“Everyday, I take out my sewing table and sit at this Paati. I see all kinds of people come and go in front of me. Some rich, some poor. Some with legs and some without, some laughing, some smiling. Some happy and some sad. I see children running around without any care and I see men and women in relationships. I also see old men who have lost interest in life but still cling to it. I see everything but I do not feel I am a part of it. I am just a spectator who sits here and watches. Once, in a while a customer comes with his clothes and I sew it. Some try to make a conversation about how nice the place is and how precious our history. I just keep quiet and listen. When the sun sets I store my sewing table in a nearby hotel. The owner pities me. I buy some vegetables on my way back for my wife to cook dinner. It is just a small shelter made of zinc sheets. But it is still home. And there, at night I sleep because my bones ache. I sleep hoping that there is a different day for me tomorrow.” (Maila Pariyaar, Tikhel, Bhaktapur)