Three hundred rupees
Rohit's eyes were open but he wasn't seeing much: a haze of trees, a block of buildings blurred in the yellow-blue hues of dawn: Kathmandu.
He was sick of the way the bus rattled his bones and tired of the women behind, who had chattered incessantly for the whole of the journey.
"Strange," the younger one remarked, as they passed a vast, tarred lot filled with colourful cars, "Like a garden made of metal."
"Look at all those lights on the road," the other woman said. Her voice was loud and nasal. "And they won't give our village even one bulb! And look at those houses, they're all offices."
"So many offices…. what do people doin them?"
"They sit at tables and develop the country. See how wide the road is."
"And so many motor-cars. Where do they go at night, all these motor-cars?"
"To the stalls of their owners."