Once a month, on the first Saturday, I meet four friends from secondary school for a long lunch. We're all from Kathmandu, but now we're spread across different jobs, so it takes some organising.
There's Sanjana, who's a doctor, Bikash, who runs a small trekking company, Pooja, who's a primary teacher, and Roshan, who works in a bank, and I'm a civil servant. We take turns choosing the place, which keeps it interesting. Sometimes it's a fancy rooftop café in Thamel, and sometimes it's a tiny momo shop near our old school that's been there since we were teenagers. We usually meet at around one and end up staying until five or six. Mostly we just talk, catching up on work, families and gossip, but there's always a bit of teasing about embarrassing things from our school days. Recently we've also started taking a short walk afterwards, because Sanjana keeps telling us we sit too much.
These meetings matter to me a lot. In my twenties I lost touch with lots of people because everyone got busy, and I regret that. This group has become something we protect, almost like a promise to each other. They're also people I can be completely honest with. When I was going through a difficult time last year with my father's illness, these lunches were where I could actually talk about it, and they helped me in practical ways too, like recommending doctors. And honestly, it's simply fun. After a stressful month at work, laughing with people who've known me since I was twelve resets something in me.