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.


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