Today, Sunday, August 10, 2025 (Bhadra 26, 2082 BS), the cultural festival Gaijatra—also spelled Gai Jatra—is being observed in Nepal, particularly across the Kathmandu Valley and other parts of the country.
Gaijatra is a traditional festival celebrated by the Newar community to honor loved ones who have passed away during the past year. The festivities include humorous and satirical processions featuring cows (or people dressed as cows), which are believed to help guide the departed souls on their journey .
Saturday, August 9, 2025, Nepal observes Janai Purnima—also known as Raksha Bandhan, Rishi Tarpani, Sanskrit Diwas, and internationally as the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples.
In Kathmandu on this day, Janai Purnima is a blend of deeply spiritual rituals—holy baths, sacred thread renewals, and temple worship—woven together with cultural traditions like communal feasting on kwati and family-centered celebrations. It’s a day that honors purification, protection, and cultural unity.
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.
Hindus making offerings
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.
New Road in Kathmandu, officially called Kingsway, was built after the 1934 earthquake as part of a modernization effort under the Rana regime. It became a central commercial hub, symbolizing Nepal’s shift toward modern infrastructure and trade. Today, it’s one of the busiest shopping streets in the city, connecting traditional marketplaces like Asan with government buildings and banks, blending old and new Kathmandu in a single walkable stretch. Naturally, I found it by accident, lol.
I came with a restless kind of energy that doesn’t settle easy. I came from a place where the stillness had started to feel like suffocation. And here—amid the tangle of wires overhead, the honk-and-dodge rhythm of motorbikes, cars, bicycles, and other pedestrians—I am starting to exhale.
Peace doesn’t look like quiet. It looks like movement. Like mornings at Kathmandu Durbar Square with coffee on a rooftop,
Iced Latte on the rooftop of Café de Taleju overlooking Kathmandu Durbar Square. More specifically, Taleju Temple, which is being renovated.
watching the pigeons rise together off of the top of temples.
Like walking aimlessly down alleys that open up to courtyards I wasn’t meant to find.
I found you!
Like passing murals half-faded on crumbling brick walls, the kind of art that never asked for permission.
Peace, somehow, is in the chaos here. It’s not the absence of noise but the absence of expectation. I don’t have to prove anything to this city. I just have to keep walking. Let the days stretch long and unhurried.
Kathmandu is never described as quiet. It’s a city of constant motion—honking motorbikes, swirling dust, chanting temples. But tucked between the commotion are these unexpected pauses—alleys that hum instead of roar, where the city seems to lower its voice and let you breathe.
I found one today.
Mandala Street.
Slipped into it without thinking—just needed a break from the traffic chaos of Thamel. And suddenly I was walking on cobblestone, under faded prayer flags and wooden balconies. No horns. No shouts. Just the distant clink of coffee cups, the low murmurs of shopkeepers chatting with locals.
Not Mandala Street, but still a quieter reprieve than most areas in the city.
The air was cooler there, because the buildings provide shade for a while. A few people walked slowly, not rushing anywhere. I passed a café with empty tables set up outside—chairs facing the alley like they were waiting for someone to sit, sip, and watch the afternoon go by. One afternoon that will be me, now that I know about Mandala Street.
These quiet alleys aren’t accidental—built narrow for shade, for walking, for lingering. They’re places to reset before stepping back into the full blast of the city.
Not Mandala Street, either, but it provides some peace.
Kathmandu will always be a city that moves fast. But if you pay attention, it gives you moments to slow down, too. You just have to take the turn that looks too narrow to matter.
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For over two decades, I have wandered cities around the world, camera in hand, listening to the stories painted on their walls. After a year in Bhutan, where murals are sacred and hidden from lenses, I moved to Kathmandu for the summer of 2025—a city alive with color, protest, and imagination.
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Mural-rich neighborhoods like Patan, Thamel, Bouddha, and Lazimpat
Themes of spirituality, feminism, social justice, mythology, and migration
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