Monkeys, cows, and pigeons share corn kernels that have been left as an offering at a shrine in Kathmandu’s Durbar Square.
They were standing out on the front porch when I walked up. I recognized them immediately, and recognized the house, though I didn’t think they recognized me. Twenty-six years is a long time.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Munasinghe,” I said. “Do you remember me? I lived with you for three months, twenty-six years ago. You let me have space in your kitchen to learn to cook, and I slept in the spare bedroom.”