Sight
The smog that surrounds us is so thick it covers the beauty of the mountains and leaves me wondering what they would look like without the pollution of the city. The buildings are high and between them are scores of electrical wires hanging low enough to touch. The roads are a combination of dirt, rocks, and piles of garbage, which make it hard to walk in the night.
My favorite place to visit is the rooftop of our building, which gives me a small glimpse of the outlines of the closest mountains. There’s a peace on the rooftop that takes me away from the city noise and the 52 squadmates that share this building with me. Here I look out and see numerous buildings that remind me of pictures I’ve seen of Greece. There’s a beauty in the business of the city from this height that has quickly turned it into my solace this month.
Walking around the city the locals stop to stare with curiosity. The same elderly woman says hello each morning – hands clasped together, head slightly bowed, with a large and friendly laugh. I walk past the street with rows of prayer wheels that the Buddhists spin each day and see men on bicycles with baskets of bright, fresh fruit. Stray dogs are everywhere, begging for food and attention.
Sound
Each morning begins with the same sounds – a combination of the honking horns and the barking of dogs. Our neighbor is expanding his house, so the sound of hammering combines with these other sounds before breakfast only to stop during the day before picking up again when the sun goes down. In the city we hear a mix of voices, with young men’s loud calls of different locations, hoping to have us jump into their already packed vans and buses. When we do my ears are blasted with load music in Hindi or English.
Touch
Dust covers everything making me remember India as a dust-free place, though I know that was not the case. With a limit on the amount of water we can use, showers are a distant memory and I can only ever remember feelings dirty. Fortunately it’s cold so sweat isn’t added to the many layers of what needs to be cleaned.
Buses are our prime mode of transportation, and the crowdedness of them makes it so there’s always somebody in contact with me. Personal space doesn’t exist. It becomes normal to have strangers sitting on either side of me on a two-person seat, their legs smashed over mine. The rides are often long and bumpy, with sudden stops and quick turns rocking us into each other. The open windows bring much-needed swoops of fresh air across my face to cool me down.
Smell
The burn of smoke in my nostrils is a consistent smell that I’ve come to associate with the city. The smoke comes from fires that burn away piles of garbage the locals make to get rid of their daily trash. It adds to the dust in the city and I wonder if this is where the smog comes from.
As I walk past the countless shrines to different Buddhist and Hindu gods I smell burning incense in the offerings that are given. The overwhelming smell of frankincense is at almost every corner.
Taste
We have fresh fruit with almost every meal – oranges are often my fruit of choice, with the sweet and fresh flavours reminding me that fruit always tastes better abroad. We have our own kitchen, and take turns cooking for ourselves. The different foods we eat bring me back home and I’m always grateful for a team that can cook such a range of food. The traditional Momos I often eat are meat-filled dumplings, with a range of spices.
The traditional Nepali dinner I was invited to at my neighbour’s house is a 4-course meal. We begin with peanuts and what I can only describe as shrimp crackers. Next they bring out chicken that is tender and spiced to perfection. Our main dish is rice, dal, potatoes and cauliflower, and chicken curry. For dessert we have vanilla yoghurt with a ball of dough that has been soaked in sugar for a day. The meal spans several hours with each course being a surprise, and utterly delicious. My belly is full and I have to convince them I cannot eat another bite before I leave for the night.
