Singha Durbar's Best Kept Secret for Me
“Do you have a pass?”, the traffic stopped me to ask. “I do”, said I with pride of inexplicable origin. I reached in my pocket and grabbed a small piece of paper with some “important” scribbles on it. The traffic appeared to have understood the scribbles and he let me in. It was my first time visiting Singadurbar. It felt special but I was unusually relaxed. I was meeting a parliamentarian! I had prepared in advance all the ideas I was planning to pitch for my research. I was struggling to find the parliamentarian’s office. The sheer expanse of the Singadurbar made me feel it was okay to be lost. “Prabesh Ji”, greeted a familiar face with a Namaste. I namasted back. “Prabesh Ji, should we go sit in the canteen? We can discuss while we eat. I am starving.” I nodded with a chuckle as if I was in a position to decline that offer. The parliamentarian, accompanied with their personal assistant, walked briskly towards the canteen. I followed. Around a plastic table sat 5 uncomfortable plastic chairs. The table was smudged with the Momo sauce which I assumed the previous diplomat had spilled. “Prabesh Ji, what would you like to have? They have really good Jhol Momo.” The personal assistant whispered, leaning forward. “Yes! I love Jhol Momo”. I whispered back. I would have hated experimenting with the food there. We sat around the table and discussed recent developments in our collaborative research. The table wobbled everytime one of us three leaned on the table top to express the gravitas of the thoughts we were putting on it. In the midst of it all, came the server with two deep bowls of Jhol Momo. 
Prabesh Koirala, Daayitwa-WorldLink Nepal Public Policy Fellow 2023,29th August,2023,
The aroma of the freshly steamed Momo instantly inspired a feeling of familiarity in me. A place so alien became homely just from the sight of the recognizable Jhol Momo covered in sauce. “Do you usually order this?”I asked with rediscovered confidence. Was I now finally comfortable asking questions? The grandeur and imposing architecture of Singadurbar was no longer imposing. The long corridors and the stone paved path and their sense of unease was lost on me.
Unlike me, the Jhol Momo did not know it was in Singadurbar. Nobody must have asked for a pass to get in. How would it reach in its pockets to grab a pass and show it to the traffic? Would the traffic then let it in? I realized how oblivious and unbothered Jhol Momo was to our national and global politics. It simply was. It was uncaring to observe if it was being served inside Singadurbar or outside, and if it was being served to a Parliamentarian’s personal assistant or to us- the Sheeple. It was the same. The conversations thereafter flowed effortlessly like the Jhol where our Momo drowned.
The smudged table and the Momo sauce seemed to symbolize the shared experiences and common ground we had found through our mutual appreciation for this simple delicacy. All three of us enjoyed it.
While the common folks bemoaned frequently about the disparity between the diplomats and the ordinary people, the Jhol Momo strongly argued against it. It was a proof of unity. It united us unlike any other caste, creed, gender or nationality.
I left Singadurbar content. It almost felt criminal to have discovered this secret. It almost feels criminal to be sharing this confidential information about Singadurbar here.