To many outsiders, it may be its age and earthquake cumulated with inadequate maintenance, that resulted the final crumbling of my house. As for me, it was complete lack of awareness among residents living in it, which left it devalued and suffered, at each generations. Though, it was one of the largest newar house of Malla era in Ikhalkhu Tole, (My community), at each generations it mourned its division silently, triggered through property division among its heirs and at the end of each generations, the house just converted to being part of “Property” with economical values. In my grandfather’s generations it got divided into two parts, with new walls partitioning frontage and backstage while in my father’s generations, frontage further underwent three divisions. Adding to this, it also got functional makeover within it. The house, which was designed for one family household, later had many households and each room in Matan(1st floor), Chhota( 2nd floor) and Baiga ( Attic) was further partitioned to smaller rooms to accommodate more and more rental populations. The attic got its complete turnover to modern form, replacing jhingatis with C.G.I. sheets and mud mortar with cement mortar. Openness of attic punctured with further smaller partitions. Just before the earthquake it was holding the pressure of more than 12 family households with at least 3-4 members in each household. (Thankfully, all of them were safe!!!. ) 

and out of the house as part of daily activity, left redolent memory of  synergic dependence of community member. I feel lucky and blessed to have spent my childhood in the house, which in many aspects instilled the cultural and social values of my family and refined my cultural etiquettes. As for instance, I remember my mom and aunts, everyday, waking up with the rays of sun, and hustling down, to clean the house right from baigal to chhelis and to fetch clean drinking water all the way 3 storey to and fro. Worshipping each temple round the house and Mulukha(main entrance ) puja , bowing down our head, respecting the house which sheltered us ,were part of daily  morning life. Irrespective of situations, all these rituals were strictly followed.

Continuous maintenance was always the matter of least concern and mostly viewed as a bet on the wrong horse!!! Prioritizing more often to new R.C.C construction. I often hear the phrases, like the building is too old, its damp, beams are infected, and water is seeping down the roof, as my father and uncles sat for conversations, but for many years it remained unattended with just some superficial touch-ups. It continued to remain neglected, till it suffered from “ tragedy of commons” among the heirs, as their preference was to make sure, legally they get their share of property (house) and just few years back before the earthquake it underwent further division. (Thanks to Nepalese law of inheritance of property).

Nepalese law of inheritance coupled with lack of awareness, insensitive perception and desire for materialistic worth, left my ancestral house jeopardized for many years and finally it gave up its strength, during the recent Gorkha earthquake. Honestly, till I joined architecture course, I myself have supported an old cliché of thoughts, that traditional is outdated. Ironically, five years in architecture course did help shed lights of awareness in me to embrace my ancestral home, but it did not give me legal status to breakthrough the stereotype thinking among the patriarchal kinship, so as to convince them the importance of our heritage bequest. As a consequence, poignant and helpless, with all my guilt, today I witness woeful plight of my ancestral home, silently echoing its last shred of faith.

 Ar. Brinda Shrestha

The fatal event of Mother Nature rudely impacted our century old built forms in Kathmandu valley, which were core of Kathmandu’s identity and pride. Among many, was my ancestral home in central core of Lalitpur, south of Patandurbar square. As century old newar house, it was one of the oldest buildings in my neighborhood, famous as the family house of “ Nankhwa”. Remembering the stories form my grandfather, the house was strong to face the disastrous effect of 1934 earthquake, during their time, while most of the buildings in the community collapsed. Nevertheless, it became too weak to save itself from the recent earthquake and finally crumbled down, leaving behind reminiscence of so many told and untold stories. The ancestral home was not a mere physical structure built with mud and bricks, it was the bequest from generations to generations, who spent years of their life making memories and perfecting the art of living.
As quoted by John Banville,“The past beats inside me like a second heart”, today, every echoes of bustling sound of ravaged building transported me to my memory lane and those blissful moments of togetherness spent with my family. Down to my memory lane, I hardly remember the eras of my fore-grandfather but I do have some dim memories of my childhood spent with my grannies, uncles, aunts and cousins, living together as joint family and sharing every sad and happy moments. Festive moments of celebrations followed with lavish feasts resonated from every corner of the house. The heavily carved wooden sanjhya continuously pushed me to the moments my grandfather and grandmother spent, sitting next to each other and greeting every passers by they knew reverberating the excitement of observing every communal festivals passing in front of it and those tikijhyas witnessed each cautious peep we made through it.

To my dim memory, the four-storey residential building almost passed through family assessment in each generations, we being the fourth, observing it finally bid farewell to us, leaving behind all its pain and suffering. Throughout its existence it has suffered for its existence, going through family turmoil and struggling with “tragedy of commons” followed with economical valuation every now and then.

The house, which was originally lived by 20-25 families, had the pressure of holding 50 people at one particular time!!! This was a significant change in the load. Partitions in upper floor Attic, baiga, to accommodate more people, also completely transformed the functional dynamics of the original concept of lightweight in upper storey and as a consequence, the walls and beams suffered to do its functions. 

Those rumbled bricks, muds and timbers lying on the ground, feebly emitted the sound of continuous demonstration of their strength against many testaments.

​Among four storeys, Chheli, Matan and Chota, my favorite was the Baiga.The long elongated room that held every joyful festive moment, especially during dashain and Tihar, gathering all family members. More than an enclosed space, it catalyzed the bonding between siblings, cousins and in laws, who were otherwise busy in their own to do lists. The continue flow of other community member such as suchikar, jyapu,kuchikar in 

Sketch of old house,showing its original façade.]

Wrecked houses after the earthquake in Nepal ,2015

​25th April 2015, the day when the whole Kathmandu valley was struck by devastating Gorkha earthquake, leaving behind enormous traces of its deadly devastations, as the whole world stopped with bewilderment to witness the casualties of earthquake in Kathmandu. Every international and national news channel were working to their best level to broadcast “breaking news” presenting number counts of dead people, injured people, missing people, stories of victims and shocking downfall of thousands of built structures. And, as thousands of migrant workers living abroad, I was here in Kuwait, holding my breath and consoling my seven months pregnant body, with tears streaming down my eyes, as I helplessly watched the agonizing breakdown of my homeland and my people.

Commemorating My Ancestral Home

My attempt to share the untold story of my ancestral home, travelling through wisp of memories!