On the outskirts

Had this been in Kathmandu, I would have thought it was a weekend, mistaking the laid-back steps of country life for Saturday lethargy.

I would say it was a Thursday afternoon. Or maybe it was Wednesday. Had this been in Kathmandu, I would have thought it was a weekend, mistaking the laid-back steps of country life for Saturday lethargy. The clear December sky was letting the sun breathe without the hindrance of clouds that had gone missing since the start of winter. And whatever cold remained untouched by the sun became more and more powerless as I briskly walked on. I had taken a bus which stopped for lunch at a place called Sano Bhanjyang, much to my dismay, because where I needed to get to was just one more kilometre away. People referred to Sano Bhanjyang as a small ‘bazaar’, and perhaps the term market makes for a scant translation. To be honest, even bazaar implies an Indian notion of a market and ‘bajar’ with a ‘j’ is what Sano Bhanjyang really was.