The majestic Himalayan range provided a stunning backdrop to the tarmac of Tribhuvan International Airport. Passengers were waiting in the open for their turn to climb a few steps up a ladder to be subjected to a thorough final frisking before we boarded the aircraft.
At the Kathmandu airport, the ladder with a mid-way staging station is a sombre reminder of terror and diplomatic acrimony in the wake of the hijack of an Indian Airlines plane on Christmas eve of 1999, to be finally flown across to Kandahar. The hijack is now a distant memory in Kathmandu. Instead, the misery heaped on the Himalayan nation by nature and India are recurring themes in most conversations today. The city is in disarray — potholed roads, dilapidated buildings, a thick blanket of dust. Buildings that came down after the 2015 earthquake are still being rebuilt.
Kathmandu was the city were many of us reporters from Delhi would regularly land up, as political upheavals, bloodbath, rumours and diplomatic dramas all turned the sleepy town into one of the most happening datelines of the region.
Just after the 1999 hijack when I checked into Hotel Ambassador in Lazimpet, near the palace, it was a budget hotel with an old-world charm. Today there stands in its place a multi-storeyed building. That is a rare reconstruction I noticed in the city.
In the summer of 2001, when I landed in Kathmandu to report on the royal massacre, it was a city on edge. The duty-free shop at the airport, where bottles of Famous Grouse whiskey, the brand that Prince Dipendra drank before wiping out most of the royal family, was prominently displayed in the wake of the massacre, today seems to stock more variety.
Over the years, rumours and anti-India sentiments have been key ingredients in most developments in Kathmandu. Except on rare occasions, India has let the historical goodwill slip away to frightening levels by its mostly avuncular, and recently aggressive, engagement with Nepal.
Yet, the present level of Indian popularity, however, wouldn’t surprise those who have been regulars to this valley over the years. In 2000, I had been drenched in the rain when I was escorted into the office of Jamim Shah, the cable king of Nepal who was accused by Indian agencies of being Dawood Ibrahim and ISI’s key man. Indian agencies said Shah used his cable channel to provoke anti-India riots.
Shah gave me a rare and dramatic interview — laughing, crying, angrily dismissing allegations, and boasting about his Indian connections. A senior Indian official who heard the taped interview told me that while I had indeed met the real Shah, Indian agencies had over the years been probably listening in on the wrong guy. In February 2010, Shah was shot dead. Speculation was that Shah had been bumped off by Indian intelligence.
