A small town, My town

Kids in school uniforms running down the slippery stairs of dilapidated buildings. The stench of urine emanating from the open drains that line both sides of the road. Across the road, the pani puri wala filling the puri.

The pretty seventeen year old walking through the crowded market, her beauty not going unnoticed by the young boys at the Tea shop.

A boy pasting film posters on a public wall, "Nasheeli Jawani", written in bold yellow letters across the front, efficiently concealing a woman's breasts, but giving enough of a peek to make the men buy tickets.

The cycle-rickshaw overloaded with ten schoolkids.

The sound of bells and aarti diverging from the Shiv temple, competing with the sound of the Aadhan being sung by the meuzzin of the mosque right next to it.

My town, rather, my father's town: Biratnagar.