April 2019.

The house I rented in Khauma Tole is a four storeyed building constructed in 2006. The kitchen and eating space are on the top-most storey, a living space below that and sleeping spaces below that, with the ground floor used mostly for receiving outsiders. This vertical division is typical in most traditional Newari homes. In stark contrast to earlier house-types, however, each floor has an independent bathroom, heated water and excellent plumbing, all fed from an underground tank filled every few weeks, a privilege that meant I never had to stand in line for the Municipal water tankers.

People standing in line to collect water from the municipality tanker

The house I rented in Khauma Tole is a four storeyed building constructed in 2006. The kitchen and eating space are on the top-most storey, a living space below that and sleeping spaces below that, with the ground floor used mostly for receiving outsiders. This vertical division is typical in most traditional Newari homes. In stark contrast to earlier house-types, however, each floor has an independent bathroom, heated water and excellent plumbing, all fed from an underground tank filled every few weeks, a privilege that meant I never had to stand in line for the Municipal water tankers.

Terrace in Khauma

Terrace in Khauma

View from the terrace in Khauma

Over the next few weeks, I realised what I had assumed was a ruin, possibly crumbling since the Gorkha Earthquake, was still somebody’s home, precarious though it seemed. Both humans and animals would dart in and out from the two lower storeys, navigating their way through the still liveable spaces in the building. Six months later, when I returned to the neighbourhood, the house had disappeared into a pile of rubble. Behind this scene of decay, at least four new homes were being built again, some similar to the one I was inhabiting, while others were more frugal versions. Various shades of brick tiles, machine carved timber windows and flat concrete terraces with water-tanks dot the landscape and occasionally, brick and mud walls and tiled sloping rooflines. A neighbour later shared that the household had moved to a smaller home in the vicinity. Since their building had technically not fallen because of the earthquake, the reconstruction fund would not be accessible to them.

January 2020

I returned to Khauma for a second round of fieldwork and settled back into what felt like a second home. I peered into the courtyard which had changed since I had last seen it, the house that had been crumbling had collapsed into a pile of rubble following the monsoons. The family had moved a few houses away, their future in the neighbourhood less certain than before. Other ruins dotted the neighbourhood- homes that had been jolted by the Gorkha Earthquake were still crumbling.

Collapsed remains of home as seen from the terrace in January 2020

Collapsed remains of home as seen from the terrace in January 2020