Buddhist chanting at Swayambhunath
His bronze skin as he hushes the crowds, directs them toward the jumble of my microphone. I was once a king, he says, and I came to Earth. One day, you and I will meet in heaven. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Morning in Lalitpur
The way bodies layer on bodies, these disasters, insurgencies, these plastic sandals and car parts. The way the morning crows squawk atop Shiva. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
Farmer’s Dance
Bent to the sickle and feet in the grain. The whole country moves to the rhythm of the rain. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN
Sherpa Dance
“The sherpas are alert for ways in which to be of use… their dignity is unassailable, for the service is rendered for its own sake — it is the task, not the employer, that is served. As Buddhists, they know that the doing matters more than the attainment or the reward, that to serve in…
Threshing machine
I stumble out of a vintage Mercedes to hunker in the stubble, blend into the background like a roman candle, tape recorder tipped in your general direction. You catch my eye as if to say that this spilling of the fruit is only part of it, the grains under your feet and in the cracks…
Banging Brass
The back streets of Bhaktapur run and run: feet in rice, and hands in black clay, the city labours under harvest. Hand-pressed brick posing for the next natural disaster. These girls, elbows linked: their unbreakable chain. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN