In the immediate aftermath of the April 25 earthquake, waves after waves of terrified people could be seen making their way to Tundikhel from nearby areas in search of refuge. Soon, this patch of land, smack in the middle of Kathmandu and flanked by buildings on all sides, was bursting at its seams, inundated by a deluge of humans. For those lucky enough to make their way to areas like Tundikhel, the Tribhuvan University (TU) grounds, the Rangalshala, Sankha Park, Balaju Park, Narayan Chaur, or Tinkune Chowk, these open spaces proved to be safe havens. But many others were forced into small, scattered patches of land, sometimes in the middle of cluttered and potentially dangerous areas, car parks, and by the road side.
The lack of open spaces was one of the most urgent problems that confronted Kathmandu after the quake, best illustrated by people running helter-skelter in search of safe refuge every time a tremor struck. According to Pitamber Sharma, a reputed geographer, while a big city needs to allocate at least 10-12 percent of its area as open space, Kathmandu just has around 0.4 percent reserved as open space. Post-quake, the Kathmandu Valley Development Authority (KDVA) recently allocated more than 800 locations in the Valley as open spaces to be used by the public in times of disaster. These include previously identified spaces like the TU ground in Kirtipur and the National Agricultural Research Centre in Lalitpur, among other government lands and public parks. This time around, the
KVDA has also allocated the grounds of schools and hospitals, both private and public, and riverbanks. But despite all these efforts, Kathmandu still faces a space crunch, and the paucity of open space in the city is glaringly visible.
The problem is further worsened by land encroachment and lack of management of these spaces. Though the government had identified 84 public spaces to be used as emergency spaces in times of disaster back in 2011, little was done to safeguard these spaces against encroachment. The KVDA has now clearly stated that its reason behind the new allocation of spaces is to protect these lands from being illegally occupied. But this rationale must translate into concrete action that prevents these spaces from becoming car parks and driving schools.
Furthermore, it is not enough to identify open spaces in the wake of a disaster. Open spaces need to be understood as an integral part of urban habitats, a breath of fresh air in a concrete jungle. Kathmandu has had many public parks, ponds, grounds and gardens, but most of them are in terrible shape, either encroached upon illegally or used for a variety of undesirable purposes. Green open spaces facilitate social interactions and can act as staging grounds for cultural, religious, and communal events. Their utility is always present, only becoming more acute during times of disaster.
The earthquake will change the way Nepalis build homes. It should also change the way authorities plan and develop cities—not just as an aggregation of concrete structures and blacktopped roads but as vibrant spaces where there is room to breathe.
18.12°C Kathmandu
.jpg&w=300&height=200)
