hidden in a field of rice stalks.