25th April 2015,it was a dark day for many Nepalese. I still remember the rumbling, the cloud of smoke, the dazed eyes and haunted minds.
When the dust, adrenaline and sun settled, I had walked in circles, checked-up on my extended family, helped remove rubble from Patan Durbar Square and managed to make it home with a thousand stares as my black outfit was completely yellow.
As life became normal, the shockwaves rippled. Not just literal shockwaves but also cultural. Four miles from my home, in the quaint village of Bungamati, known for it’s traditional woodcraft skills- there as nothing left. No homes, no elders, and no craft. The young were left to pick up breadwinning with the faint visual memories of their parents and grandparents- smiling and chipping away a block of wood- turining it into a masterpiece.
This is the reason why I am making my commonplace public.