Last week, the Newar Community, a well represented Ethnic community in Nepal, called for a Valley-wide Bandh in Kathmandu. For those of you who might have forgotten what a bandh is here, it is to Nepalis what a barbecue is to Americans, with the exception that instead of sausages and ribs, you throw cars and motorbikes into a fire. Bandhs are a means of protest by any group who wishes to get something off their chest. One day it might be a union, the next day, students, on yet another day it might be abused chickens organizing the bandh.
The effects of a bandh are well known. Besides paralyzing traffic in an entire quarter of town, it will force people to close their stores, valuable property is lost or damaged, all specifically designed to seal off traffic. A small bandh will more or less bring business to a screeching halt within a specific region of town. A valley wide bandh will cripple the entire city. The demands of the Newar Community? An independent state within the Republic of Nepal. They are quite serious about this too. How do I know? Yesterday was the first day of work I missed because of a bandh.
I had already heard of the Newars’ intentions from the week before, although mentally I was still geared up for work. It started innocuously enough. I rode my bicycle to the nearest chowk (intersection) at around six in the morning and quickly realized something was amiss. The Ring Road, Kathmandu’s answer to the Beltway in Washington, was completely void of any vehicles. Uh-oh, I am thinking, so this means my wife won’t be able to drive to work later in the day. The sight of an empty Ring Road is surreal, like something you would see in documentaries that depict mass migrations. Here were hundreds of people walking up and down the Ring Road with no cars, motorcycles, or buses to bump them off. Needless to say, this was also accompanied by an eerie silence, something you do not associate with buzzing Kathmandu. Silence in this town is not a good thing. Think about the killing fields in Cambodia.
I hopped off my bike and quietly snuck through the assembled crowd onto the Ring Road, hoping they would not show too much interest in a white guy pushing his bicycle. Right then I was resigned to the fact that there would be no work that day. Fine, let’s at least go to the gym and work out, I am thinking. We’ll sort out the work in issue later.
The Newars did a thorough job of preventing vehicles from entering the Ring Road. There must be hundreds of little dirt roads feeding into the Ring Road, and they shut off every one of them. At work, I call my wife to tell her she would not be able to drive that day. Later at the gym, a colleague mentions that the Embassy will be closed that day. That settles it, I am thinking, let’s call the wife again.
Later outside, I listen for protests or any signs of danger. A small group passes the Embassy, I patiently wait for them to leave, quietly pushing my bike on the sidewalk behind them. I make it back to the Ring Road with no effort and pass the pedestrians on my way to the chowk leading to my house. The crowd has now grown quite a bit, and again I hop off my bike and roll it through the crowd at one corner, eager not to attract any attention.
Later at home, the didi (nanny) has arrived! I wonder how the hell she did that. She also tells me that my wife actually walked to the Embassy.
Later on the roof of my house, I gaze at the masses walking down the Ring Road. I lean back to enjoy the sun, now welcoming the day off. Let’s have a beer for the Niwars, whether or not they do gain their independence.
The effects of a bandh are well known. Besides paralyzing traffic in an entire quarter of town, it will force people to close their stores, valuable property is lost or damaged, all specifically designed to seal off traffic. A small bandh will more or less bring business to a screeching halt within a specific region of town. A valley wide bandh will cripple the entire city. The demands of the Newar Community? An independent state within the Republic of Nepal. They are quite serious about this too. How do I know? Yesterday was the first day of work I missed because of a bandh.
I had already heard of the Newars’ intentions from the week before, although mentally I was still geared up for work. It started innocuously enough. I rode my bicycle to the nearest chowk (intersection) at around six in the morning and quickly realized something was amiss. The Ring Road, Kathmandu’s answer to the Beltway in Washington, was completely void of any vehicles. Uh-oh, I am thinking, so this means my wife won’t be able to drive to work later in the day. The sight of an empty Ring Road is surreal, like something you would see in documentaries that depict mass migrations. Here were hundreds of people walking up and down the Ring Road with no cars, motorcycles, or buses to bump them off. Needless to say, this was also accompanied by an eerie silence, something you do not associate with buzzing Kathmandu. Silence in this town is not a good thing. Think about the killing fields in Cambodia.
I hopped off my bike and quietly snuck through the assembled crowd onto the Ring Road, hoping they would not show too much interest in a white guy pushing his bicycle. Right then I was resigned to the fact that there would be no work that day. Fine, let’s at least go to the gym and work out, I am thinking. We’ll sort out the work in issue later.
The Newars did a thorough job of preventing vehicles from entering the Ring Road. There must be hundreds of little dirt roads feeding into the Ring Road, and they shut off every one of them. At work, I call my wife to tell her she would not be able to drive that day. Later at the gym, a colleague mentions that the Embassy will be closed that day. That settles it, I am thinking, let’s call the wife again.
Later outside, I listen for protests or any signs of danger. A small group passes the Embassy, I patiently wait for them to leave, quietly pushing my bike on the sidewalk behind them. I make it back to the Ring Road with no effort and pass the pedestrians on my way to the chowk leading to my house. The crowd has now grown quite a bit, and again I hop off my bike and roll it through the crowd at one corner, eager not to attract any attention.
Later at home, the didi (nanny) has arrived! I wonder how the hell she did that. She also tells me that my wife actually walked to the Embassy.
Later on the roof of my house, I gaze at the masses walking down the Ring Road. I lean back to enjoy the sun, now welcoming the day off. Let’s have a beer for the Niwars, whether or not they do gain their independence.
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