Buddha Jayanti from a window

and other assorted alley thoughts

Recently I was speaking with a woman who lives on a similar small lane to mine, but branching off the main road on the opposite side.

“Even though it’s inside, it’s very noisy,” she said.

“Oh, my alley isn’t noisy at all. Maybe once in a while, sirens on the main road and the like; but considering how central it is, remarkably peaceful.” Yes, as I type this I do realize how annoying that must have sounded.

And the last few days I’ve been wondering—was that really true, or have I just gotten used to the hubbub? Alley construction continues apace and its related noises are present more often than not: gravel unloaded from a truck and then reloaded into wheelbarrows, the occasional jackhammer, and a number of other buzzing and banging construction noises, unidentified. After all, I stopped hearing the neighbour’s chickens long before she stopped keeping them. And as long as that jackhammer’s not at work on my own building…

**

Last Thursday there were different noises, and I heard them from a ways away: bells and cymbals and drums. I opened the kitchen window screen that overlooks the alley to find out what was going on.

A smattering of distinguished gentlemen, helpfully and firmly directing a vehicle back where it came from, and the pickup that delivers those large drinking water jars to the neighbourhood is pointed inside gates that are usually closed, to wait.

Then come the four stout pairs of arms carrying a platform that likely holds the neighbourhood deity. From up here, I can only see a mass of color covering it.

A group follow in matching t shirts, bells tinkling and Buddhist flags waving and I remember: it’s Buddha Jayanti, Buddha’s birthday. I’d considered going to one of areas where the main celebrations are held, like Boudha, and now here it was, right under my window.

The vibrant red and black of Newari women in their festival attire.

Exuberant young people bringing up the rear, banging gold-and-red drums with gusto.

This is something I missed in other, more newly-built up areas I’ve lived in, usually far outside of the center. Here in the alley, there’s a community history, and holidays and festivals of all shapes and sizes are celebrated.

It’s living history: here long before us and with any luck long after.

**

The water delivery truck waits patiently to the side as the procession passes, skirting the neat stacks of bricks and piles of sand and gravel as they go.