Dhanbahadur Tamang’s poem elocution flaunts a confident rhythm. He recited a poem for me, about the emptiness that followed death, when we met in Makhan.
Souls of My City: Four sturdy pillars
However, he is not really a poet; rather, he earns his living by pulling cart in the capital. He has been working as a cart puller since he came to Kathmandu at 22. In his early days, he made rest houses his home. “Back then, foxes used to roam freely around the city,” he remembers. Tamang’s old age has led his body to grow frail, and he admits not having enough strength to sustain his livelihood. but the old cart puller has four children -- two sons, and two daughters. All of Tamang’s children are educated, he says, “All my children are educated. In the modern society, barring anyone from education is equivalent to snatching away their senses.”
