From Kathmandu to Kyatmandu

The people of Nepal are no longer “Nepalis”, we are now addressed by foreigners as well as each other as “Nepalese”. And Kathmandu, which may have progressed from “Kathmandou” or “Kathmandun” is in the process of christening itself “Kyatmandu” – looks like MS Word spell-check is winning this fight. So perhaps the physical manifestation of this re-birth is to be expected. And this make-over the city is giving itself, to be stating the obvious. However, as it is a “here, but not yet” it may permit its dwellers to appreciate and to anticipate.

Looking around Kathmandu these past few months, the 24-hour construction of yet another apartment, mall and cement structure, I wonder if we are the new Beijing - albeit without the economic leverage, the T-bills tucked under our belt and a Guangzhou to call our own.

Hammering, cementing and building like there’s no tomorrow seems to be the new motto for our city. The same words were used by college buddies, most of them Business and Economics majors, who had chosen the Middle Kingdom as their study abroad destination back in 2006. Rather than discuss interest rates, investments and bonds, they wrote to describe how the construction (or was it the re-construction?) of Beijing was taking over the city. They said they felt like they were in-between the ancient and modern worlds.

As I look around Kathmandu I wonder if we aren’t where Shanghai and cities as such have been for the past few years. This isn’t to say we are or we are not catching up, but to merely make a simple claim: Kathmandu is changing before our eyes. Everyday one more floor is added to an apartment. Every week yet another housing colony is devised. And every month Kathmandu is being caked in another layer of makeup that makes it harder to be recognized.

Of course by we, I mean those in our 20s. For others that have lived and loved this city longer have witnessed changes at a far more profound level, whereas people like me can only reminisce, thanks to the photos displayed at Bakery Café. I am struck by how orderly, clean and managed the city was in the fifties and sixties.

Sidewalks actually existed. Hawking, on the other hand, did not. Street lamps were lit. Tires, were not. And yet I am drawn to the fact that Kathmandu of then was exclusive to patrons, chamchas and the feudal lords themselves.

As I stare at the sleek slabs of concrete, shiny sheets of metal and depressingly bright paint, I wonder if this city will return to being a private club – only for those who can afford it, those who can flaunt it.

The nucleic nature of Kathmandu where private houses gobbled public land, where neighborhoods mushroomed and there were no skyscrapers to speak of has given in. Today, the emerging buildings seem to jest the sky as one building is built taller than the last. Suburban America designed post-WWII with its mass produced houses and lawns seem to be appealing to the Kathmandu-ites as much as the umpteenth floor-ed apartments of Hong Kong.

I, though, feel compelled to treasure the here, but not yet. As each hidden cove is squandered, my generation is perhaps that of the last to be able to meander down the maze of Mangalbazaar.

They say, the only thing constant is change.

So as City Centers, Civil Malls and United World Trade Centers make the Bishal Bazaar of my childhood much less appealing today, I appreciate the underground parking, the immaculately kept sidewalks (even if it only exists at the mouth of these buildings’ entrance) and the arrival of “Kyatmandu”.

But, there is no denying I will miss the old.

In the years to follow a few more Garden of Dreams will be created. Squares, buildings and restaurants will be re-built to recreate the air and atmosphere of ages gone by. But, they won’t be the real thing. An oasis is always surrounded by reality. The Garden of Dream is serene, but the blaring of the horns outside of its incredibly high walls can still leave you twitching.

So, for now, as one corner after another succumbs to the concrete jungle, I am neither dreading this nor looking forward to it. In the days to come Kathmandu will be shiny and perhaps some will add “sophisticated”. I, though, feel compelled to treasure the here, but not yet. As each hidden cove is squandered, my generation is perhaps that of the last to be able to meander down the maze of Mangalbazaar. Gallis will be declared UNESCO world heritage sites as well. Ason will soon lose (or possess a whole new and different sort of) charm to that which we enjoy today.

For those of us who are weary and wary of the modernizing Nepal that in order to modernize also has to murder, the “here” can be appreciated and the “not yet” anticipated.

sradda.thapa@gmail.com