Mihir Nath Pyakuryal

I wish I had more pictures of that corner of Kathmandu where I grew up. Proof that those moments truly existed, something that immortalizes the pristine condition as I remember from my childhood.

Growing up, goat was a delicacy reserved for special occasions. In my family, there was a particular way of cooking goat meat.

Whether we meet up in that dark tea shop near our school, or a well-lit café in the center of the neighborhood, or even at a fancy eatery abroad, every time our paths cross, however infrequently that is, it has taught us something.

My village in Bardiya is a place I have been to only a handful of times. Yet, I would say that this place has been a big part of my story, unknowingly shaping me through the experiences and stories of the generations that came before me.