As night falls on Kathmandu valley on a Saturday,
in a village nearby, the mothers are calling their children home
after a long leisure day under the sun and in the dust.
The smell of curries rises from the tin roofed huts,
whose walls and floors are painted with dung and mud.
The men get up from the little thatch
where they had spent the whole day shuffling cards.
The workers at a nearby construction site
have cleaned up and are now walking away.
There are drums beating and music playing in the horizon
but the retiring birds are the loudest and most melodious.
Tiny rain drops tease us and disappear, we look up
only to see the eagles gliding and still dominating the sky.
Nobody is hasty, nobody looks bothered.
They just seem to be going on with their routine Saturday evening
as night fell on Kathmandu valley.