As winter approaches, an exquisite Kathmandu begins to appear. The days start with a chill morning, and by mid-morning, the sun shines bright over the Valley, sweeping away the fog that floats above the city. Almost every day, I am fortunate to witness the dawn unfold. To the north, the Himalayan range starts to be visible, the peaks first glowing red, then slowly turning white as the sun brightens up. The morning scenery is majestic and a form of blessing.
On my slow morning runs, I sometimes run through the inner towns, past small temples, narrow lanes, and old falchas. Devotees begin to appear with a Pooja thali, stepping out of their homes to worship the gods and goddesses in their neighbourhood. They have oil lamps flicker softly, and small offerings of rice grains, flowers, and incense.
I often see elderly people doing clockwise rounds around the temples. There is something calming about their steady pace. I like to believe that the gods and goddesses bless them with good health, happiness, and perhaps strength and well-being. Nearby, the old stone Hiti still flows with clear water. Some of it is collected and offered to the deities, continuing a tradition that has survived centuries.
This city wakes up much earlier than we think. By the time the Sun is visible, vegetable vendors are already arranging their stalls on footpaths and junctions, securing the best spots for the morning rush. Milk delivery vans have probably finished half their rounds. Joggers and walkers have already added a few kilometres to their day.
Mornings in Kathmandu are alive, gentle, and full of stories. You just have to step outside early enough to hear them. You just have to have the willingness to see a different Kathmandu.
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