Step Into My Shoes..

Ah Kathmandu, five years I lived away from you and five years later you look exactly the same and yet you feel different, like a lover I left in pursuit of another. You're still dusty, may be more. You're still crowded, may be more. You're still chaos. Still scary. Still lovely. You fill me with memories and yet you make me want to escape again. For the first few weeks, I never left the company of my family. I never went anywhere unaccompanied. I grew up in Kathmandu and yet I had to be reintroduced to many places and habits. The second I stepped out of the comfort of my home, I had to remember to put on a mask, both for the pollution and for coping with this sudden change in lifestyle. I had to mask my disgust at the condition of the roads, I had to mask my surprise at my sister's warning about being careless about my phone and my zip-less bag, I had to mask my fright at the leering men at every corner, I had to mask my discomfort at the ease with which...

I carry these big bags they call tote. And more often than not, they get filled with stuffs both necessary and unnecessary. It happens so that whenever I'm packing before going out (and it's almost like I'm going out for at least a couple of days), I go through an episode of uncertainty, always being unsure about whether what I'm carrying is useful or whether I am missing anything out. This is the reason why I have to rush back home at least once, once I leave the house, and that pisses my Mom off more than anything(not as if she doesn't forget her glasses, like, almost every time). I have to carry the basic stuffs like my wallet, earphone, a lip balm, a wad of tissues, a rubber band, a hair pin or two, umbrella, a flashy raincoat (which is totally unnecessary with that umbrella but I kind of like it and the umbrella is mostly for when it's scorching hot) and a bottle of moisturizer, given my dry skin. I also carry a bunch of key chains (my lovely collection...