Vignettes of Nepal: Pokhara

The unrelenting torrents of the rainy season pelted down, being driven this way and that by the wind and fast moving clouds. The earthy smell of dirt and musty shops with their sidewalk stalls rose up around J. and I as we huddled under an awning, next to the rusty red door of a shuddered shop. The shopkeeper from next door, a stocky, dark-skinned Indian man asked us to come inside his shop and have a look around. At least then, he reasoned, we could look at his wares and we'd be out of the rain. No pressure, he told us, just have a look. We told him no. He politely repeated his offer and then disappeared back into his shop. Two girls, carrying small bags of bread, darted in behind him shouting, "Uncle, uncle." They emerged a few minutes later sans bread and disappeared into a storefront across the alley. 

The minutes ticked on as the rain continued unabated. The drain in the gutter began to overflow and a half-drowned rat scampered up on the sidewalk making a beeline for cover. The Indian man reemerged, offered us refuge again, and then resignedly sat on the stoop and lit a cigarette. He started to tell us that things since the earthquake in May (it was then September) had not been so good. He lamented that the media was painting it like there was so much damage in Nepal, but there wasn't really any in Pokhara. He paused as a truck and a few drenched motor scooter riders in flimsy ponchos whizzed by. 

Our Indian friend sighed wearily and took another puff of his cigarette as he continued. The tourists didn't come. The trekkers didn't come. Next month was the start of the busy season, he told us and even now there were usually more people buying things. Who knew if the tourists would come back? His boss, the shop owner didn't come to work anymore - what was the point? And he added, the woman who ran the shop next door hadn't been to work in over a month and he doubted that she'd ever come back. The money wasn't so good. The bags under his eyes seemed pronounced as he confided that he couldn't go back and visit his family in India. Still, he finished, the busy season was set to start next month. 

A free-roaming cow sidled up next to the building where the two girls worked, indifferent to the problems of Nepal. It lazily chewed its cud as it sheltered between the building and a tall sign. One of the girls we had seen earlier appeared. She watched us curiously and then, she noticed the cow. She stepped down from the shop entrance towards the cow who had moved a few feet. Making a reverent gesture, she began to pray as the rain dwindled to a stop.