Order Within a Chaos

“In all chaos, there is a cosmos, in all disorder, a secret order.” — Carl Jung

"Kathmandu is chaotic"—I grew up hearing and believing this. It often seems as if there are no rules here, that everything runs on its own terms. Traffic is a perfect example. The roads are narrow, there are barely any footpaths, and street vendors occupy half the street. Somewhere, always, there’s road construction, sewage repair, or a new water pipeline being laid. The city is messy.

But as I move around the city more mindfully, I’ve begun to notice something different—a kind of unwritten system. Amid the disorder, Kathmandu has created its own rhythm, its own way of functioning. Take traffic, for example. Everyone knows that motorbikes get preference at traffic lights. It’s not in the rulebook, but it works. Ironically, trying to strictly impose traffic regulations often creates more disorder than the chaos it aims to fix.

And then there's the strange system of signalling on highways, where the use of sidelights is the exact opposite of what’s done elsewhere. Who came up with that rule? Only God knows.

The roads are paved with beautiful cobblestones… until a water project digs them up. Then they’re repaved—only to be dug up again for underground electric wiring. Then comes a new internet system, then someone's septic tank gets blocked… and the process repeats. Oddly, nobody seems overly bothered by it. Why? Because there’s a kind of system within this cycle. It’s as if the city breathes through construction and repair.

Kathmandu's streets were not made for electric cars or SUVs. The city was built thousands of years ago—for walkers. Many alleys are barely wide enough for two people to pass side by side. For a car owner, this might feel like poor planning. But for a medieval city, it was intentional design. This city wasn’t built around vehicles; it was built around human movement.

There are a few wider roads in the city, but even those weren’t meant for traffic—they were built for chariots. Once a year, during certain festivals, these roads become ceremonial paths. This year’s festival season has already begun. To some, festivals mean ‘chaos’—blocked roads, congested traffic, loud music. But if you look more closely, the festival is actually cosmos. There’s deep cultural and religious meaning embedded in every ritual. What appears chaotic is, in truth, an ancient rhythm that continues to beat across generations.

Carl Jung’s words remind me to search for the order within disorder. Perhaps the failure to see that order is my own limitation. I’m learning not to rush toward easy judgments. What we call disorder is often just a different kind of structure—one we haven’t yet learned to understand.

Now, when life feels overwhelming or the city seems too messy to bear, I remind myself to look for the cosmos in the chaos. I may not recognise the pattern right away, but with time, it will emerge.