I have walked the very street from Ason to Indrachowk for almost all my life. During Dashain, for shopping, while coming back from meeting friends. But whole my life, I had only noticed the crowd – pushing and pulling, shouting and screaming, the colorful clothes, the bags, the utensils and the mannequins. So I never missed house. whenever there would be some constructions going on, I would wonder what laid before the soon-to-be-made building. I couldn’t remember.
The houses on this very street weren’t homes at all. They were merely buildings with faded memories, almost lost stories. But today, as I walked home alone, the houses breathed new life. There were no mannequins, no clothes hanging over the windows. They were shut instead and I could finally see the intricate designs on the buildings – the wooden windows and the crafted railing on the bardali. I started noticing hidden gallies and chowks that otherwise were lost beneath the people and shops. And children running across the street, sounds of TV shows coming from the rooms. And that made me think that these houses still have souls. They are still homes. They are still alive.