Amritananda smiled. What a strange, quaint person this Rejident was, impeccable manners, soft-spoken and so out of place in the cesspool of Kathmandu politics.
I can’t exactly remember what happened in the days before the blockade was imposed. But I do remember that just as the gates in the mysterious south went down and prices went up a beautiful girl with dark curly hair moved in to the next building.
Raman took his first photograph at the age of eight. An oblong window in northern Kathmandu looking out on land that had turned to marsh in the monsoon rains, peopled with frogs and the young of mosquitoes.