Fifteen years ago, while operating motorcycle tours across India, Bhutan and Tibet, I lived with my family in Kathmandu. Weekends were for exploring, by bicycle or when there was petrol by Bullet motorcycle.
One Saturday we found the gates of the trolley bus terminus at Baneswor open, and cycled in. Grey scenes of decay and neglect. Tired, rusty, worn out machinery. A vintage fork-lift truck sat where it was parked for the last time. Overhead-line repair vehicles, cannibalised for crucial parts, lay awkwardly on wooden blocks. Battered bodies clung to rusty chassis. A bus parked over an inspection pit, waiting for a mechanic.