Salim Reshamwala

As I recall, people from my village would travel to faraway villages for special festivals, fests, and local markets.

One of my own aunts had traveled to a weekly local market to sell piglets.

She reached the market, sold them off, but while returning, she fell off one of such bridges and died.

Falling off these bridges and dying are common.

It made people experience the space between life and death.

It gives a traveler a new curiosity and a new imagination.

That's what I think when I think about bridges.

First, the fine balance between life and death.

You can either fall off and die or go out and see the world.

And second, that new imagination and curiosity.

To explore that story of life and death, that imagination and curiosity, we needed to talk to people on the ground.

Hi, my name is Nayan.

I am a researcher slash translator based in Kathmandu.

My interests lie in culture, society and politics of Nepal.

Here's one of his tracks, working with found sounds.

While visiting relatives in India years ago, I took a side trip to Nepal, stayed in Kathmandu, the capital where a lot of tourists start, took a six to seven hour van ride to Pokhara, arrived absurdly early, and climbed to a viewing point in the darkness.

I remember holding my son on my shoulders.

The cold air had this crispness to it and seeing the sun spread a beautiful, rich, reflective gradient across all the mountains around us.

At least, they were what I would call mountains.

But Nayan, he corrected me.