Kathmandu doesn’t always show you what you’re looking for. Sometimes you have to wander, let the city unfold on its own terms. That’s what happened today when I ended up in Durbar Square. I actually ended up in Durbar Square last week, but didn’t realize it.

It’s busy, like everything in Kathmandu—pigeons everywhere, motorbikes cutting across ancient stone paths, tourists with cameras, locals just trying to get through the day. But there’s something underneath it all. You can feel it. This used to be the seat of the Malla kings. The place where power lived. Now it’s a sprawl of temples, courtyards, carved windows, and time-stamped stone.

And then there’s Taleju.

The temple stands taller than the rest—walled off, quiet, and completely closed to outsiders. You can’t go in unless you’re Hindu. No cameras. No casual visits. It was built in 1564, dedicated to the goddess Taleju, the royal family’s protector. You feel that — the distance, the reverence, the mystery. Even from outside, it has a presence. Like it’s not really asleep. Just waiting. And it’s under renovation for the next year.

I sat on the rooftop of Café de Taleju admiring it. Just looking. Wondering how many people have passed by over the centuries, never getting closer than this. It’s strange, but also kind of perfect. Not everything in Kathmandu is meant to be seen.

And then you move on—back into the alleyways, the chaos, the noise.

The day I went, it was a fasting day for Sawan, (also called Shravan,) which is the fifth month of the Hindu lunar calendar, usually falling in July–August. It is considered sacred to Lord Shiva, and many Hindus fast, visit temples, and offer water to Shiva lingams during this time—especially on Mondays, known as Sawan Somwar. The month is also linked to the monsoon season and fertility rituals.

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