The Nation Across

Before stepping into the aircraft, I looked back at Sree who was just behind me in the queue. In unison we gave a loud unearthly whoop and laughed gleefully. For the past few hours in irregular intervals we have been doing the same (to the general entertainment of our co-travelers) and we will continue to all along the weekend. We were on our way to Kathmandu and could hardly believe it to be true.

It was a long awaited break. For Sree, from a hectic and tiring schedule and for me, from a long overdrawn spell of general lethargy. Yet the plans were made in less than two days. We found the tickets to be affordable, our schedules to be matching- a weekend that could be folded and packed neat and light into our backpacks with much room to spare for all the excitement.

Less than 500 nautical miles away from Delhi, Kathmandu hardly feels like a nation apart. But rarely are boundaries determined by distance. Rather it is the little white immigration form, the step over the yellow line, the scanning eyes of the official at the counter and the suspicious ‘departed’ stamp in his right hand that draw the line for you.

So expecting an uneventful one and half hours, we took our seats. The aisle seat next to us was occupied by a small man in the maroon garbs of a Buddhist monk who soon struck up a conversation. A Tibetan and a teacher of Buddhism, he had traveled extensively around the world and was now going to a monastery near the famed Boudahnath stupa in Kathmandu. When the food trolley came he asked specifically for the non- veg meals much to the bewilderment of our flight attendant. We eagerly jotted down his suggestions on our itinerary for the next two days. “Call me when you reach Bouddha” said he and put down on paper his number and name which was Du Ghe Rimpoche.(Dear Malayalam movie audience, you know what it feels like to stumble upon a Rimpoche, the first thing in a trip to Nepal!)

Unfortunately the next evening we waited for our Rimpoche at one of the entrances to the Bouddha in vain. The Bouddha, the largest of the Buddhist stupas in Nepal and an important centre of Tibetan Buddhism, is believed to be constructed around the 7th century CE by the Lichchavi ruler, Sivadeva I. It is about six kilometers to the East of Kathmandu and located on a major ancient trade route to Tibet. Without any panoramic view to prepare you beforehand, the magnitude of the Bouddha catches you unawares. It is a strange display of colours.
The towering dome of unblemished white dominates the scene. On top of it is the golden square tower with Buddha’s eyes gazing out form all the four sides and multicoloured bands of decorative flags stretching out in all directions. The shop windows and the monasteries that surround the monument form an eye catching display of red and gold. The hundreds of devotees and tourists form a constant stream of colours circumambulating the structure and branching out into rivulets that pour in through the entrances, brushing the prayer wheels and scattering into droplets at the base of the stupa. When we arranged the meeting with Du Ghe we had not considered the multiple entrances. Nor had we taken into account the fact that while his maroon robes stood out in the aircraft, here at Bouddha, it was almost the rule.

But I have deviated too much from the narrative now. Let me come back. A humble building in tones of peach, Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport is a world apart from New Delhi IG International Airport. This contrast in dimensions between the two capital cities continued to strike us throughout the visit. Ale, the bubbly little man, with a spring in his steps, was waiting for us at the airport and dropped us to the cab that would take us to Elbrus home in Thamel.

Through the badly lit small streets lined with single and double storey buildings our cab went. Our first sights of Nepal rolling past the windows into the slight chill of the night air. Not a soul was to be seen on the streets. The capital had gone into a tranquil sleep.